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I was having a tough time of Toronto. I was there for a video games talk; I didn't know anyone. I searched the Salon/Nerve personals for Toronto and found "hitachi_girl." As her name suggests, her profile exuded independent womanhood - auto-eroticism. Her slightly standoffish attitude attracted me - we corresponded, sharing some erotica writings and criticism. Actually, after she emailed me some critiques of my erotic writing, I didn't write back until just before I was leaving.

Our correspondence was solid - it wasn't too horny or too difficult, just some chatting. I mentioned where I was headed and she let on some bias against the priviledged school; she called it Marxism. Later she sent me a story about going to Hollywood and meeting some stars - I was curious about the intersection of LA celebrity watching and Karl Marx. For a change, I didn't share my URL, so unlike some of the women I meet, she had no chance to investigate my personal history - only my emailed erotica samples.

Surprisingly she took up communication readily after the lapse. We arranged to meet at my hotel, the Yorkville Howard Johnson, my last night at 8.30pm.

I arrived at the HoJo, as those American's lovingly call Howard Johnson's, a bit before he did and looked over tourist propaganda. Snow howled outside the hotel and the temperature dropped. A chilly night to be giving somebody 'the tour.' I figured we'd go grab a bite to eat and that would be it. Little did we know it would be another 17 and a half hours before we parted company.

Like I said before, I thought Justin was pretty cute in his personal picture so that coloured things somewhat. And I honestly didn't care, I wasn't looking to get lucky. Just a good conversation and some food. But when all 6ft of him walked into the hotel lobby, it wasn't a matter of not caring. He had the kind of face I might enjoy looking at for a long while. His eyes and his smile mostly. So open. The main thing I noticed about him (after his height). He was wearing a sheepskin coat but no scarf. So California. He didn't know better. We go up to his room to drop off his stuff and I pass him a Japanese phrase card I found in the lobby. "For just in case we get into a jam," I said. There was something about his energy and his smile and the way he talked and what he said that immediately put me at ease. He felt familiar. And I don't feel that way towards very many folks. I'm not one to warm up to new people very quickly. Even cute ones. I told him I wouldn't go anywhere with him until he did up his coat. I wasn't going to feel guilty if this guy froze. And I really wanted to walk with him. Show him stuff.

I asked if he liked Vietnamese food and I could tell by his expression that I was hitting some familiar notes. Our tastes buds and hanging out habits seemed well in sync. I took the prettier route to Spadina through the university and the Annex. I showed him the classrooms of University College, the information commons in the ugly library, Sivananda Yoga and a bit of my old hood. More beautiful though was the scenery of our conversation. As we walked, each of us unfolded details of our lives and worlds as though they were tucked into the landscape around us. We were jazz musicians riffing on winter air, energy, and the exchange of ideas. I liked him. I felt safe in his presence. And the sparkle of his eyes and the beauty of his smile radiated things about his spirit I would soon discover in other forms.

I liked it that he asked me about my relationship with my parents. I like people that aren't afraid to go there with themselves or others. I told him all the complex and unusual circumstances of my birth and parents estrangement. I told him about the various alienations between them and I. About connection and disconnection. About my dad mostly. And he offered responses that were coming from a place where similar problems had been processed. A very compassionate place. He told me his parents narrative of substance and emotional abuse and of a tragic outcome. And, like so many children, Justin was the weapon of choice in their unloving. Talking about it all, walking past the landmarks of my own childhood, connected me to his story in ways I might not have had I heard or read it in another form. And we hadn't even gotten to the restaurant.

She was a tall skinny bright eyed frosted but dark haired gal, with a wide ready smile. After visiting my darkened room for a pitstop, we strode off into the chilly Toronto night. I hadn't yet walked much of the city - she was a foot-borne Toronto traveller. She was hungry (I had just had Polish food kOnline Personals Ads: hitachi_girl Www Beautiesdating Fantasy Dating Beauties En Shop Category Asp Catid 122 Beauties Datingq m k k Beauties Dating Escorts Sexy zOnline Personals Ads: hitachi_girl Www Beautiesdating Fantasy Dating Beauties En Shop Category Asp Catid 122 Beauties Datingi y x Affair Aniston