I pulled my light jacket tighter as I turned sideways to serpentine through the masses on the crowded sidewalk. The produce markets were teaming with older people pulling small carts behind them as they made their daily pilgrimage to buy fresh bok choy and lotus root. It was always a bit of a free-for-all walking home from my internship in the late afternoon.
I had decided that I wasn't in the mood to make dinner that evening, so I popped into my favorite dumpling place near the corner of College and Spadina. I took a seat at a two-top close to the entrance. When the curt waitress approached, I ordered ten pieces of steamed pork with chive and a side of the garlic-fried Chinese broccoli.
My mind wandered as I waited for my food to arrive. I thought about my upcoming finals. I knew that I wasn't prepared for most of them, and that I needed to get mostly A's if I was going to be competitive when I applied to law school in the fall. That led me to a larger question: where did I want to go to school?
I had been considering blanketing the top fourteen since they had the most prestige. As a dual citizen, though, staying in Toronto had its appeal. Even though I had grown up in North Carolina, it had been a pleasant experience over the past three years connecting with the city in which my mom had been raised.
Before I could delve deeper into the decision-making process, my food arrived. I quickly shoveled it down; I wasn't the type who savored the experience of eating. I enjoyed a lot of things in life, but food wasn't high on the list. After I paid the bill, I walked the few remaining blocks to my apartment complex.
I had chosen to live near the university on the edge of Chinatown. I loved that it was bustling with people from so many different backgrounds: fellow students, immigrants, and hipsters who were fond of the Kensington Market area. It was a great place for people watching, provided you could find any place to stand, sit, or lean. Odd as it will sound right now, that was a big selling point for me, even though I myself wasn't much of a people watcher.
I looked up at the three-story brick edifice. It appeared resolute in its stature, having withstood the past hundred years. It showed signs of aging, but was in remarkably good condition. One of the reasons I had chosen to live there, aside from the affordable rent, was the sense of history.
I let myself in through the front door, passed through the entryway vestibule, and walked in the direction of the main corridor. I lived in one of the basement units, which were partly below ground. There were windows placed higher up on the walls though, which was important, since I didn't think living without any natural sunlight was something I could tolerate.
I walked to the mailboxes, which had been the purpose of my detour. There were twenty-four small, locked cubbies - one for each apartment. I checked mine, but wasn't surprised to find it empty. I looped back towards the main door, turned the corner into the stairwell, and descended to the lower level.
My unit was right in the middle of the hallway, with a stairwell on both ends leading to the upper levels. There were three other studio units on each side of mine. The upper floors were one- and two-bedroom floor plans. I let myself in using what was one of the only two keys I routinely carried with me.
The room was minimalistic, but not inhospitable. I had positioned a full bed against the wall beneath the window, a small desk and chair in the corner near the entrance, and a battered recliner that a friend had gifted me. I'd positioned the recliner against the wall leading to the galley-style kitchen.
I plopped down on the bed, feeling unreasonably exhausted. I didn't even bother to remove my sneakers, so I made sure my feet hung over the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. I drifted off to sleep.
I woke to darkness; the flashing alarm clock on my nightstand informed me that it was 11:08 p.m. I was in mild shock that I had slept for roughly three hours. It made sense, though, since I had been staying up until the earlier hours of the morning studying, and finding other, less scholastic ways to occupy myself.
I realized that I had morning wood, then remembered the time.
Nigh-midnight wood, perhaps?
I wondered. My dark blue jeans bulged where my dick was pushing forward in its quest for attention.
A sexual charge coursed through my body. At twenty-one years old, it didn't take much to stimulate my carnal appetite. I began to drift into fantasy without being aware that that was what was happening. A few key memories from the past few years flooded into my mind.
You're probably expecting me to tell you that I was thinking about some particularly raunchy hook-up, or various porn clips that had drilled their way into my brain. The thing is, my desires were not, and still aren't, exactly normal. I wasn't sure what had made me the way I was, but I knew that what turned me on only did the same for a select group of people.
I had started to understand my deeper desires after a happy accident. I had been working out at the campus gym during my freshman year. After lifting weights for about an hour, I had gone to wash myself up before heading out to meet a friend for dinner.
I had stowed my sweaty clothes in the small locker and bounded towards the showers. It had been Monday, so the gym hadn't been too crowded. I had pulled the plastic shower curtain from its partially-open position and slid into the stall. As I'd been lathering my hair with the shampoo from the dispenser mounted to the wall, a stray drop had snaked its way down to my right eye. I'd tried to rub it away with the back of my wrist since my hands had still been covered with suds.
Whoosh!
"Oh, shit!" I had heard from behind me.
I'd spun around towards the source of the words, feeling disoriented. I'd still had one hand clasping my scalp and the back of the other rubbing my cheek. I had seen a young man standing in front of me; his eyes had been wide with surprise and his mouth had gaped open.
I had frozen like a deer in the headlights; I hadn't been sure if it was a natural reaction or if I'd just been mirroring him. My heart had started to pound as the water had continued to cascade down my back. A rosy hue had spread across my cheeks - embarrassment beginning to bloom.
"I'm so sorry, dude," the towel-clad, muscular young guy had said. "I was totally spacing out and didn't hear the shower. Or, I mean, I heard the shower, but I thought it was the one next to this one. Of course, I thought this one was empty. I wouldn't have opened it if I didn't think it was empty."
His discomfort had been obvious in more ways than one. His eyes had kept darting from my eyes to my crotch. It was as if he hadn't wanted to look, but couldn't help himself. The embarrassment had started to change; it had been unlike anything I had ever felt. It had begun to feel warm... and alive.
"I didn't see a towel either," he'd offered. "Oh, I think it fell off the hook."
He'd awkwardly crouched forward and snatched the towel from where it laid crumpled on the ground. He'd then snagged it on the hook with a quick yank. He had stared at me blankly for a second; I'd remained silent.
