My exposed cheeks were so frigid they had turned a bright cherry red, and my fingers were so numb they felt like they were going to fall just fall right off. Even by Montreal standards, this was considered cold. It was so cold on this mid-December night that few dared ventured out into this hell-storm of blistering wind frost and snow. Although the large outdoor thermometer near the Metro exit read '25c', it most certainly wasn't. In reality, it was easily minus twenty or maybe even minus thirty, or whatever temperature hell froze over at. I was so busy reading the thermometer that I slipped on a thin patch of ice, and smacked my spine hard against the sidewalk.
Thankfully nobody saw my clumsy fall, like that really mattered. I've fallen on icy sidewalks a million times before, and somehow it still hurts. This time it was even worse, and this time I somehow hit the left side of my face. Now my cheek wasn't just frozen, it was covered in a small dusting of the coldest snow I ever came into contact with. Just as I brushed the little bits of dry snow of my blue denims I clumsily fell against a parked car. Finally, I came to my senses and hobbled back onto the very icy sidewalk. Shit, these fucking pants are never going to dry! After letting out a couple more swear words, I finally came to my senses. Once again, I slipped forward and nearly smacked into another lamppost.
The big neon light cut through the blowing snow across the street, and reminded me why I even bothered going out. It was about as simple of name for a bar as possible. The big red neon sign simply flashed 'Dave' back and forth. I think it was actually named Dave's, but the neon S wasn't working so that's what I decided to go with. I read about 'Dave's somewhere online, but couldn't quite remember where. Most of the bars in the village catered to more of a younger crowd, and the more fashionable types who dressed to impressed. 'Dave' was known for big fat and sweaty men, or more politely known as 'Bears'. It seemed perfect to me, the type of place where an average fat guy like me would fit right in.
My heart beat just a little bit faster as I cautiously cut across the icy road. Once again, I slipped and fell into the middle of the deserted downtown street. Just as I crossed the street, I slipped once more. This time I caught myself on a lamppost. That was certainly another stupid idea, as my hand nearly froze to the cold metal. A few cautious steps later, I opened the door to 'Dave's' or 'Dave', nearly tumbling inside. Because it was so windy out, it took three good tries before I managed to get the door shut behind me.
Thankfully, the bar was so empty that nobody saw my very comical entrance.
The first thing I noticed was the smell. The whole place had a weird sweaty smell to it that seemed to linger. It smelled like a group of sweaty men who never showered or a classroom of boys after their phys Ed class. As I approached the bar the smell of heavy sweat got even stronger, and nearly caused me to gag. But I was already here, and it was way too cold to go back outside. Besides half my body had gone numb and badly needed a drink.
I sat down on a metal bar stool my body slowly began defrosting. My ear was the worst part of the process. It went from being frozen solid to feeling like it was on fire. My cheeks began slowly warming up until the color returned. As I placed my jacket on the empty bar stool next to me, I could feel my bruised up knee pressing against my jean leg. Finally, by the second shot of whiskey most of my frostbite had melted away. Even the smell of sweat wasn't bothering me anymore.
The blood started to return to my fingers, and my ear was no longer burning. Even my knee wasn't bothering me anymore. The bartender was poured me another drinks, and went back to chatting with an older guy at the edge of the bar. They paid no attention to me, because of how easily I fit in here. I hadn't been in a gay bar in years, and was terrified that I would 'caught' by someone I knew. Still nervous, I slowly drank down my second double- whiskey. I drank it just a little too fast, causing me to cough so hard it shot up to both my ears.
For the next hour or so, I just sat there and pretended to watch the hockey game playing above the small TV over bar. I could hear them screaming and cheering about the game and the other end of the bar, but paid no attention to them. I couldn't care less about hockey, but had to pretend to be doing something.
"Ca va mon ami?"
The man scared the living shit out of me! He came out of nowhere and sat down on the stool to the left of me. I was sitting pretty close to the main doors of the bar, and hadn't even seen him come inside. The big stocky man was attractive because he wasn't. He was the precise reason that I chose this specific gay bar. He even looked a bit like the guy on their main website. I didn't want to get all dressed up. I just wanted to be myself. It was a bar for the type of men who didn't dwell too much on what other men thought of them. I wanted to blend in and not be noticed, while looking at the other guys who also didn't want to be. Up until this moment it had worked, but now someone was actually talking to me.
The funny part was that we were dressed almost identically. He was wearing the same black long sleeve cotton shirt that I was. He was also wearing the same blue denim Jeans as I was. Although his jeans seemed to be on a lot tighter and he was wearing big belt with a gold brass buckle. It was almost like looking in the mirror, except that his head was clean-shaven and his goatee was neatly trimmed unlike mine. He probably weighed about two-hundred-twenty or so but he carried it well, especially in the chest and arms. I could feel my heart nearly thumping out of my chest, something about this guy was turning me on.
"Pas-mal." I finally replied.
Damn, that was some shitty French. Usually I could get by, and get through a few short sentences but I was too nervous. He just sort of smiled up and laughed at me. His teeth were big and white, and seemed oddly perfect. His eyes were green and sparkly and seemed to match the bottle of Heineken behind the bar next to us. Now, it was very clear that my French was shit. At this point, I wasn't even going to try anymore.
"You are speaking Henglish?" he asked.
"Yeah, sorry for my terrible French"
"It's Ok, at least you try."
He was close enough that I could smell his sweat, but it was a good type of sweat. It wasn't the weird heavy sweaty smell that seemed to linger all over the bar. He fumbled with the top of his beer bottle, and continued his introduction. He seemed so nervous and calm and the same time.
"My name is Jean-Francois, but you call me JF" He said, fondling the paper on the tip of his beer.
"I'm Dave"
