It Begins

Welcome to Toronto.

Toronto is a place of many things: great food, vintage fashion finds, growing architecture and real estate markets. Loft conversations and west-side walk-ups, the Trump tower that trumps all others. The girls are cute, the boys are fun, and the scene is hot.

Yes, Toronto is a place where you can meet a lover. You can hold them, kiss them, touch them. Wine one, dine one, grind one. But hardly keep one.

Meet the guys who are nailing your best friend, or the guys who are trying to nail you.

Meet the girls who have more than just cute outfits, and the ones with hidden agendas devised to take you to the cleaners.

Toronto can be a scary place sometimes--to the untrained eye, of course. It can be a bit overwhelming; so many things (and people) to see, hear, and do. So sometimes you need others to help you see things a little more clearly.

Meet Noah Sterling: mid-20s, a cute, intelligent epidemiologist with a flare for the guys who just want to jerk him around, among other things.

There's the fabulously most wanted Stacey Norris: in her late 20s, she's a tall, sexy drink of 100% woman. A night manager at a popular downtown resto/lounge/bar.

My name is Paul Livingston, your personal guide to Toronto's--and its 2.5 million partners'--sex lives.

I grew up with the idea that love was dead; that our generation is nothing more than a product of failed relationships, with our lovers and with ourselves. Well, that's a lie. There was a time when I thought love really existed. That was also when I used to watch Disney movies. Ariel ended up with Prince Eric, Pocahontas with John: the list is endless.

Then I grew up, started dating, and realized that no one gives a fuck anymore. I like to place the blame on an old foe-friend: the Internet.

The internet and all it brings--MSN, ICQ, and all those other internet match-making sites-- have deleted the need for courtship. At the click of a mouse, we can choose who can approach us, how they can approach us, and how much we want to keep them at a distance. For some, that can mean remaining thousands of miles away because, after all, being far away prevents it from being real.

There are many prototypes for the Internet Male: the sweet-talker, the full-of-shit exagerist, the NSA guy, the one who wants to meet right away, and the one who will never meet.

I have fallen victim to many of these guys in the past. And, like a true junkie, I keep turning to the net for more. But I was in love. I had a great boyfriend, a great apartment, and some pretty amazing friends. But this one addiction, always connected, kept me online with the men I had accumulated from chartrooms past. To blame the internet on the demise of my relationship is generalizing it a little too much.

Bryan and I were a wonderful couple. He loved me tremendously, but then things started to change. He lost his job, decided not to go back to work, and kept blaming me for keeping him from doing things to better his life. I had met Bryan at a time when everything seemed to be going wrong and, for the longest time, I regarded him as somewhat of a saviour. A part of me always felt guilty that I could be there to save him when he really needed it. But what was an especially troublesome part of our relationship was that my addiction could always find me--old lovers, ex-boyfriends. They were all within message-shot. Secretly and subtly taunting me to return to their arms. Until of course, I did.

BiGuy was the one man I thought I could change. He was also the one and only man I ever wanted to change after that. Rugged, inked, muscular but not muscled, and shaved bald, he was the man dream fucks are made of. But that's just it: he was a dream fuck, hardly a dream man. So when the opportunity called, I couldn't help but answer.

As I arrived at his place on Sunday night, I knew what I was in for, but I actually believed I wouldn't let it happen. But somehow, my addiction became reality.

Once it was all over, I couldn't look at myself in the mirror. I had always been taunted and I had always teased, but I had never given in. A day later, I flew to London with Bryan and it was as if nothing had ever happened. For a short while, for a week without Internet, I could live normally and happily.

A month later, Bryan and I broke up. There were problems, yes, but he didn't know about the one big problem. A few weeks after that, I stood at my sink brushing my teeth after Bryan came over to have sex. He was staring at me, and we were just talking about getting back together and it finally slipped out. Even though I only had underwear on, I had never felt more naked.

I figured that if he really wanted to get back, he had to know the whole truth. What had happened, why I did it [I'm not even sure I know], and that I was truly sorry. Right then and there, I knew it was the end of our relationship. In his eyes, I couldn't be trusted, so that meant I couldn't be forgiven, and this couldn't be forgotten.

A few weeks later, I was out on the town, doing things to keep busy so I wouldn't be reminded of my newly single status. Noah and Stacey were with me, all the while not trying to bring up Bryan and asking how I was doing because as far as they were concerned, it was for the best. That night, we ran into Lyle, an old actor friend Noah and I had known for years. It seemed news had not spread yet, so he was shocked to learn the news. He told me an interesting story, though, about how Bryan had commented to him that I was 'the one' and he thought we were destined to be together.

Over vodka martinis at Flow, I tried not to obsess but I couldn't help myself. If I was the one for him, maybe he was the one for me. I didn't want to waste 20 years dating the wrong men only to end up with the one I half-heartedly let leave me. Stacey was sucking on her cigarette and in between drags finally managed to tell me to get over it and that if he really was the one, I wouldn't have slept with BiGuy.

But can it really be that easy? If you're in love, and have a great relationship, and you know your significant other is the one, does that mean that we can't mistakes...with each other and in the relationship? Maybe we need the fights, the drama, the sadness, and all that stuff to really test our relationships and our love for one another. They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Maybe the same could be said about love. And if it is true, real, deep love, couldn't it, and shouldn't it, theoretically be able to surmount anything? Does it eventually just become business instead of pleasure?

It's unrealistic to think any relationship, even epic love stories à la Romeo and Juliet, could possibly be perfect, but I couldn't help but ponder: if you think he's the one, do you lose the fun?

An hour later, I found a pay-phone and told Bryan the night's happenings. And after twenty minutes of agonizing roundabout conversation, he finally cracked. And after everything we had been through, he said he was simply mistaken. I was not the one. It was officially over.

I walked outside to find Stacey and Noah anxiously relieved that I hadn't disappeared off with a complete stranger or passed out on some corner in my Gucci, but I was definitely bent out of shape.

I didn't get out of bed for the next three days.

So, just like that, it seems that life can happen over a few martinis and a few cigarettes, with a few good friends.