I didn’t have classes Tuesdays, and so would escape campus Monday evenings and stay over at F’s midtown apartment. I didn’t yet understand Toronto’s geography, the city was still a labyrinthine playground, I could only trace the route from Davisville station to his apartment. Otherwise I had no idea where I was. There was nothing extraordinary about our dates, but my inexperience made everything seem new and thrilling. A man with his own apartment and car. Exotic German bath products, LPs of Sondheim musicals. The still-unfamiliar electric charge of sex with a man. Touching, kissing, giving myself permission. My naïve enthusiasm was undoubtedly part of what appealed to F, but it also must have contributed to his struggle in finding a way to share his true age with me, or that he had just learned he was HIV positive.