I met him on a blustery evening under the Cartier Bridge. The bicycle paths that ran along each side of the river were closed for the season. A layer of ice had already formed indistinct patterns on the surface of the water. But the trails were clear with barely any snow on the ground, and it was easy enough to duck underneath the leaden chain that stretched across the pathway entrance. Cars passed along the elevated road that ran parallel to the river, likely taxis with passengers returning home from downtown bars. There were no businesses or residential streets in this part of town though, not even the massive apartment buildings which dominated the skyline further north of the city. Bare trees and park benches marked this stretch of waterway, illuminated by the occasional lamp post.
It was past midnight, but the paths were not deserted. Soon after I began walking a man and his dog quietly passed me from behind. Again several minutes later another man appeared out of the dark, riding towards me on a bicycle. Steam puffed heavily out from between the folds of his scarf. As we approached each other he stared ahead, pretending not to notice me. I frowned and jammed my mittens into the pockets of my coat. He had said that we would meet along the way. I wondered at what point I would see him, or he would see me. How would he know who I am?
The temperature had dropped significantly since the holiday. My scratchy, woolen long johns did not do much to warm my thighs, which were quickly becoming numb from the wind. My toes throbbed from the cold inside my sneakers. When I kicked against the pavement to warm my feet the vibration traveled through my leg into my groin. The sudden stir caused my penis to strain against the fabric of my underpants, but I supposed that no one could see my growing erection through so many layers of clothing.
After some time the Cartier Bridge came into view. It was still covered in incandescent holiday lights, reflected by ice that had frozen vertically against the stone facade. I walked underneath the bridge and leaned against the handrail. Here the water continued to slowly flow downstream. It was here we met.
I looked absentmindedly around me, finally noticing a small structure that had been built into a recess beside the bridge. I had walked by it several times before in the daytime and assumed that the building housed electrical or else traffic equipment. The greasy window was dark. But inside I clearly saw the lit end of a cigarette moving from waist height to mouth. My heart throbbed loudly in my chest. I put a mitten on the handle of the door, but just before I could try it opened. Cigarette smoke wafted out into the night air. For a brief moment, I hesitated. I had never done anything like this before. 'What am I doing? Is this really him?' I wondered.
Then I stepped inside.
I could barely make out the dimensions of the room, but it was as small as it had looked on the outside. The outline of a man leaned against something near the door. We looked at each other. He was of average height and looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, though in the dim light I could hardly tell for sure. He had a thick beard that extended upward into a knit skullcap, and wore a heavy flannel jacket.
"You Michael?" he asked, finally.
"Yeah," I replied a little too excitedly, pulling off my mittens. Before I could say anything more, he threw his cigarette onto the floor and crushed it with a boot.
"Come here," he said.
I hesitated again, then knelt down on the floor in front of him. Wordlessly, he unbuttoned his blue jeans. Pulling the waistband of his shorts tentatively underneath his testicles, I smelled the distinctive odor of humid sweat emit from his crotch. I leaned forward into him, so much so that my nose nudged against a coarse mat of pubic hair. He looked at me, amused. I grinned back at him and wrapped my fingers around the shaft of his penis.
