My Third Shot

Here it is!  The third and final shot!

I got back from my trip and was ready for this last shot!

I went to the Center and checked in.  This time, Center Stage was playing.  I remember seeing that film in the theatres in New York when I lived there.  It's cute.  Not as good as The Company by Robert Altman (I've been on an Altman kick lately).

So this time the same nurse called me in.  We talked for a bit, then she gave me the shot on the left side.

I felt it immediately.  OW!  Somehow my left side is more sensitive than my right. I felt it go in.  I felt my ass tighten up.  I immediately had problems walking.

Got back to my car.  Slid inside and drove home.

I was on deadline, so I went back home and started working immediately.  I forgot to take the benedryl pills I usually take.

The next day passes and I wake up sorer than ever.  My back is even a bit sore.  I don't think these are flu symptoms, but then again I'm too busy to deal with it.  I have to get at least 20 pages of writing done today.

I'm sitting down at my desk and having a hard time working because my ass is so sore.  I work through the night, finishing at midnight.  Then I go to bed.

I have night sweats.  I'm hot, then cold.  I feel miserable.

Then I remember...the benedryl!  I take one.  Then try and go back to bed.

I wake up.  Take another.  I have slept horribly.  This is the worst!

Go back to bed.  Then wake up three hours later.  I have slept more and feel better, but I'm still having to be delicate getting in and out of bed.

Finally, the feelings start to dissipate.  My ass gets less sore on Thursday.  And by Friday, I'm totally good.

Thank God that didn't happen every week!  Yikes!

I feel like Susan Sarandon after chemo in Stepmom.  But not really.  If that's all that happened, then I'm cool.

But I'm not out of the woods yet.  I still have to abstain for another week.  And I have to go back in six weeks to do a check of my numbers.

Thank Goodness this part of it is over.  Now I can go back to being poked in the ass in a good way.

The Hook Up that Didn't Happen

Okay, so one small story about my trip to Northern California over a week ago.

I met a guy.  He was smart and sweet and funny.  He had a dirty streak.  He was clever.  In any other situation, we would have totally hooked up.

But we didn't.  Totally because of my syphilis.

We were flirty.  He knew I had a boyfriend.  But he seemed like he would have been cool with that.  That isn't why we didn't hook up.

In typical situations, I am like a dog with a bone.  I will make something happen if I like someone.  I go in for the kill.  I'm a closer.  I close the deal.  I would have found an opportunity to get him alone or something.  I like the thrill of the hunt.

But I didn't make the effort.

We did have cigarettes together.

And we talked about films and plays.

We even referred to one another as we were talking to friends.  Like we mentioned our conversations in other conversations.

But we didn't even kiss.

Am I regretful that nothing happened?  No.  I do actually think it will make us better friends.

We friended each other on Facebook.

I think it would have been fun.  I think he would have been killer in bed.  But I realize now that the fun and the conversation was enough.  And it might not have happened in the same way because I would have been distracted  by trying to do the cat and mouse thing.  Instead we did the "two adults talking thing."

We even walked around together the next day during this festival in the town we were staying in.

So I can't say I don't have great memories.  I can't say that it wasn't fun and flirty.

I just didn't have his dick in my mouth.

And surprisingly, it didn't take away from the experience.

I'm as shocked as anyone.

My Second Shot

It was time to go in for shot number two.

The first one was PAINFUL!  My ass was sore for days.  It was hard to walk for a few hours afterward.  But I didn't have any flu liked symptoms.  I popped a benedryl and seemed to be all right.

I went back to the Gay and Lesbian Center, checked in and waited around.  This time, Stepmom, the film with Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon was on.  I had brought a biography of Robert Altman to read, but this film seemed a hell of a lot more interesting.  The film is about a couple who have been divorced.  The ex-wife finds out she has terminal cancer and realizes her ex's younger fiancé, is going to be the one raising the kids when she's gone.  A real tearjerker.  And perfect to distract me as I'm getting my second treatment to cure me of syphilis.

The thing about the center is that they call your name just to check the spelling of your name.  Meaning, they call you in for something, then they have to sit down again.  It's not like they call you once, get all the papers filed, give you the shot, then make you go home.  Here's what I mean.  I'm watching the movie...

Susan Sarandon and Ed Harris are the divorced couple.  She's found out she's got cancer, but she's not telling anyone.  So she's just being extra bitchy to Julia Roberts, which I have to admit is great.  She gets her daughter tickets to Pearl Jam because Julia suggested it, but she wants all the credit for it since she knows she's not going to be around forever.  (I could cry right now!)  Ed has already proposed to Julia...the two women become competitors.  Julia's actually nice, it's Susan that's the bitch.  Then--

They call me in.

"What's your birthdate?"  I tell the guy, this big burly black dude with a sweet face.

"Have you had any flu symptoms?"  No.

"Have you had any sexual contact?" No.

"Okay, that's all I need to know.  Go have a seat and they'll call you."  Disappointed, I go back to the waiting area.

Julia and the daughter are bonding.  Susan has to ask Julia to pick up her son from a birthday party because she's got an interview in the city.  Julia is driving, loses the hand written directions in the wind (this is how long ago the film was made), and calls the publishing house where Susan said she had her meeting.  The operator tells her that Susan hasn't been there since she quit 12 years earlier.  Julia's pissed and goes off on Susan.  Susan lights up a joint.  Tells Julia the truth.  Then she's got to tell Ed.  And they've got to tell the kids.  The boy cries.  The daughter's pissed.  Then they dance around in their PJs to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough".  Everything's better.  Julia's becoming a better mom, which both saddens and relieves Susan.  Julia's a photographer in this movie, so she--

My name gets called again.  Thank God!  I was about to cry.  I get up and meet the nurse.  We go over a few questions.  Then she asks me if I mind if the penicillin is cold.  I tell her no.  She says she has to leave the needle in there longer.  She offers to warm it up.  Then she sends me back out to the lobby.

Julia takes pictures of the kids and Susan in warm family moments.  Susan's sewing a memory quilt with the pictures.  Julia blows all of the pictures up and does cut outs.  Then Susan comes home from a particular hard trip to the hospital to see a memorial garden of all the pictures. 

She calls me back in.

We decide to do the second shot on the right cheek, since the first one was on the left.  She pokes me and then is done.  What?  The other guy took so much longer.  She says that everyone says that.  I make a joke about him wanting to look at my ass.  She doesn't laugh.  I pull my pants up and leave.

No Vacation Sex

I'm catching up on posting because I was out of town for five days, then I had a work project that came up.  So I'm going to try and catch up in "real time."

October 10, 2013

I'm out of town, visiting friends in Northern California.  Usually, the rule in our relationship is that if we're out of town, we can hook up with other people.  We have what you could call an open relationship.  Here are the rules:

• Oral and hand jobs only (this has included eating out - I like it, but the boyfriend doesn't).
• No anal.
• Gym hook ups are allowed.
• We talk about it.

Part of me was a little worried about how I would handle not being able to hook up.  I'm sure the boyfriend was wondering the same thing.  But here's the thing I didn't really know at the time: I'm not a sex addict.

I think it's a term that's thrown around a lot.  I do believe that some people are compulsive about having sex.  And I certainly have spent more time that I needed to looking for it.  But I'm not jonesing for cock.  Some guys get labeled a sex addict because they fuck around.  Hell, I think most guys do or want to.  I think it's a rare male bird that wouldn't fuck around on his wife or girlfriend if he had permission.  Breaking a marriage vow and being a sex addict are two separate things.  And in the gay community, that word is even taking on a certain connotation.  But since that term's in the zeitgeist, there have been times that I've wondered if that was what was going on for me.  Because I do have a big sexual appetite.  

But I have been abstaining and not having a huge problem with it.  I masturbate.  In the first three or four days of abstinence, I jacked off probably three times a day.  And it has evened off since then.  I've even had a few instances where I didn't jack off for several days.  

Since I have been near a college campus, I have definitely looked at hot guys.  But I haven't been tempted to visit a bathhouse or anything like that.  I did go to the gym, but not at a time when anything was going on.  It would have been fun to watch, but not necessary.  

I thought I would be missing out on something, but it turns out that I wasn't.  Maybe this is supposed to be a turning point for me.  My relationship to my libido is changing.  Who knew?

No Vices Left

• I had a good night's sleep.  
• My skin looks better than it has in a while.
• My bowel movements are good.
• I'm losing weight.

I'm feeling the positive effects of this forced cleanse where I'm not drinking alcohol or having sex.  I'm also getting a lot of writing done.

I am using this opportunity to eat better.  I'm starting out my day with oatmeal and almond milk.    I have been eating a lot of quinoa and brown rice with veggies and protein.  Trying to keep away from the processed foods.

I'm running every day.  And I try to get as much rest as I can.

I'm seeing this as an opportunity to decide how I want my physical life to be.  Because I had to cut out two vices, I'm living a healthier lifestyle all around.  I'm looking at the choices I make.

I had been thinking about giving up drinking for a while.  It doesn't seem to serve me in the same way when I was in my 20s.  But when I was in my 20s I was also about bad decisions.  Going home with a strange guy and waking up with a hickey on my shoulder.  Now I just have a sore ass from where the penicillin shot was.  Once when I did a major cleanse (not prompted by getting an STD), I gave up caffeine permanently.  I don't know if I'll give up booze, but I'm definitely not thinking I need to drink as much as I do.  I have a very good friend who has been going through a period of drinking a lot and finally gave it up because it was making him mean-spirited.

The funny thing is that I'm going to visit my friends Veronica and James this weekend who aren't drinking.  My friends Victor and Steve have also given up drinking for a while.  So this decision seems very much supported by my close friends.

I had started running again because I love to run.  It gives me life.  I need to do more cardio and it's an activity I love.  I also use the time to meditate on a phrase, a mantra if you will.

I'm going to sleep earlier because Keith has gone on tour.  So I don't keep a musician's hours and I'm in bed by 11 or 12 and up by 8 or 9.  I'm giving my body time to rest and recuperate from the exercise and from the writing I'm doing.

When you introduce good choices (or eliminate the bad ones), you make more good choices and even better ones.

Although I did have three cigarettes yesterday.  So at least I still have something to work on.

I'm going to a big pool party out of town this weekend.  I will be surrounded by very fit, hunky guys.  So that's an extra motivation.  I want my body to look as good as possible.  These guys do a major two hour boot camp every Saturday in addition to regular workouts.  So I'm not going to compete on that level.  But I don't want to show up all bloated and gross.  I might be doing a spiritual cleansing, but I'm still a pretty vain person.

On the Road Again

Keith headed back on tour.  What normally happens when Keith heads on tour is that we're both free to fool around with other guys.  Since I'm undergoing penicillin treatments for my syphilis, I won't be doing that.  And since he's still waiting to find out for sure if he has it or not, he won't be doing that either.

I suppose we could just watch other guys jack off and jack off with them.  That would technically be okay.

But I want to try something.  My friend Susan and I got on the phone the night Keith went out for two and a half weeks on tour.  The funny thing is that Keith is gone just about the exact amount of time I'll be abstaining from both booze and boys.  Oh, Universe...you are pretty clear when you are trying to send a message through.  I hadn't told Susan about the syphilis.  So we chatted about it and she said something interesting.  When she was single she had a lot of sex.  And she spent a lot of time focused on sex.  Looking for it, thinking about it, having it.

"You won't have your time eaten up so much by looking for or having sex."

I hadn't thought about the amount of time it takes to schedule a hook up either on Grindr or Craig's List or by cruising the gym or the Korean spa.  It does take a lot of time and energy.  And it's distracting.  I won't have that for the next few weeks.

So here's the question being posed:

How much of a role does sex play in my life?

I am still incredibly turned on and attracted to my boyfriend.  We have a hot sex life.  We also have a good amount of variety outside of our time together.  But I have noticed lately that there has been a struggle around how focused we are on each other.  There has been some jealousy lately over Taylor and the fact that I spend time with Taylor while Keith's out of town.  Although, for the record, Keith has hooked up with Taylor alone more than I have.

Not that anyone's keeping score, of course.  But Keith has an issue with it.  He thinks I'm trying to carve out some private time with Taylor.  But I could have said the same thing when I didn't have Taylor's cell number and when I was out of town they'd hook up.

My friend Victor said that it was becoming competitive and that we should cool off the time with Taylor, at least separate from each other.  And this was before I found out I had syphilis.  Vic was right.

And so was Susan.  Sex was taking up way too much time when I need to be focused on more important things like my career and my relationship.  So I decided that this would be a good time to look at how important sex is to me.

This time that Keith's on the road is a time for self-reflection and cleansing of certain behaviors.  I am going to treat it like a spiritual retreat of sorts.  I want to start looking at what is absolutely not necessary.

And I'm sure I'll have a lot more to say as time goes on.  But so far I'm only on Day 3.

Retribution

Check List:

• Got my diagnosis.
• Called my boyfriend.
• Called the other guy I've been fooling around with.
• Got my first treatment (out of three).
• Took the other guy to get tested.

Woke up the next day, back in the nook with Keith, my boyfriend.  Feeling like today might be a good day to get some work done.  Keith rolls over and asks me if I want to get breakfast.  Ooh, that sounds good.  A healthy breakfast to start the day.  He smiles and gets out of bed.

"Great.  Then we can stop at the center so I can get tested before."

Right.  See, I took Tyler to go get tested.  So it's only right that I go with Keith, my actual boyfriend while he gets tested.  But to be fair, Tyler doesn't have a car right now and I told him I'd take him.  And more accurately, he was just hitching a ride.  It's not that I don't want to take Keith or that I don't want to be supportive.  Of course, I have no problem going with him while he's getting tested.  But I wish he had just said, "Hey, can you come with me to get tested?"  Or:

• "You got me into this shit.  You're coming with me."
• "I could use the moral support."

But instead, I get a bait and switch.  Because on the way to the center, I innocently ask where he wants to go to get food.  "We'll see if we have time."  I hate the bait and switch.  Listen, I should go with you.  I would go with you.  But don't trick me into it.  And don't think that you have to trick me into it to get me to go.  It just seems a bit dishonest.

So we get to the center, he fills out the paper work and he goes and talks to a counselor.  He comes out with a lot of facts information.

• There's a 60 day incubation period.
• You get it from any kind of touch.
• He needs to get a shot anyway, as a precaution

And he's sulking.  "I can't believe I have to get a shot!  Even if I don't know if I have it or not.  They don't want me to wait.  And I don't even know what they're giving me!"  Amber alert.

"Penicillin.  They're giving you penicillin."

"Oh."  With all of that information, did they fail to mention that it's just penicillin?

"Are you allergic?"

"No."  Can we get lunch now?  I'm starving. 

I can't believe that I stayed as calm as I did, considering that I thought we were eating a couple of hours ago.  I'm crabby when I haven't eaten.  Crabby's actually too polite a word.  I'm a raving lunatic.  

So we drive back over the hill to where we live so we can eat nearby and so he can get to his drum lessons.  I understand that my boyfriend is frustrated that he has to get the shot.  But he's starting to freak out for no reason.  He doesn't need to go there.  I'm going through the same thing.  Maybe I need a little more support and consoling.  After all, Victor was the one who called me to see how it went.  Keith didn't call me to see how I was doing until much later.  But then I think he was just calling to see how much it hurt.

Keith's an amazing boyfriend.  But he's not always great in moments of crisis like this.  He wasn't good when my Dad died.  I give him a pass because he's still got a lot of issues with family since he was adopted.  I'm used to consoling myself, but it would be nice to get a little consoling from him.  He's a loving, caring boyfriend in every other way.  And he's totally obsessed with who I've told.  I told Steve and Victor.  I told my friend Susan.  I didn't tell my Mom.  I told my Brother.

"What did you brother say?"

My brother's field of expertise is infectious diseases.  He's a researcher.  I wasn't going to tell him because I was having a hard enough time as it was.  But of course he asked me how things were going.  And I couldn't lie.  So I told him.  And my brother said to me, "Don't ever not share things with me.  It sounds like you took care of it.  You're being responsible.  And you'll change your behavior if you need to.  Thank God it wasn't more serious."  And I told my friend Dave who's a priest and has been a mentor to me: "It's like a cold.  You're taking the penicillin and then it'll be out of your system."  I was getting a lot of support from these other people, but not as much from my boyfriend, who I know blames me for it.

I started thinking about this 60 day incubation period.  That would have put him on tour and me in Portland, visiting my brother.  I went to a bathhouse.  I could have gotten it there.  I start to feel bad.  Then I remember that Keith also went to bathhouses in Seattle and Vancouver, when he was on tour in the Northwest at the same time.  So actually, he could have given it to me as well.  I decide to hold on to this information if I need it.  No need to pick a fight now.

Of course, in my later research, I find out that the incubation can actually only be 1-3 weeks, which means there's a good likelihood I got it while he was out on tour this last time.  And that's fair.  I am not looking to place the blame on Keith.  I just wish he would acknowledge that either one of us could have passed it on.  But he's got this idea in his head because I'm more vocal and free about my sexuality, that some how that makes me dirtier than him and more at risk.  More dangerous and unsafe. But I know that I can be sexually liberated and totally cautious, which I am mostly.  

But Keith's still closeted to a bunch of people, including his parents.  And with that goes shame.  And I think there's some internalized homophobia going on there.  So when something like this happens, he blames the "gayer" of the two of us.  I'm not saying that I don't have blame.  But I wish he would acknowledge that there's no "gayer" one in this relationship.  We're both as gay as the other and we are both capable of giving an STD to the other.

But I decide not to unleash all of this on him.  I just pick up the tab for lunch.

Rewind...

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My First Shot

I got up early the next morning because I knew I had to get ready to get my first shot of penicillin.

For those who don't know much about syphilis, here's some info from the CDC.

http://www.cdc.gov/std/syphilis/stdfact-syphilis.htm

I'm all about a public service announcement.  The more you know...

Like I said, I was up early to shower and get ready for my appointment.  Then I get a text from Tyler wondering "what's up?"  I told him I was getting ready.  And then he says, "I thought we were going together."  Oh, to be twenty five!  Yes, I told him I would take him because I felt so bad.  But he didn't confirm with me, but since it wasn't too late, I would swing by and pick him up.

He seemed in better spirits today.  Maybe he had more of a sense of humor about it.  Maybe he was drunk.  But either way, I was happy that I wasn't dealing with someone who was freaking the fuck out. I didn't need to manage his feelings, Keith's feelings and my own.  Actually, I shouldn't have been managing anyone else's feelings.

We get to the Gay and Lesbian Center and we both check in.  Tyler goes through the questions on the forms and constantly asks for my advice on how he should answer.  I know it makes him nervous because he's not out to a lot of people.

I'm thinking the same thing anyone in their right mind would think: How can you be 25, in LA and cute and not out of the closet?  In 2013?  WTF?

So I go in to get my shot and while I'm waiting, I get a phone call from Victor.  We follow the following points:

• How are you feeling?
• Did you make Keith feel guilty because you shouldn't shoulder the entirely of the blame on yourself?
• Anyone cute there?

The nurse comes in and starts explaining what I should know.  The nurse is burly with piercing blue eyes and if I wasn't so distracted by my syphilis, I'd have a boner right now.  I immediately concoct a "College Boy Physicals" scenario in my head.  I'm not going to post a link, you'll just have to Google it yourselves if you're curious.

He's smiling a lot to put me at ease.  Of course, since my boyfriend won't touch me really, I start to flirt.  I don't know his name, so let's just call him Hercules.  Hercules explains that since we don't know when I was infected and it has been over a year since my last STD testing, I need to have three shots that are administered once a week for the next three weeks.  He double checks that I've told my sexual partners.  I assured him that I had.  We schedule my next two appointments.  He asks if I've seen any symptoms.  I tell him that I haven't noticed any sores, but I haven't really inspected my anus lately.  I want to get a laugh or an inappropriate advance out of him.  Nothing.  Hercules is all business.  

He tells me that I can't drink or have sex for three weeks.  The sex part I'm down with, I assure him.  I just double check on the drinking because another guy who checked me in had told me I just had to wait through the first treatment.  Hercules assured me that the other guy was wrong.  And he's so buff that I believe him.  He also tells me that I will be retested in six weeks after my last treatment to make sure that my numbers go down.  He mentions that he's going to put a shot in my ass, and that he will alternate cheeks, so that we'll start and end with the left cheek over the course of three treatments.  

I nod.  He looks at me.  I look at him.  He smiles.  I smile back.  I take a deep breath.  He leans in.

Oh, Jesus...oh, Jesus...it's happening...

"Do you have any other questions?"  He looks at me square in the face.

"Is it time to pull my pants down now?"  Hercules nods.  I turn around and drop trou.  What I thought was flirting was really his reaction to my stalling.  

"It may hurt a bit, but just relax."  I put all of my weight on my right leg so that my left leg and butt cheek are relaxed and not tense.  I don't know what made me think to do that, but I might have read that somewhere.  I wanted Hercules to know that I knew what I was doing.  

"Ready?"  I nod, but all he sees is the back of my head.  This scenario would have been so sexy and gotten me off if this was "College Boy Physicals."  SIDE NOTE: When Hercules told me to pull my pants down, I refrained from having my pants around my ankles.  I at least have some dignity left.

"Take a deep breath, you'll feel a little poke."  I took a deep breath..."And let it out slowly.  As I let it out, I felt it.  It was like a big pinch or a knotted up muscle in my ass cheek.  "Take another one and let that out slowly."  The pain was full on for real.  OUCH!  FUCK!  "Does it hurt?" I nod.  "All done."  I pull my pants up and turn around.

Hercules' advice to me was to do legs if I was going to the gym later or to run.  It helps the muscles, apparently.  Disappointed that I didn't get any action, I limped out of the exam room.  I walked back into the waiting area where Tyler was still waiting and I was limping.  I sat down.  I don't remember a thing Tyler said before he was called out himself for his exam and tests because I kept shifting around trying to get comfortable.

I finally had to stand up and shift the weight on my leg.  Tyler had had enough when I literally bent over.  He was in fits of laughter.  It looked like I was ready to take it from behind.  But that's the only position that seemed comfortable.  When Tyler went in for his exam, I had to walk it out a bit.  Then I looked around.  There were actually some cute guys in the waiting room.  When Tyler returned, I pointed them out.

I figured that these guys were being responsible and getting tested.  They would know what they have, if anything.  And they were cute.  We went around trying to figure out what they had.  I turned on my Grindr (at Tyler's insistence) to see who was on.  And there was a guy who was on Grindr who Grindr said was 53 feet away.  He was more like 10 feet away.  I quickly clicked off so he wouldn't think we were compadres.  It was bad enough there was one slutty guy on Grindr in the waiting room at the Gay and Lesbian Center.

Sorry if that was judgey.  Who am I to talk?

My Guilt Hiatus

Being a bit unsure about Keith's reaction, I decided to head over to see my two close friends Victor and Steve.  I dogsat for them the week before and I had to pick up some food I left in the fridge.  I get to their place and Steve opens the door.  He reaches out to hug me.

"I have syphilis."

He puts his arms down.  And then laughs.  He tells me to come in and tell him the story.  I explain that I  told Keith and that he seemed a bit nervous about it, but he was acting like nothing was wrong.  Tyler was easier to read.  He kind of freaked out.  But what did I expect?  He's twenty five!  He's only been in LA less than a year and he's possibly contracted his first STD.  He's from a farm in Pennsylvania.  Or at least from a farm town.  The point is, he's a small town guy and this probably feels like a big deal.  I, of course, explain to him that it's easily treatable and that it goes away.  But that it's probably easier just to go get it checked out.  He's got lots of questions and I do my best to answer them.  I also remind him that it's good that he had contact with someone that he's in contact with.  And I also remind him that we don't know how I got it.  I'm just the one who got checked out first.  Not that I'm blaming him, but I don't want to just seem like the whore bag who got what he deserved.

Actually, I don't feel like that at all.  It's not a caviler statement.  It's actually surprising.  I grew up Catholic and there's a lot of guilt that goes along with that.  Whenever something bad happened in my life, I really used to think it was God punishing me.  I know that seems silly, but I had this belief well into my 30s.  That's what sixteen years of Catholic School education will get you (grade school, high school and college).

But I noticed something.  When I got the diagnosis, I listened to it and then made a plan.  I made my appointment to go get treated for the next day.  I told my boyfriend.  I told our friend we both have hooked up with.  I didn't run away from it.  I didn't shove it under the rug and I didn't try to pretend that it didn't exist.  I acknowledged that it was a problem and I tried to solve the problem.  I know that doesn't seem like that big a deal to most people, but it was how I lived most of my life.

But I was hit with a triple whammy a few years ago: I broke up with a boyfriend of five years, I left a job I was stuck in for seven and then my Dad got sick.  So in a flash (really over a period of seven months), my life had completely changed.  In a nutshell (because that life change was the subject of another blog I wrote), I grew back into myself.  I had given most of myself to other people my whole life.  In another nutshell, I had Daddy issues.  And because of the affection I wasn't given as a kid by my father, I wanted to be taken care of.  It's funny the messages that the Universe sends to you if you pay attention.  The Universe was telling me that I had grown up in handling my business.

Steve and Victor are two friends of mine who both emotional touchstones for me, but they're also comic relief.  Every single inappropriate thing you could say about my condition, they said.  And that allowed me to start laughing, which put me at ease.  I happened to come over on a day when they were cleaning up their house and going through things.  Steve handed me a gift certificate for See's Candies that he wasn't going to use.

"It's a whole pound of chocolate.  Take it."

"You sure?"  He hands it to me.  "Thanks.  It'll feed my syphilis."

With these two, I can laugh about things I normally can't laugh about.  My dying father was at a Thanksgiving dinner at their house and he was exchanging recipes with Steve's Mom.  Victor joked that he was trying to hit on her in the kitchen and that Steve and I would soon be stepbrothers.  And in this case, laughter really was the best medicine because I needed to let myself off the hook a bit.  Victor, ever the wise one, reminded me that I needed to remind Keith that I could have very easily gotten it from him.  Because he knew that Keith was going to try to lay on the guilt.

More than anything, these two are incredibly protective of me.  So I headed home with my food, a certificate for See's chocolates to ease my syphilis and a new recyclable bag.

I dropped my stuff off at home, then headed to a gig that Keith had that night.  I got there at the break and started talking with friends.

"Oh, Keith said you weren't coming."  I knew something was up.  I went inside the club and looked for my boyfriend.  He was talking to some folks and didn't come over right away.  When he finally came over, he said, "Oh, I didn't realize you were coming."  I reminded him that I had mentioned to him that I wanted to come, since it was his last gig until his tour.  He didn't seem that happy to see me.  He seemed standoffish.

But we came home and I tried to ignore it.  I had made some food and I was doing dishes.  He came over and blew me some kisses.  I thought that was sweet.  I relaxed.  I felt like an idiot for how silly I was being.  Of course, he still loved me and didn't think I was some big, blotchy, stained disease.  I went over to give him a kiss.

He pulled away.  I exploded.

Or rather imploded.  I went into a series of, "That's fine.  No, seriously.  I get it.  I get it.  You don't want to touch me.  I totally understand.  That's your prerogative."

"What do you expect me to do?  I have a weak immune system."

That didn't help.  He blamed me.  I knew it.  Now it was out in the open.  I fought back with, "It's not like we were doing different things.  We were doing the same things.  It's just that I found out about it first.  Either one of us could have given it to the other."

He walked away.  I let him.  I didn't care.  I was pissed.  So I finished my dishes and went back into the bedroom.  He was getting ready for bed.  I got ready for bed.  Left my t-shirt on and stayed on my side of the bed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I told him I didn't want him to catch anything since if we touched, he was going to get something.

"Well, I already probably have it, so it doesn't matter."  Oh, so now it didn't matter.  After he made me feel like total shit.  Where's my Scarlet Letter?

He put the small orange pillow down on his chest.  The one that separates skin from skin, even on a normal night.  I have coarse hair and it gets in his face.  He just lets the pillow rest on his chest.  Like it's that easy.

I put my head on his chest.  It is that easy?  Yes, it's that easy.  I was in no mood to sleep on the other side of the bed.  I closed my eyes.

Don't No Body Bring Me No Bad News

I have syphilis.

Whoa!  That's a great big admission.  Am I ready to blog about this?  Okay.  Before I lose my nerve...

Let me clear some details out from the get go.  I am a gay man.  I am a sexually active gay man.  You may have deduced that based on the fact that I have syphilis.  Listen, we hardly know each other, so let's not start judging now.

First impressions...

I have a boyfriend and we're in an open relationship.  We're both fairly careful.  But apparently not careful enough.  See?  I already said it, so you don't have to.  I'm cutting you off at the pass.

We decided that we want to start having unprotected sex with each other.  We're both consenting adults, who don't have anal sex with anyone other than each other.  We've been together for two years. We're committed to each other and sex without condoms feels good.  I'm not advocating for barebacking.  But we feel like it's a deeper part of our commitment to each other.

So we decided to be responsible and both get tested.  Actually, we've been talking about it for a while now and just haven't gotten around to doing it.  My boyfriend, Keith (that's what we're calling him), had to have some blood work because he was having some skin issues.  He had the lab do a whole round of testing on HIV and STDs.  He came out clear.

So I decided that I would get my tests done so he could start cumming inside of me.

Let's get something out of the way here before we get in too deep.  I'm crass.  Yes, I could have said something more romantic, like--

Make Love?

Sure.  I could have said that we want to be tested so we can make love without condoms.  But that's not what two fit, healthy, and in-love individuals say to each other while they're in the throes of passion.  You say, "I want you to come inside of me."  That's it!

He went on tour.  He's a musician.  And I decided that while he was gone, I would get tested so by the time he got back, I'd be in the clear and he could...

Oh, just say it!  You've come this far already!

Come inside of me.  Doesn't that sound inviting?

For some reason, I decided to wait until he got back.  The day after he got back.  I told Keith that I had gotten tested because I wanted us to have unprotected sex.

Thank you!  All I'm asking for is a little less vulgarity.

People often talk about the little voice inside of one's head.  That's my little voice.  The one in the italics.

Hello!  It's nice to be heard.

I felt great about myself.  I felt like I was doing something responsible.

The guy at the free testing center for the Gay and Lesbian Health Center had a series of questions for me.  The normal ones that he asks everybody.

• How many sexual partners have you had in the past month?
• Do you have a boyfriend?
• Do you have anal sex?
• Do you use poppers?
• Why have you and your partner decided to wait two years before having unprotected sex?

"Is that an official question?" I asked.

"No. Just curious."  

I didn't realize that the counselors could ask questions just because they wanted to know.  But I answered anyway.  "Well..."  Okay, I tried to answer.  "You know...I don't really know.  It just felt like time.  I wish I had a better answer."

It was a great question.  If we've been together for two years, why haven't we done this sooner?  With both of my ex-boyfriends that I had unprotected sex with, we didn't wait longer than six months.  But anal sex hasn't really been a huge part of our relationship.  So it didn't seem like too big of an inconvenience (a word you'll be hearing a lot more of), so we haven't gotten around to it before this.  He's fucked me a good number of times.  I fucked him once.  In Hawaii, on a big family vacation.  We've talked a lot about it, but with his gigging schedule and my...well, my...I seriously don't have a good answer to that.  We waited until now.  That's all I can say.

I got the rapid test that they give you by swabbing the inside of your mouth.  That came back negative. 

I had blood drawn.  That is supposed to test for the rest of the STDs and it is a better indicator of HIV.  Although, the rapid test would have me cleared for up to three months ago.

They told me they would only call me if they had news.  "No news is good news, in this case."  

Famous last words.

Flash forward five days and I was having lunch by myself.  I'm reading Insatiable by the food critic Gael Greene, which is all about being insatiable with love and food.  How prophetic.

I had missed a phone call from a 323 number an hour before and had gotten a voicemail.  I figured it was someone calling about work.  I'm an out of work writer who is doing some freelancing on the side right now.  I dial my voicemail and punch in my passcode.

"This is Johnny from the Center.  I'm calling with results."

Uh oh.  I didn't even think about what it could be.  I didn't run the last of the STDs I could have or if I was HIV positive.  I just called him back right away.

"Your test for syphilis came back positive."  Johnny explained to me that meant I would have to have three shots of penicillin given once a week for three weeks.  I should start my treatment tomorrow...blah blah blah...could I come in tomorrow?

I said yes.  We decided on a time.  Johnny told me that it was treatable and curable.  I confirmed that I didn't have any symptoms.  He told me that I should let my boyfriend know right away.  He also told me that I should let anyone I've had sex with know.  

Here's the problem.  I'm in an open relationship.  I've been blowing guys right and left since my boyfriend was out of town.

That's not true.

I'm just being funny.

Be honest.

I had oral sex with some guys when my boyfriend was out of town.  Because I was on Grindr, I didn't really have a way of letting these guys know.  But I had hooked up recently with a friend of Keith's and mine.  Let's call him Tyler.  Tyler and I have hooked up twice without my boyfriend.  But Keith fully knows what's going on.  Keith has hooked up with Tyler more than I have without me.  Tyler's twenty-five.  I knew that he was going to freak out.

I called Keith first, of course.  It didn't go poorly. But I could tell that Keith was being measured.  He was concerned and worried.  I told him he needed to go get tested and that we would talk about it later. Keith told me he loved me before he got off the phone.  I appreciated that.  But I also know that Keith doesn't always tell me he loves me when we're fighting or he's mad at me.  So I know that Keith is just saying it because he feels like it's the thing he should say.  I know he's being supportive and he does love me, but this strikes me.  And it scares me a little bit.  

Keith's an amazing boyfriend and incredibly patient.  Have I worn his patience down?  Is this the straw that breaks the camel's back?

I can't tell because he's being way too nice to me.