Alright, so here's the story I was alluding to over the past couple of days.
I have herpes. That's not the story, though. I have to admit that it looks strange out there in the open on my blog, as I've only previously told a select few lovers and friends... but by the same token, I've had it for 16 years now and talked about it in the book and been interviewed about it in Glamour Magazine back in the mid-90s, so I guess it's not all that secret. It's also not such a big deal to me anymore.
I didn't get herpes from being careless or acting like a "slut." I got herpes from being date raped when I was passed out drunk. I spent a lot of years beating myself up about it, much like Miss Britt did, but eventually I let it go. Yes, I was drunk, yes, it was wrong, but it happened and I dealt with it. The part I didn't let go of for a long time was that little matter of a permanent reminder of that night's events.
I'll admit it - I haven't been honest with everyone I've slept with about it. I know that I should've been, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that I never went within 10 feet of anyone when I had the inkling of an outbreak. To the best of my knowledge I've never given it to anyone else (knock wood. Oh god, I just typed that and realize I should say that pun was so not intended, but I'm keeping it.) Small consolation, I know, but when you feel like you're going to be left untouched and alone for the rest of your life because you're tainted, telling someone about your STD can be an incredibly daunting obstacle.
But after my last relationship split up I decided it was wrong of me to tell men after I'd slept with them. The only time I'd told someone before hand was because I was avoiding sleeping with them, and I knew spilling those beans would put the kibosh on his plans (that story is in the book and greatly amuses me to this day.) So when I was going through my self-destructive phase in the wake of my last break-up, I hooked up with a guy I had dated a couple times around the time when my ex and I met. We went on a couple dates and he spent the night a few times with no shenanigans, so I found myself completely unprepared the night he started making The Official Move. So I stopped him.
"Before you go down there, we need to talk," I said to him.
"Okay."
"Okay." I took a deep breath. "So, I want to make you aware of the fact that I have an STD."
"Which one?" he asked.
"Herpes," I said, and forged ahead before he could say anything. "At the moment I'm clean, and it's been a long, long time since I've had an outbreak. And I would never go near you if I were having an issue, but I wanted to let you know before we moved further so you could make an educated decision for yourself."
He processed what I'd said for a moment, then said, "I appreciate that. And I admit that I don't know a lot about it, so I'd like to do some research for myself so I understand what I'm getting into, and then we can take it from there."
And he laid down next to me again, curled his arms around me, and we cuddled. And I thought, Wow, that went better than I thought it would! Such a grown-up, adult reaction! How cool!
Famous last words.
About a solid five minutes of silence went by - during which I was reveling in being held and the miraculously mature reaction he'd had. He, apparently, had been stewing, because the first words out of his mouth to break the silence were, "You couldn't have told me this earlier?"
"I'm sorry?" I said.
"You had to wait until we were in bed to tell me?" he demanded. "When we were..."
"When did you want me to tell you, over sushi?" I asked.
He quieted down again. Another few minutes went by. Then:
"You know when you leant me your Caramex earlier this evening?" he asked. "Have you ever used that on an open sore?"
I laughed. Heartily. "Do you really think I'd bother to tell you about it before we had sex if I were going to let you use infected Caramex without a word?"
More silence.
"I'm not being judgmental," he continued. "It's just that I've always been in monogamous relationships, you know?"
I was seriously dying from internal laughter. No, monogamous people never get herpes! It doesn't take being Annabel Chong to get herpes - much like pregnancy, it only takes once. And I'd never been in an open relationship myself, or particularly slutty, but at this point I certainly didn't see any reason to share with him how I'd actually gotten it (which was a tactic I'd used in the past to lessen the blow... to them or to me, I'm not sure.) Anyway. I wasn't just bemused by his ignorant comments, I was highly entertained and wondering how bad it was really going to get.
The next round went like this:
Him: Do you have saran wrap?
Me: No, but I have condoms.
Him: Condoms won't work for what I want to do to you.
Me: Would you like a hazmat suit?
Him: You could give me head?
Oh yeah. It went there.
It probably goes without saying that I haven't talked with him since, and that was the moment that ushered in my quest to really figure out my shit and stop trying to fill the hole in my heart with male attention. But more than anything, that exchange showed me that what I've always looked at as a burden is actually a blessing. I don't want to share my body, heart, soul or bed with a man who's going to be immature about my admission of having an STD. It's like having a relationship version of Spam Arrest!
(Good lord, that was geeky. Oh, and please remember to donate to RAINN. There's only one day left of the blogathon fundraiser!)
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