Technically, we had used a condom. We did that thing where we didn't use a condom for the first ten minutes and then put one on in the middle for the second act. News flash: even though that makes us all feel like better humans, that isn't actually using a condom. Pre-cum is real people.
I started bleeding right after we'd finished, and my immediate thought was: I have chlamydia. As fast as I could I got tested for everything. I wasn't upset about potentially having an STD, at least not as guilty feeling as I should have been. Instead, what worried me was being obligated to call the dude and tell him if anything came back positive. Things had not ended well between us. The last thing I wanted was to communicate — especially to tell him we were sharing chlamydia. I also feared I would have defend myself; would he think it was me and my slutty ways that led us into this?
Thankfully, the results came back negative. I would never have unprotected sex again. I got a second chance, and I wouldn't squander it. I also promised myself I would stop biting my nails, get up before 11am, and make my bed every morning.
Then I met a male model. An honest to god, you are 100 times better looking than me, didn't I see you in an Abercrombie campaign, male model. He wanted to come home with me. Who was I to refuse him? The next morning I noticed a tiny strand of blood. “Shit this is happening again.” I thought, “What have I done to deserve this universe?” I noticed my unmade bed, and I looked down at my torn, scraggly cuticles.
I went back to see my doctor. “Here's what we're gonna do,” she said. “ It's a little unorthodox. You're going to make an appointment for sometime this week, and an hour before your appointment you're going to have sex. That way we can assess exactly where the trauma is coming from.”
“That sounds great,” I said. “The problem is I don't have regular sex with anyone. This weekend I literally got lucky. I mean he was a model and everything.”
My doctor stared at me straight faced.
“So there is no one you can think of who can sex with you for this appointment.”
My mind was blank. “I dunno,” I whispered.
“Well think it over and if anyone comes to mind, give us a call.”
She left the room and I immediately started going through my mental Rolodex of fuck buddies. I was wearing only a paper gown and some socks. I was worried something might really be wrong with me, and I had nothing to show for my life. I didn't have a partner who loved me and had sex with me on a regular basis. I didn't even have underwear on.
Which is how I found myself in the strange position of trying to find someone to fuck me for medicinal purposes.
I thought about asking my gay best friend Jason. But it was too gross to think of him on top of me. I thought about asking the model, but even though we'd had sex, this felt too intimate to share with him. I didn't want him to know I was worried about my health. I thought about asking my internet crush, Dave. We'd never met but flirted via twitter all the time. Maybe we'd end up liking each other and dating. I could see our future now: “I fell in love with your mother when she asked me to fuck her for her medical reasons.” In the end I didn't have the guts to reach out to Dave. If he'd said “no” I wouldn't have been able to handle the rejection on top of feeling like my body was decaying.
The perfect guy would be someone I 'd slept with before. That way we'd know there was chemistry. He would be kind, but not overly sensitive. I didn't want him to freak out and get squeamish. The last thing I could deal with was taking care of a man baby. I wanted someone strong who knew I was worried, and could be practical about it in a sexy way.
Then it hit me: Eric, from my days temping. He had been after me for years when I worked the temp circuit. Finally, we had done it in the supply closet during an office Christmas party. It had been fun, fast, and furious. And, he had a girlfriend.
He explained they were in an open relationship. “There's no one else in the world like her. She's the only person who can simultaneously nurture and challenge me. Doesn't mean I don't like sex with other people.” It sounded great in theory. I wondered how it worked in reality. Since I was just a guest star in Eric's love life, I wasn’t responsible for crossing any boundaries. Plus, I didn't have to worry about getting attached. He made it clear he was in love. It was impossible to fantasize that this would be something other than sex for science. When I called him and explained the situation he agreed to fuck me for my health, because he's a stand up guy that way.
I went into my appointment and they found nothing. Since all my tests were negative, they chalked up the bleeding to pre-menstrual spotting and rough sex. I let out a sigh of relief. I was not dying. I sent Eric a text saying, “Negativo!!!” He responded, “That a girl! So glad!”
I didn't see Eric for a couple of months after that. We sent each other a few emails, but eventually our communication sizzled. I was glad we 'd had sex, but in the aftermath I felt very alone. I didn't want to be his girlfriend, but I also didn't want to be someone he just slept with on occasion. What else is there?
Recently, I sent him another text, “Hey I know you already did me a huge favor but can I make you an emergency contact?” He responded, “Only if you can pick me up at the dentist's next week. I'm getting my wisdom teeth removed and my GF's out of town.”
I bought him a shit ton of ice cream, shared some of his drugs and watched Anne of Green Gables all weekend. I don't have this life partner stuff figured out, but I have a dependable emergency contact who isn't my Mom or Dad. One step at a time.