Threesomes

I had a threesome once. It was pleasant. 

After I graduated college I had a short-lived slutty phase. I am just not the the type of person who should be living that kind of lifestyle. It was exhausting-- assuming every little health hiccup was an STD rearing its ugly head really got old quick. I've since slowed down and become monogamous. It's so much more relaxing. 

When I first moved to DC I met this guy online. He was from Spain but only sort of good looking. Part of me was like, "Well, what the hell, I should do a European before I die, right? Why not?" 

I added him to my phone as "Barcelona" since that's where he was from. We started texting a little and it didn't take long before he admitted to having a boyfriend. I was immediately angry, "Oh hell nahh, I don't wanna play the home-wrecker card. Nope, no thank you!"

But before I could even communicate that to him, he said, "...and he's very excited to meet you too!"

I remember I paused while staring at my phone--reading the text over and over. My first reaction was, "Dafuuhh?" but after a second, I raised an eyebrow and a grin filled my face.

My thought process quickly evolved, "Ok?... Ok(.)... OK!"--- note the punctuations. Yes.

So I responded, "Ok, cool. Let's do this."

They lived together in a basement apartment down in Crystal City which is in Virginia just outside DC-- which to me, meant it was fucking far. I got there and they were super welcoming and super funny--- and the appropriate amount of uncomfortable. I made myself at home... being adorable, saying cute little things in Spanish-- they ate it up. 

"Hola, me llamo Juanito. Tengo dos hermanos. Soy Americano. Cuantos años tienes tu?"

They indulged me and pretended to be impressed... (they were probably laughing at me, not with me). 

Turns out they worked together, Barcelona as head chef and the boyfriend as a waiter at the same restaurant. Lo and behold it was a well known Spanish place in the DC area that'd I'd been to a few times--- it wins all these awards and is way up there according to the posh DC foodies. There are three locations, one in VA, one in DC, and one in MD. So this dude was a fucking award winning, top-notch tapas chef. Of course when I got there they fed me the most amazing authentic tapas, paella, and wine and we spent the evening talking, drinking, and chain smoking cigarettes. 

The boyfriend was way hotter in my opinion. He was from Panama and seemed to have a rougher life than the seemingly privileged Barcelona. He was shorter but much more muscular and sexy. He had longish black hair that was slicked back and still wet from the shower--he reminded me of a sweaty, sexy latin soccer player. He spoke with such a sexy accent and was very friendly and warm. I remember him getting adorably excited showing me pictures of his family. 

Barcelona was a little goofier, less attractive, and not even in really great shape. He too was very friendly and welcoming but a little more reserved than Panama. They were so concerned with me being comfortable that they showered me in food and wine. He was so modest about his cooking and would apologize for the temperature or the spice not being exactly how he intended it to be. I remember reassuring them that it was perfect. 

They both seemed so supportive and truly wanted the best for each other. Barcelona would motivate Panama to learn to cook and potentially become a chef himself. I got the sense that Barcelona had a fairly good upbringing whereas Panama was poorer and struggled to come to the US. They both seemed so wise and emphasized how important and freeing it is to come out. They took turns talking about their coming out and how their grandparents will never know and how that's for the best, but their immediate family members were pretty accepting, especially over time. They were just sweet dudes. 

At one point they spoke to each other in Spanish and then came to some sort of agreement. Next thing I knew I was being whisked into the back bedroom and told to sit on the bed. They asked if I watched porn and I said yes. 

They turned on the TV and started playing a gay military porn. They joined me on either side and started jerking off. I'd never done anything like this before so I was a little uncomfortable at first--not to mention I wasn't totally prepared for it, it felt like it all started happening so fast. I looked to either side of me and saw

their dicks. They were both uncut, which I guess goes without saying. Panama's was smaller but rock hard. So hard. It could cut glass, like, bullet proof glass. Barcelona's was bigger but looked softer and weirder. It grossed me out a little. I vaguely remember a freckle or something on the shaft, or maybe I just added that detail to help justify why I feel like I wasn't into it. Already I had a preference, which I guess is natural, but not good if you're about to participate in a threesome. You gotta treat everyone fairly. It ended up not being a problem since they were both just really into pleasing me. Word.

I started jerking off a little too but was too distracted to really get into it-- especially in the beginning. At some point, one of them started making out with me, I can't remember which one but I went with it. It was kinda nice actually because they were both really concerned with me being comfortable, which meant I got most of the attention. 

They were both blowing me for a while until, almost like clockwork, Barcelona got on all fours and Panama got behind him and started fucking him. Which meant I was left watching. It was thrilling. I'd never been in the same room while other people were fucking before and it was pretty hot. I just stared on. 

Then Barcelona started sucking me off. Anyway, the rest is history I guess-- you can fill in the ending how ever you like and probably wouldn't be that far off. It was quite the experience for me. It felt safe and they were good people to share that with. They were respectful and adventurous and just overall pleasant. It was just nice to be welcomed into their little world.

As far as threesomes go, I think it went pretty well. OK, ok, it was no Frank, Claire, and Meechum experience, but it could definitely hold a candle to it.

My Anxiety

I often get into my own head. I am the only one who can.

I like to tell myself it's because I'm smarter than most people. I'm a thinker.

I think.

And think.

And think.

I start off with the right clarity to lay out the facts and come to a reasonable solution/answer/idea. Then I start to think about it more. I apply layers and layers of "logic" and "rationale" until the simple, unbiased original thought is buried deep. It becomes muddied with every possibility that you can no longer even decipher what is factual and what is embellished nonsense that my mind has created.

****** OK****

Let me take a few steps back and provide some context around the above. 

I flew to Chicago last week for a business trip. I had on my gay little peacoat, my authentic Guatemalan woven scarf (because they totally know what cold weather feels like), my charming argyle socks and my laptop in a nice leather bag. I was YUPPIE-ing it up. 

I was only there for 2 nights so as soon as I got there, it was pretty much time to leave. I arrived back in DC late on a Friday night. I got home, walked my handsome little Beagle-dog and decided to take a shower. Upon entering my bathroom there is a large body mirror where I did a double take. 

I had a small rash on the side of my torso. Fuck! 

Did I....

Did I fucking....

Did Chicago give me bed bugs? Shittttt.

It was late so I just showered and went to bed more pissed and grossed out than anything. There was no pain, no itchiness, just like a speckle patch on my right torso. Whatever.

Next day, Saturday, it was pretty much the same. I was like, meh, oh well, I'll start worrying if it starts spreading. Went on with my life, met up with friends, went out drinking, thought nothing of it.

On Sunday I noticed the specks had sort of clumped together to form a puffy red cluster in the same spot. Now it felt tender to the touch, not itchy, and still not spreading. I still didn't really think much of it.

By Monday morning I was starting to pay closer attention to it. It definitely started to feel more tender and had a tingling sensation. It was still more or less the same but I felt a little uneasy about it since it had been 3 days now, why hasn't this gone away? Fucking bed bugs.

Anyway, it was MLK day and living in DC, everyone was off--- but being the YUPPIE that I am, I decided to work a little bit anyway (from home of course). I was sitting at my desk, completely saturated in something. Without thinking I started scratching the side of my stomach ever so slightly and immediately noticed it was much more sensitive than it should be. I pulled up my shirt and there were more! More red patchy specks on my front torso area!!

I told myself, I'll start getting worried when it starts spreading. So I  started getting worried. I called my doctor and talked to some idiot, probably 22 year old receptionist and was like, "I need someone to look at this weird..." I felt myself sounding creepy so I stopped. It just started to sound like a creepy joke dudes pull to get girls to look at their wieners. 

I started over, "I think I got bedbugs or something at a hotel while traveling... Can I get someone to look at it?"

"Oh, um... like... OK what's your name?"

"I'm a new patient, I never get sick, but he's my PCP as far as insurance is concerned."

"Oh, ok. So like...."

And so it went on with her asking me routine questions and resulting in no availability for over a week. I said, "But... my rash will surely be gone by then. But fine let's do next week."

"OK great, we will see you next week and I'll call you if anything opens up in the meantime. Bye!"

"Ok, great, thanks so...." 

*Click*

She didn't confirm a day or a time for the following week. Idiot. 

So feeling defeated I sat at my desk. A little anxious.

Not 5 minutes later my beautiful, fun, crazy, semi-lesbian, but now straight friend, Lily came marching through the door. Singing. She's always happy.

I was like, "Duuuude, I'm glad you're here, can you look at this weird...." It felt creepy saying out loud again.

"... this weird rash I got."

She immediately was like, "Hmm, I don't know shit about shit, but it's definitely a rash, let's go to urgent care, I love doing that kinda stuff."

I agreed because I was feeling anxious about it, and she offered to come with me, so why not? Plus there was a walk-in clinic 2 blocks from where I lived so we walked over and were there within 10 minutes. It was so easy.

While walking over I was like, "Worst case scenario, I burn my sheets, get a new mattress, which I kinda wanna do anyway, and put some calamine lotion on the rash."

Anyway, it all happened fast, I filled out the paperwork, sat down, and next thing I knew I was talking to the doctor. He was tall and broad, older, probably in his 50s, he looked too blue collar to be an MD but he was. He saw I was wearing a Katrina Relief Fireman's shirt and asked me if I was a fireman by profession, I scoffed and half-embarrassed admitted that I was just an IT developer. I could see his face re-categorize me from "young strapping fireman with nice forearms" to "nerd who sits in a cubical all day". Then he said, "Ohh, hmm well, I volunteered at Katrina." I felt like I disappointed him, like I couldn't relate to him the way he thought we were about to. 

Anyway, I explained how I had just been to Chicago on business and I probably just got bitten by bedbugs. I lifted my shirt and watched his face go pale. He said, "Wh-wh... How old are you!?"

His tone made me nervous, I stammered, "27, no, wait no I'm 26. I'll be 27 in two weeks."

He leaned in closer and said verbatim, "Dude, you have shingles."

Shingles? Shingles?? I was like, "What? My grandma had shingles...."

This is pretty much how mine presented, but not the full band length.

He backed away from me and sat in his chair. Shaking his head. Just shaking his head so much.

"Yeah, that's the age group who gets shingles. You should NOT be having shingles at 27. This is unheard of."

I tried wracking my brain for anything I could remember from my college classes about shingles, or about my grandma's terrible experience. All I could mutter was, "Derma...."

Mine is probably T7 ish; right side

"Yes! Dermatomes, you see here, this is classic presentation, it follows the rib cage up here and then down here. This is shingles no doubt."

So between Lily and myself we were both at a loss. We managed to ask question after question until the guy got up to consult with another doctor-- never once making me feel better or safe. He made me feel like a science project. He was telling me that I should see a specialist at Johns Hopkins and that something else must be going on for me to be having these symptoms at this age...

Then he came back after talking to another doctor and said that it actually is becoming more and more common in folks my age because of the timing of the chickenpox vaccine. I was old-school. My mom sent me to play with the sick kids so I would get it young and get it out of the way-- apparently kids who were just 5-10 years younger than me all got the vaccine. This means I probably had a mild case as a kid and since the vaccine made the virus less rampant, I hadn't had the opportunity to be as exposed to it as people once were, so my body sorta "forgot" how to defend itself, or maybe "got weaker at defending itself" against this virus due to lack of exposure. Sorta makes sense. I was buying it.

He wrote me a script for an anti-viral and told me to take it 3x a day for 10 days. Fine.

This is where I start going crazy. I was a little shaken due to the doctor's reaction so I went online (WHICH YOU SHOULD JUST NEVER DO-- I swear I think webMD and other websites like that should just be removed from the internet completely). I googled Shingles so I would know what to expect and test this guy's theory about people in their 20's and 30's randomly coming down with Shingles. 

He was right. There was even an article called "I'm a healthy 30 year old man, why do I have Shingles?" which nicely explained pretty much what the doctor said, which made me feel better about it. I also called my mom to get the details on my grandma and even she was very unconcerned. She said, "Oh, it'll hurt for a while, but it'll go away, no big deal, my coworker had it and she was like 35-ish". I was starting to feel more relaxed about the whole thing, but then I kept reading. 

I kept reading.

Basically what every article said was, sure, it's becoming more common in younger people, but it's still not normal and usually comes about in people who:

a.) Are experiencing high levels of stress: NOPE

b.) Are undergoing Chemo-therapy or other debilitating treatments: NOPE

c.) Are experiencing weakened immune systems due to an HIV infection

I read that once and brushed it off. I read it again and thought it was strange, it wasn't until I realized that every article says the same damn thing. 

I am a perfectly healthy young person. I never get sick. I work out everyday, I eat healthy, I take a multi-vitamin every morning, and I even started juicing fruits and vegetables a few months back to ensure I was getting the most out of my meals. My immune system should be tip top.

I started convincing myself that my immune system was being compromised. 

So let me explain how chickenpox and Shingles work. Basically it is the exact same virus but it works in a fascinating way in that once you contract the virus for the first time, symptoms manifest shortly afterwards. These symptoms include what we all know of as: Chickenpox. Fever, headache, sore throat, and most famously, the itchy spotted rash that forms all over the body. After some time a healthy person's body defeats the virus-- but that defeat doesn't eradicate the virus from your system, it simply pushes it down down down into your spinal chord nerves where it remains dormant, sometimes forever in most people. 

Then, at a time when the immune system is weakened and your defenses are down, the virus can "wake up" and leave the spinal chord, traveling along the nerve endings anywhere throughout the body, most commonly the nerves that branch out of the spinal chord around the rib cage. This often happens in people over 60 as this is a time when people's immune systems just naturally start to decline. 

I AM A HEALTHY FUCKING SPECIMEN. It is natural for me to wonder, WHY is my immune system SoOoOoOo weak all of a sudden that this little bastard virus can make its way out of my spine? Hold the fuck up, Herpes Zoster, suck my dick and get outta my body.

So being a gay man I understand that I am at higher risk of contracting HIV. I made the obvious connection and slowly started to freak the fuck out. 

I had rehashed every single sexual experience I'd ever had. 

I don't have anonymous sex.

I've never had unprotected sex. 

I have been in a monogamous relationship for 3.5 years.

I don't use or share needles or do drugs (that was the obvious no for me).

I literally have NO risk-behaviors associated with contracting HIV.

But I am gay. So... I do mingle with an at risk population... so I could have contracted it somehow, maybe in a relationship 4 years ago when I was first messing around with dudes? I don't know!

So much of the literature referenced HIV, I had to learn more about HIV. I started reading about onset of symptoms, and what symptoms to expect down the road, sometimes even years later and one of them was Shingles--- I started shitting myself a little more. The Shingles articles and the HIV articles were all saying the same thing. I was freaking out.

My boyfriend-person, Sean, comes over my house and works from home with me a few times a week so he was over  by Tuesday and I was just gushing with concern. He knows nothing about medicine. He thought shingles was a part of a house.  So I explained it all for him, laying out the facts, but obviously in a way that would bias him towards my concern---so he was like, "Dude, you do not have HIV but get tested. It will give you the peace of mind that you... clearly need right now."

Meanwhile my rash is way worse. It had spread, it had formed pustules and was really throbbing. This however didn't bother me, I didn't give a flying fuck about Shingles. I wanted to know WHY I got it. I knew it would suck for a while but it would go away. Fine. Unlikely resulting in nerve damage, that was fine. 

So I listened to him. It was snowing out so I got on my boots and my winter coat and I walked right back to the urgent care and within minutes was getting my blood drawn. They said it would be ready the following day.

I got home again, all within like 30 minutes, and I was in a visibly better mood. Sean could sense I was feeling better. Just having taken the test eased some anxiety. At least now I would know. I could either be negative and be totally relieved and just suck up the painful Shingles, or it would come back positive and it would be a blessing to find out now. I could get treatment, go to therapy, do whatever it is that people do when they find out they're HIV+. My life would be ruined but it's important and responsible to know the truth.

Anyway, Sean eventually left my place and I was alone again. The work day was over and it was just me and.... my thoughts. I was preparing myself for the worst. I had to wait 24 hours for the lab results and I was in bad shape. My body hurt. My rash was worse. I hated looking at it because I felt so... infected. I ran through the scenarios so vividly, what I would do if it were negative, what I would do if it were positive. I would think it through to fruition and then force it out of my mind. I didn't want to get my hopes up for a negative result, but I also wanted to be prepared for the worst. It was mentally exhausting. I thought about going to the gym to distract myself but the Shingles hurt too much. So I watched TV. I would periodically stop in the middle of a show to do another google search, just to get another perspective. Like the 500th perspective that would leave me in a more relaxed state, which pretty much backfired 50% of the time and made me more anxious than I was before. 

I couldn't wait to go to bed so I could wake up and get my results. I tossed and turned, thoughts racing through my stupid head, not to mention the right side of my body was sore and if I rolled over the wrong way, a jolt of pain would shoot through my body. It was hellish.

I woke up the next day and it took everything in my power to not call the clinic. I figured I would wait until noon but I couldn't---I called at 11am and the lady was like, "Sorry Mr. Pence the results aren't in yet, try back at 6 or 7pm."

You... got... to... be.... kidding... me.

I have to go through another work day in a state of pure anxiety. The mere possibility of having HIV changed the way I thought and did everything. I would be like, "What's the point of going to the gym anymore, of making money, of going to work, I should just quit my job.... everything is hopeless. I should just drop off the face of the planet, don't say goodbye, the shame is too much to bear, just up and move to an island and never think about this life again."

Dramatic right? Sorry to the folks out there who are HIV+ if this is offensive, but you must understand the initial stress and grieving process. Mine was just premature. 

Anyway, there would be pockets of time where I would hyper-focus on work and forget my troubles, but I called back again at 3pm. I just wanted to know. 

A different woman picked up and confirmed the results were not in. But I had to relieve some anxiety.

"OK, can you walk me through this process?"

"Sure, so we take the samples during the day and the courrier comes at 9pm. So your sample was picked up late last night and brought to the lab."

"OK... ok, so that makes sense. So then they do the test the following morning right?", I was sounding neurotic. 

"Yep."

"Ok, so then what? Then they have to send it back to you and that could take a day??"

"No sir, once they have the results they are entered into a system and we can view them and will notify you."

"OK, so then I can expect a call? Cool. Ok. So you have my number."

"Yes, Mr. Pence we will certainly give you a call."

And so basically that meant, stop calling us.

Fine. 

I went throughout my day, finished up some work, decided to bear the pain and go to the gym, it was a mellow workout but a nice distraction. I got home, made dinner, and next thing I knew it was 7pm and the FIRST receptionist told me to try again at that time. So I totally disregarded the second receptionist and called them back. 

Ring, Ring, Ring.... Voice mail. "Thank you for calling Urgent Care...." 

Click.

I would just have to spend another night tossing and turning.

Then 60 seconds later my phone was ringing. I SAVED the number in my phone so it displayed an incoming call from "URGENT CARE" all in caps. 

So dramatic.

"Hi, this is doctor so and so calling from urgent care. Can I please speak with John Pence please?"

"Yes, yes Hi this is him."

"I'm calling about your blood test, just wanted to confirm with you that the results showed you were 'non-reactive'."

"Non-reactive, that means like, it was... totally negative right?"

"Yep, negative, nothing to worry about there."

Little did he know that it was waaaaay too late for that. Nothing to worry about. Shit.

I was super calm though, super composed, "Oh, ok great, that's a relief, thanks!"

"Yep, have a great night."

"You too, bye,"

I screamed. I screamed and screamed and chased by beagle-dog all around the apartment. He couldn't tell if I was playing with him or hunting him. I called Sean and was just sooooo excited. I wanted to text everyone I knew about the good news but of course, no one even knew it was something I was concerned about. 

I felt like I had a new view on life. LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL. Everything is WONDERFUL. 

I skipped and pranced around and once I relaxed, my mind starting chattering again.

"Of course you didn't have HIV, you idiot."

"You're neurotic."

"You should never read that internet shit, they are so generic and vague and generalized, you can't apply it to your situation."

"You're a retard."

So! Now I have Shingles but I don't give a shit. I will heal through that, I don't know why I got it or whether my immune system was compromised or not, either way it just boils down to being unlucky. I will fight it back into the depths of my spinal cord and just pray it doesn't come back in a year or two years, or 10 years, whatever. It is what it is. 

I AM HIV NEGATIVE!

I guess it's all a blessing because I wasn't getting tested regularly, which is the responsible gay thing to do.... or not even gay thing, anyone who is sexually active, especially with multiple partners should get tested routinely. 

Knowing is a powerful and liberating feeling--granted mine came with a butt-load of stress, it feels so great to get that completely off the table. 

A friend then taught me a word called "microaggressions" which is a term I had never heard before. Basically it is a social phenomenon that applies to minority groups where you internalize stressors that come from society. They then manifest in the body as sickness, for example heart disease in women and black people or HIV in gay people. Basically, society feeds you these facts and statistics that are generalized and may not always apply, but as members of those minority groups our vision is skewed and we succumb to the heuristics about the likelihood of contracting something and it eats away at us. 

This could be dangerous to even share because I don't want to spread the idea that we should ignore statistics, but rather spread the idea that you shouldn't harp on false logic like this:

Gay people get HIV

People with HIV get sick

I'm gay and I'm sick

Therefore I have HIV.

In statistics we have things called "priors" which is any prior information needed to make a judgement on the likelihood of something else happening.

If you have no "priors"-- in this case, risk-behviors for spreading or contracting HIV then you shouldn't automatically jump to that conclusion.

That being said, I think everyone should get tested regularly. Be responsible. Be safe. Don't LET yourself drive you crazy.

THE END.

Having shingles is the pits.