WHAT IF…

A few years ago, I found my first herpes support group on Facebook, and on the façade, it seemed very supportive. Messages of “Keep your head up!” Be strong, you’ll find someone!” and “It wasn’t meant to be.” seemed to flood the daily feed. Even though I knew I wasn’t the only person living with herpes, it was great to finally see and hear other people’s stories. The overall morale of the chats was positive and uplifting, which for a newly diagnosed individual can be essential. However, every so often, I would come across a post asking for advice and support.   

I feel terrible, and I need your advice. Last week, I was drinking, partying, smoking (whatever) with my friend. Things got out of control, we had sex, and I forgot to tell them about my herpes status. I feel terrible, and I want to tell them, I just don’t know how to.  

It didn’t take long for me to realize that once the comments have been disabled, it was safe to assume that the poster was virtually attacked. Similar posts often bring out, what I like to call, The Bully-Brigade. The Bully-Brigade is the barrage of people that come together to virtually bully anyone whose actions and views don’t align with theirs. With comments like, “You’re a terrible person.” “How could you forget…” and “People like you should be locked up!” — The Bully-Brigade has struck again.  

The comments and attacks vary, but the one that sticks out the most is the one of blame. It’s the person that says, “You know, many of us wouldn’t be here if our partner had told us. If my partner had told me that they had herpes, I never have had sex with them. You should’ve given them a choice.”   

This one always bugs me, because they so conveniently forget that they, in fact, did have a choice. To have consensual sex, without knowing your partner’s sexual health status, was a choice. The power to control the sanctity of my body is my responsibility, and the same for your body. Do you not eat when you’re hungry, drink when you’re thirsty, or sleep when you’re tired? So, why when it comes to sex, is it only the other person’s responsibility to protect you? I don’t say this to point blame, I say this to take accountability.  

Think of your body as a new car you just bought. You wouldn’t give the keys for your new car to a person whose driving record you didn’t know and whose license you haven’t seen, would you? No! You wouldn’t! But if you did, and they crashed it, was it not your choice to hand your keys over to them, in the first place? We don’t take that risk with material things, but we assume that risk with our bodies every day. From the moment I laid eyes on my partner, once I know I want to have sex with him, the responsibility to ensure my sexual health is mine, and mine alone. It was my responsibility to make sure that he posed no threat to me, and the choice I made to not verify his status was, in fact, A CHOICE.   

Over the years, I learned to stop arguing with The Bully-Brigade; because they had already made up their mind that their positive diagnosis was someone else’s fault. What I try to do now is pose the question, what if…  

You say — “If they had told me they had herpes…” I pose the question — “What if you had asked…?”  

What if they told you they were clean, because the test they took didn’t include herpes? Therefore, they had no way of knowing they had the virus.   

What if they had the test that included herpes, but because they recently acquired the virus, the antibody test came back negative? (It took 9 months for my antibodies test to detect herpes).  

What if you had used condoms? (I used condoms when herpes was transmitted to me).  

What if they told you they had a history of cold sores? Marketing doesn’t make it clear that cold sores and herpes are the same virus. Many people don’t think that their cold sores are herpes or that they can impact their partner’s genital region. What if this information was made clear to the masses?  

What if doctors did a better job of educating patients before, during, and after their diagnosis? What if they pointed patients to support groups after their diagnosis, instead of giving them a prescription and sending them on their way?  

What if sex education was clear and transparent, and inclusive of all sexual behaviors, sexualities, and sexual health? What if consent and boundaries were mandated? What if the stigma was never able to exist because people were educated on the truth of all sexually transmissible and non-sexually transmissible viruses?  

What if testing were made easier for all to access? What if when I asked to be tested for everything, I was tested for EVERYTHING?  

What if we stopped shaming sex, sexuality, and people with STD/STIs?  

What if you’re herpes positive, you disclose to your partner, but you don’t ask to see their results in return? (Is that not, once again, handing someone the keys to your car without checking their license, all-over again?)  

What if asking about a person’s sexual health was as easy as saying hi? What if asking to see a person’s test results (and getting them), was as easy and pleasurable as having sex?  

What if they never assaulted me?  

What if the dad, the aunt, the uncle didn’t kiss the toddler, and pass them the herpes virus?  

What if the mother didn’t kiss her child and pass them the herpes virus?  

What if you had waited another 3-9 months to get re-tested before having sex?   

What if you had waited to go and get tested together?  

What if you had asked your partner their sexual health status?  

While the what-ifs are endless, none of them can guarantee that you still wouldn’t have ended up with herpes virus. With all the precautions that you could’ve taken in your adolescent or adult life, you still could’ve acquired the virus before ever taking your first steps. At the end of the day, we’re all here. So, instead of focusing on what if, focus on the future. A lot of why we feel what we feel is stigma. So, instead of trying to change others, maybe we can change our perception. And with that, we can change the stigma. 

MIND YOUR OWN UTERUS!

In response to the recent bills passed against women’s rights in Alabama, (specifically abortion, for those that live under a rock); I’ve decided to share my stories and perspectives on the topic. As of lately, my fingers have been getting much exercise; arguing with those that are, not really, pro-life, but, really, anti-abortion.  

It still amazes me that people feel they have the right to say what a woman should and shouldn’t do with what’s going on in her body. It’s even more infuriating when you know that this law would still criminalize women that seek abortion if they are raped or if a pregnancy resulted from incest. Take it a step further; the state of Alabama is a state where a man that rapes a woman, is tried and convicted of said rape, can still seek and fight for custody of that child. So, if the woman chooses to keep the child, for whatever reason, he has the legal right to see the child; further victimizing the woman.  

I’ll make my position very clear. I don’t agree that abortions should be used as a form of birth control, in the way the conservatives would like to make it seem. 

I don’t think a woman should have multiple abortions, just to avoid having a child. However, my position still remains that, it’s her right to choose. I prefer people educate themselves on sex and try and explore methods that work for them. There are a host of birth control options: condoms (male & female), diaphragms (although a bit outdated, but can still do the trick to avoid becoming pregnant). There’s the pill (it comes in many different doses and level of hormones), the shot, the ring, the patch, various IUDs, and lastly, the implant. 

Since the age of 14 when I lost my virginity, I’ve used a plethora of birth control methods. Yet, even I, on two separate occasions, found myself pregnant.  

I was approximately 16 years old when I had my first abortion; I was using a condom with my partner and, guess what, it broke! There was no Plan B at the time, so I just had to wait. I still hoped with all hope that I would not end up pregnant. However, once I missed my period, it became abundantly clear what my next step would be.  

I didn’t want to tell my mom because, I can admit it now that, I was ashamed. She knew I wasn’t a virgin but I didn’t want her to know that I was “having sex”. So one of my older friends came with me the day of my operation and he gave me the money. When it was all over I felt sad, but more relieved. I had hit the re-start button on my life and I told myself I was going to do better; and I did. Until it happened again.  

After my first abortion I went from, in conjunction with condoms, to the pill then the  depo-shot. I had come to a period where I wasn’t having sex and I let my shot period go slightly out of date; and I had sex with an old-faithful partner and a newer partner. This time around, the choice wasn’t as easy. I was 18 and a HS graduate, with a job. I could take care of this child if I chose to keep it. But, I’d have got put college on the back-burner, settle for a job to get by, no career, and just hope that the father wouldn’t be a dead-beat.  Oh, I’d also have to have a DNA test; immediately my mind went to an episode of Maury. I was crying in the bathroom of my job, and sulking around the house. This time, I did tell my mom and she understood my decision. After my operation, she and my brother picked me up and we drove home.  

I took a break from sex and have been on steady birth control ever since. I started with the IUD, which gave me heavier than normal periods. Then I switched to the patch; this was better, if not for the ugly scar it would leave on my abdomen. My most successful method was the Nuva-Ring. Boy! Did I love the Nuva-Ring! I never forgot it, I didn’t have any weird side-effects. I was even able to regulate my period as I wanted. Say I was going on vacation and that was going to be the week of my period; instead of the week off, I’d just put the next ring in and Voila! Another 3 weeks of no blood. This was all rainbows and butterflies; until the price went from $15 for 3 months, to $75 for 1 month. I was not willing to pay that much month. So, I asked my GYN if there was any other options and she recommended the Nexplanon. It’s a mini rod-implant that goes into the arm and lasts for 4 years. I said; “SIGN ME UP!” 

I’ve been pregnancy-scare-free ever since, and I still use condoms, to avoid any other STD/Is. With that being said, I’m always shocked when I go to have sex with a man, and he’s resistant to use a condom. This is why I often lie to my partners and tell them I’m not on birth control to avoid the headache of “Why we have to use condoms, you wont get pregnant” bs.  

It would be great if we lived in a world where education and pregnancy prevention was placed on a higher pedestal. It’s been proven to that abstinence doesn’t work to prevent people from having sex, it only forces them to become ill-informed on the choices they make with their bodies. If we stop shaming the act of sex and talk about it from an educational POV, so those that do engage in sex will make wiser decisions, I’m sure we’ll see a dramatic drop in abortion rates.  

Until we get there though; talk to your partner, before you have sex with them, to know where they stand on the issue. For the men who want kids; know that if your partner does not, she has full rights to terminate that pregnancy. And, for the men that don’t want kids; if she becomes pregnant and refuses to terminate that pregnancy; you will now be a father. Having a 15 minute conversation cloud eliminate a lifetime of headache or an invasive surgery.  

There have been theories tossed out about why this law was allowed to pass in the first place. 

But my opinion is simply that, those in charge still desire to control the reproductive rights of women.  

They bitched when women entered the workforce and started having less babies. They bitched when women started speaking about our own sexuality. They bitched about birth control. Now, they’re bitching about abortions.  

At the same time, they’ll deny women that want to get their tubes tied; to avoid becoming pregnant in the first place. While those same people, will bitch when a woman has a child she can’t afford; then has to seek government assistance. There’s not winning.  

Those in charge and those that have eaten too much yogurt-shit can be manipulated to think it’s a religious based decision, or a right to breathe decision, but it’s all about control of women. 

Swirly shit in a cone with a cherry on top is still SHIT!  

So, to those who have so much to say about my reproductive rights, I say “MIND YOUR OWN UTERUS!” 

TABOOTY PART 1

Now that I’m finally having some of the best and most exciting sex in my life; I’m exploring more and more new avenues of pleasure. If it wasn’t already clear, I’ve returned back to online dating. This time around though, I’m in the process of getting to know some amazing people. 

My current partner; we connected via Tinder. Our first date we talked a lot about the complexities of dating, some of the hits and misses we’ve had, and herpes (since this was on my Tinder profile). The conversation was easy and playful; to be honest it was quite refreshing to talk about herpes so casually with someone, especially considering it was a first date. Before our second date we were already exchanging sexy pics and naughty texts. He didn’t deliver the predictable sex messages and he didn’t say all the things he would do. He gave me compliments, which was quite nice. For our second date we wanted a place that was more intimate, yet still casual. We each tried to scour the internet to find a bar/lounge that would fit the bill, but nothing caught our eyes. We ended up going to a Mexican restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen and having dinner. After dinner, we wanted a little more privacy, so he bought a bottle of wine, and we headed to his place.  

His apartment was very nice for a bachelor but the 4-floor walk-up let me annoyed, as I despise stairs. I quickly went to the bathroom to freshen up, as it was almost certain that the night would end with sex. When I came back, we had some wine and he put on, of course- Netflix. Not long after Sex Education started, we started kissing and clothes were taken off. He was passionate and deliberate in his movements and my body reacted accordingly. His lips were soft and moist as they trailed my neck and collar-bone down to my breasts. He delivered equal attention to each nipple, until they were both wet and hard. He kissed down my navel and my body flickered as his tongue greeted my vagina. His tongue did wonders on my opening as I moaned loudly and writhed with pleasure. Then, his tongue went further; immediately a million thoughts ran through my mind… What’s he doing? What did I eat earlier? Did I use baby wipes? Please don’t fart. While he was devouring and fingering my ass hole I was worried like hell. I know an ass hole is an exit, so he can’t expect it to be 100% clean, Right? In the past I’ve had fingers in my ass while my partner fucked me from behind, I’ve even had partners bite my ass a few times. However, I’ve never had a person stick their tongue in it- What the fuck is this? But I sure as hell wasn’t going to stop him, because as weird as it was to experience- it felt SO DAMD GOOD! 

After he had his fill; he came up, wiped his face and kissed me deeply. I was surprised to discover it didn’t smell or taste like shit. Would you look at that? I had no intentions on returning that favor, but I was definitely eager to wrap my mouth around his dick and with much delight, I sucked, licked, and stroked, until my heart was content. When he pulled me off of him because he could wait no longer to be inside me; he got a condom, bent me over, and proceeded to fuck the shit out of me! The phrase “motion in the ocean” was made for partners like him. Each thrust felt like ecstasy, each slap made me more wet, and when he slipped his finger into my ass, I was completely and utterly done. I had cum harder with him, than I had cum in a very-very long time. We crashed on the couch, naked, sweaty, and breathing very heavy. We drank more wine, and went two more rounds, before we retired to the bedroom to finally sleep.  

That weekend, I went to The Pleasure Chest. It was obvious to me that he liked playing with my ass. As I was certain I would definitely be seeing him again, I wanted to be prepared for next time, if I could. I bought a butt-cleaning kit and as a bonus it came with a butt-plug- This might be fun!  

The next time I saw him it was right after my workout. Unfortunately, his evening ended earlier than expected; I was planning to go home first and do a proper cleaning, but he called my Uber right after class. When I arrived at his place, I sat down to unwind a bit and he gave my shoulders a tender rub. I don’t know if it was his hands or just my overall horniness; but I turned around, pulled his dick out from his pants and proceeded to suck him off. I took a moment to remove my shirt and bra because I knew exactly where I wanted him to release at. I returned back and continued to lick and suck until he was ready to explode. With that he kissed me deeply and we got undressed and went in the shower. 

Once we were both all clean, he put on, once again, Netflix. This time we actually watched an episode of Good Girls, while eating dinner. He made it clear that his refractory period was over and that he was ready to go again, and so was I. I started by kissing all down his body and sucking to get him ready. I was bent over on all fours with his dick deep in my mouth. He sat up to play with my ass, as I knew he would. He pulled me in to sit on his face; as I grinned down his fingers slipped into my ass; as if by clock-work I started to lose control. A few convulsions, then he turned me around, so we could 69. I tasted his pre-cum it was subtly sweet and I proceeded to work my magic. Pew!– A splash of saliva misted my ass and back as his fingers continued to fondle my tight hole. Flickers of his tongue, a loud moan from me, a suck and slurp sound. Pew!- Another mist; this one less shocking and more arousing. The mixture of his saliva cooled from the air touching my warm sweaty back was an entirely new sensation. What the entire fuck was I missing all my life?  

My clit couldn’t take anymore; I needed him inside of me. Condom on, he bent me over and slid in deep as my body began to quiver from the pleasure. He starts to explore my ass again- one finger, then two. I’m moaning louder as he pushes into both my holes. I turn around and whisper. “I’ve got a butt-plug, you want to try it?”  

PART 2 NEXT WEEK 

WORKING THE GARDEN

My 2018 ended on an extremely low note: I had not had sex since August, I was still unsuccessful at online dating, and I felt like I was reaching for blog content. Growing tired of the nonsense, on January 1^st, at the stroke of midnight I deleted all my dating apps and I figured I’d take time to just be alone and reevaluate the direction of my blog. 

In January; after a year of carefully writing around the topic, I wrote my first story about my life and dating while having herpes. 

In February; I took another step down the sexually free runway; and I attended my first sex party. I re-downloaded Tinder and Hing, and I explored FetLife (this should be interesting!). This time, however, I decided to have a different approach. What if I stopped searching for a relationship and just enjoyed the art of dating? Sure- many times I’ve said “I’m not looking for anything and I’m just having fun”. Then, like clockwork, on date three, I would begin to wonder: What are we? Where is this going? Big wedding or small wedding? How many kids will we have? Apartment or house?  

This time around, I told myself to STOP! I told myself to not only smell the flowers New York Botanical Garden had to offer, but to enjoy the process of planting them too. The lilies, the tulips, the roses, the hydrangeas, the azaleas, and countless others. I told myself to find happiness in the sowing of the dirt, planting the seeds, the watering, and the sunlight. When a flower dies, that does not make its life lived any less significant. The death of the flower does not erase the joy you found in smelling and viewing it. Instead of waiting for the richest hue right before the decay. I made the decision to learn to enjoy the moments that were happening all around me, from the very beginning to the very end. I was excited to start this new journey. But first… I had to tell my mom.  

So, in March I told my mother that, not only, was I bisexual; but that I was also polyamorous, and non-monogamous. To which she rolled her eyes, gave me a lecture about sex and diseases. To which, I had to remind her that, I actually acquired herpes when I was in a relationship; so, her point was moot. 

For years I was determined to find the one that would deliver me from the endless hurdles of first dates and dry conversations. So, what’s your favorite color? What’s your favorite food? Blah blah! I hated talking to someone, and thinking it was going somewhere, all to find out that they were a total fuck-boy; but I kept on going. I believed that I would swipe right on the perfect guy, we would like each other, meet, fall in love, and live happily ever after. Fear of dating with herpes kept me on this self-inflicted-toxic-path for almost 4 years. I gave into the idea that people with herpes weren’t allowed date casually. If a guy hit on me at a party. I would flirt a little but eventually I would fade away. I couldn’t go around spreading my toxic vagina. I couldn’t have a casual one-night-stand. I had to dive all in and hope for the best. I didn’t have the right to be selective; because, people with herpes can’t be choosey. I had better be happy with whatever I could get! So, what! if he has no teeth, bad acne, not job, and a little wiener. He accepted your virus and now you’re together for life. 

Then I had an epiphany. I am not now, nor have I ever been toxic. I am human and I deserve to be happy. As long as I was honest and upfront about my status, I could do whatever the fuck I wanted. That not only meant starting a situation-ship, that also meant ending one as well. I stayed in many relationships long past their expiration date. If he accepted my herpes, I had to accept whatever shit he came with as well; I had to make it work, because no one else would want me. I had to learn that I deserved the same happiness that everyone else had. I deserve romance, great conversation, and to have fantastic sex whenever, however, and with however many partners my vagina and mouth could handle. As long as I told them up front, I was doing my part. So, I decided to try something different. 

Instead of writing a long drawn out profile, I kept it important to the fundamentals of what I was/am looking for, and I put it all on front street: polyamorous, non-monogamous, bisexual, and herpes positive.  

Non-monogamy, because I am not in a space of solo-commitment.  Polyamorous, because I actually require an emotional connection that precedes the desire to engage sexually (energies over sex). Bisexual, because I enjoy being with women as well; and of course, herpes positive because I’d rather not waste your time if it’s a non-negotiable for someone.  

Within a week, I had a Tinder date; we’ve been seeing each other for just over a month. The following week I met a man from Hinge, and we too have gone on a couple of dates. I’m finally in a place where I am enjoying the journey of dating with no clue on where the hell I’m going to end up. I’m sowing the dirt, I’m planting the seeds, and I’m watering the soil. I’m enjoying the butterflies, the flirting, the conversations, the kissing, and some great sex. I am rooted in my happiness at the moment and hope you’ll continue with me on this journey.