You’re Number One—At the STD Clinic.

So Samuel and I took the next big step in our relationship and decided it was time to go and get the big check up. That’s right—time for the STD clinic with the one you love. What’s always funny to me is how much this seems to be a gay guy thing—I have never heard of any straight couple I know going off to get tested together. Hell—I think most straight people barely ever set foot in one of those clinics. (Outside of marriage testing which you do for legal purposes more than anything else. Women get their tests done at the gyno already and most men don’t go to the doctor ever.)

Now if you have never been to a clinic—it’s next to impossible to describe how weird an experience this. Between the badly produced videos warning of the ‘dangers of casual sex’, to the weird pairings of people waiting, to the one person always in a big hat and sunglasses which makes everyone study them ten times more—it’s fun in one of those creepy, weird ways. Like the BR on a Tuesday.

The part that always throws me is that weird moment when you have to go and do the interview/pre-screening questions. The staff of the free clinic is always interesting for the simple fact that they most likely work there because of their complete lack of social skills. I have had people who have used the word cunt in my pre-screening because they decided that they should talk about their ex-wife, people who shook their head at me because of the number of partners I had, and one woman who thought it was great that I was honest about my drug use—and then gave me suggestions on what drugs to try next.

Where it gets even trippier is when these people ask such serious and thought provoking questions about your personal life. Have you been in jail? Has your partner? (Never occurred to me to ask Samuel this question) How much do you drink? Does it lead to casual sex? Do you remember all your sexual partners? Even after drinking? (God—have I blacked out in the last year? Would I remember if I had?) Doe your partner hit you? Do you hit your partner? (Not yet—at least not that I know of… Unless I blacked it out after drinking…) Have you ever be an intravenous drug user? Has your partner? (Well I have a phobia of needles… But Samuel could be a heroin addict and I would never know….) And do I understand the choices I make as a sexual active person? (Yeah—I thought I did.)

And just when it has gotten too weird and too real—you are sent back to the waiting area to be alone with your thoughts or worse—to stare at your smiling partner as you rethink every question and every answer. I mean—he could be a convicted felony with a history of spousal abuse and a hard to break coke habit. Would I know for sure? Then you chase this jarring moment with a physical exam by someone old enough to be your grandfather who admires your lack of gag reflex and a blood drawing that reconfirms your fear of needles and 2nd year nursing students. It’s traumatizing. Then they just turn you loose on the street.

It’s at that moment, back in the sunlight and watching the cars go by, that you suddenly wonder what if? What if things aren’t okay? Even if you have been totally safe, clean, sober, chaste—what if something is wrong? What will you do? How will you handle things? Who will take care of you?



And then you shake the thought off and you move on with your day. Cause in that moment, it’s all you can do but every so often you’ll notice the bandage on your arm or remember a question and you’ll realize how long 14 days are—and how little you know about people and how little you can do. But at least you did the right thing. Which is good enough to get you through. It has to be.