I had sex with herpes. My apologies, I had sex with a man who has herpes. It wasn’t unlike any other sexual encounter I’ve had when you get right down to it. It was the first time I had sex with a man with that virus… knowingly.
Before the foreplay could even begin we had somethings to discuss. I had to know what activities were off-limits. Before I could allow him to “bury his face in my ass and pussy” I needed to know it was safe. I’ve never used a dental dam or other barrier while receiving oral sex so I guess I’ve never been totally “safe”. Perhaps late that Saturday night-early Sunday morning would be the first. He assured me it was okay, that his mouth was okay — his requests to make out made a lot more sense now. This was herpes of the genital variety we were facing.
We lost ourselves in the intensity of the moment and for a split second part of me thought of how natural it was. I know herpes isn’t a physical ailment but there was the irrational part of me that expected it to be different. Maybe if it were different, it would keep me aware of the virus, his virus.
We finished the first round with him behind me, promising he wouldn’t touch me “with it” while he jerked himself off and I looked over my shoulder to kiss him. Through the breaks between the kisses and the breaths he told me that kissing me was going to make him come faster. I ran my fingers through his hair and held him by the back of his head. He made a mess on his stomach and I turned over and began kissing and sucking his nipples.
About half an hour later, we were taken with the passion again. I initiated this round; straddling his waist, licking the back of his neck, sucking his ears and rubbing the length of his back, leaving a wet spot on his lower back when I got off of him. He knew I was ready and his fingers were between my legs again. It felt good to know my body wasn’t off-limits. We kissed and masturbated each other. Wash your hands if he comes. Remember to wash your hands. He shifted position and held his body over me. Not on top. He kept his hips a safe distance from mine. The kissing and groping was not making it any easier.
It was time.
“You wanna get a condom?” he asked. I laid there for a bit then propped myself up on my elbows. I didn’t even have to speak the question. He told me it was fine as long as we used a condom, that he wasn’t contagious that night. I must’ve made another face because he said we could look it up online. Yeah, we could look it up online and they’d tell me it was more likely for someone to pass on the virus during an outbreak or right after one while they’re still shedding but there’s always a chance to pass it on to someone else. “There’s no turning back,” I emphasized, “if I get it, that’s it, I fucking got that shit for life.” He nodded, said he understood and left me with my thoughts. I thought about my next visit to the doctor. I never turn down a full STD/STI screen — swab my pussy, swab my mouth, swab my ass — and I’ve had a clean track record. I can’t imagine if at my next one they tell me I have herpes. I’d be angry at him but more angry at myself. After a brief back and forth over morals and microbiology I got out the bed. His penis wasn’t getting softer and my pussy wasn’t getting drier.
Dorothy Zbornak said it about Stanley and it applies here: well, he’s really brought new meaning to the word solicitous. Once I allowed myself to relax certain he rolled the condom all the way down, I humped back. He pulled out then released. I remember thinking that was a very mature thing for him to do.
The timing seemed right that we’d see each other again. He brought it up. I was certainly game. In the days that followed I went through my box of tools and toys and found a stash of female condoms — sometimes he could wear one, sometimes I would wear one and non-lubricated condoms for times I wanted to “bless him”. Oral sex is a part of sex for me and I was determined to find a way to do it with him. I wanted to. The condoms I found didn’t have a taste. I’d hit the jackpot. I wasn’t so lucky with the female condoms. After much slipping and sliding I gave up and decided I’d try to insert one properly another time.
I was willing to have sex with him again. I wasn’t blinded by love or any similar emotion. I think it was the prospect of having sex. Before him I hadn’t had sex for 2 months. Before that it had been many more months. For a woman rapidly approaching her sexual peak, my sex life is non-existent. For a first-time hook-up, what we did was fun and pretty compatible. I’ve definitely questioned my motives for having sex with him. He’s sexy as fuck, a good age, healthy. Yet healthy comes with an asterisk. He revealed his health secret to me months prior. That night, he told me he’d only had “the conversation” three other times before me and it’s always tough. I felt for him. I feel for him. Part of me probably had sex with him because I felt he needed it. I could show him he was accepted, that he wasn’t a leper, that he was still desirable. I think I fell into the trap, the role of sexual healer with him that night.
When he first told me he had herpes he said he keeps his sex to a minimum because of it. He’s conscious of it and doesn’t want to put others at risk. It was obvious he doesn’t have sex a lot by the way he acted that night. It was obvious that he is a very sensual man. I can’t imagine living with the weight of possibly infecting someone with something incurable. After we finished and cleaned ourselves up, he held me by my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and told me I was fine and that he wouldn’t put me at risk. I flashed back to the moments before he made that declaration and recalled how careful he was with his hips; he went in deep keeping that centimeter or so of air between us. His virus is always weighing on him.
There’s a good chance that I won’t contract herpes from him… were I to see him again. If he weren’t the type to pull a disappearing act. I don’t trust that if I were to contract herpes from him that he would be there, if he would express remorse, if I would have his shoulder to cry on or be able to learn and compare notes with him on how to live with it. I’m pretty sure he’s not ready for the responsibility of giving the virus to someone. His anxiety that evening was certainly a result of thinking about that possibility and contending with the raging hormones. Next time, I’ll relax him with a massage instead of my pussy.