Thursday, May 24, 2007

when you play with fire...

I pulled out and came on his chest. The smell of shit was overwhelming, all I could smell. I laid my head on his chest, playing with his nipples, hoping that he would orgasm fast so that I could get away from this scene, this smell. He finally came, shooting all over his chest, and I went into his bathroom to rinse off. I turned on the hot water in his sink, looked down at my dick and realized what it was I had just done. The shit on my dick was pretty clear evidence, a sobering slap to the face, to the visual senses and also the olfactory ones, of what stupidity I had just engaged in, that I had engaged in this bit of recklessness even though some friends have HIV, even though I know all about how risky unprotected sex is, and even though earlier in the day I had just gotten tested for HIV and while waiting for my results, which came back negative, thought about how sad I would have been had the results been positive. All of this and yet still not enough to stop me from fucking this person bareback, this person who I barely know and picked up on the street the night beforehand.

And thinking about all of this, how stupid I had just been, I rinsed off my penis in his sink, washing off the fecal matter, the smell too overwhelming still. I started to gag and tears started to stream from my eyes, from both the gagging and probably also from my own disappointment in myself. I couldn't deal with having to do this in his sink; I needed to be totally soaked, totally washed clean, to have my nose covered in the hot stream of water coming from his shower head, and so I stood in that hot shower and rinsed and rinsed my foreskin clean, trying to rinse away the scent that told me what I just did.

This, my first time fucking somebody, the joy of that act, mitigated, almost canceled out, by the guilt of doing so unsafe. There had been a safe attempt earlier on, though my dick wasn't hard enough once I had put the condom on to enter his asshole. And so then there was just playing around in his bed - dirty things with feet, blowjobs, kissing - and then I started playing with his ass with his encouragement and soon had my penis in his ass. And you could blame horniness, alcohol, or poppers for this, but that would be stupid and not totally truthful. Once inside him, there was terrible logic that took place inside my head, thinking that I was already in him, already had made risky contact with him, and might as well keep going as he wanted me to do rather than pulling out. And so I did, and it was a pretty amazing feeling, amazing enough to throw aside all common sense I sometimes normally have (all right, the slight bit of it I normally have).

And there are these amazing feelings you can have, the physical sensation of sex, and then stemming from that same act, thinking it over in retrospect, no longer under the spell of the physical sensation, there are terrible feelings that you can have, that I had last evening, trying to get rid of this brown film on my penis and thinking that something that made me this dirty could not be the fun thing it seemed to be minutes earlier.

After showering, we drank some wine on his couch and I talked to him about how stupid I felt, how reckless and foolish I just was, and asked him about his status and how safe he normally is. He gave me some reassuring answers, though I am quite aware that they are the answers of a stranger who did have unprotected sex with a stranger, and so I am taking them with a grain of salt. We talked about other things, books, photography, and me possibly going to Cape Cod with him this weekend. I got dressed to go and gave him a goodbye kiss, which turned into making out, which turned into dick sucking, which turned into me fucking him again, again unprotected, me rationalizing it with the fact that I had already done it once that evening.

Again, I took a shower, again overwhelmed with disgust at the smell then emanating from my genitals. I rinsed and rinsed, soaped up a couple of times. There is that, the aftereffects, and there is the other thing, that moment of sex, the source of those aftereffects, of those feelings of terror and shame. That the pleasure and grief both branch off from the same tree is something terrible and yet also lovely in its own way.

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