Highway 69, Revisited

I met up with some gal pals last week and one of them had just come from a local bar. She’s a very charismatic type of lady, and makes the best of friends with perfect strangers. At the bar she met an older gentleman in his 70′s who needed assistance with his cell phone (he was a text-virgin and was concerned about an ominous message from verizon asking him to upgrade. The crisis was averted.)

As their exchange pressed on he revealed that he had not one, not two, but four ex-wives. Long ago, one of his wives received a phone call from their youngest son. The son told her, “Listen, Mom: for once in your life, just listen.” Then shot his brains out.

Aside from the importance of being a good listener, I’m reminded of a few other cautions from this encounter. Parallel to this story I think of the experience I had recently with my very first herpes support group. I was full of questions, most of them of a genital-tech nature. Among other questions, inquiring minds want to know: Can I still be on the receiving end of a nice blowjob*? The group, comprised mostly of older women in their 40s and 50s, was quick to alleviate my concerns but exacerbated another. Participants raised their hands and began in the same way:

“Absolutely. However, it’s very important to be on suppressive therapy. When my ex-husband and I…”

“Of course, if you want! My last husband and I…”

“Ha, yes. When I told my first husband I had herpes…”

Right.

I’m not nessiccasrily convinced that human relationships, monogomous or otherwise, work. Also, I’m not so sure I’m going to find one lasting partner with which to run the fields of Greece and sing the Internationale hand-in-hand. These days I don’t even really know if I’ll feel a man’s touch again, and am preparing to walk the earth alone like the Incredible Hulk.

All skepticism considered, these more seasoned mentors have painted a very bleak future. Is this symptomatic of the herpes lifestyle? Are those who are affected by an std more inclined toward turbulent romantic interactions? Or, could another idea be that people like us were already conditioned to be flighty and unreliable life partners, and having an std has nothing really to do with it?

My armchair science is inconclusive until further results are in; the herpes community is a new one to me, and the communities in which I’ve felt most at home are populated by artists, anarchists, rogues, rakes, rascals, and roustabouts. In other words, my milieu is historically no good to their lovers. The last man I dated placed into a number of the above categories, plus residual melancholy and regret from a failed marriage. The current man I’ve been eyeballing only really falls into the artist column. But his divorce casts a very long shadow indeed.

Eh. Further research is needed here.

*The modern world is still lacking a catchy slang term for cunnilingus. For our purposes, I’ll call them blowjobs.