SoMa Literary Review - The Bug Chaser

The Bug Chaser

By Sam Burns

"You should keep doing what you’re doing," the doctor said, flipping through the pages of the lab results.

"What?" Paul had sat nervously for the past several minutes as the doctor silently checked each page.

"I’m happy to say that you’re negative. It looks like you were worried for nothing."

"Are you sure? You’re saying there’s no sign of anything?"

"You’re definitely negative. No exposure to HIV. It looks like you’ve been successful at practicing safe sex."

"I told you about the condom that broke, right?" Paul noticed the exasperation in his voice. He took a breath to calm down. "I mean, I’m sure I was exposed to something. Should we do another test?"

The doctor flipped through more pages, this time going back to past test results. "According to my notes, you got checked three months ago. And three months before that. You said the condom broke six months ago. So it looks like you escaped any danger. It’s possible your partner wasn’t positive. Have you asked him?"

"No. I have no way of getting in touch with him. He was someone I met online. I don’t even know his real name."

"That’s risky business, Paul. You should know better."

"I know, I know. But we used a condom, so I thought everything was going to be fine. And I didn’t notice it was broken until I went to empty the trash can a few days later."

"You dodged a bullet this time. That should be a warning to you."

Paul realized he still had a look of shock on his face. With such good news, he should probably be smiling. Yes, a smile of relief would be appropriate right about now. "Doctor, let me ask you something. If he was positive, how come I wasn’t infected?"

"We don’t know if he was or wasn’t. The truth is that just because someone receives a load of HIV infected sperm it doesn’t automatically mean he will be infected. It doesn’t work that way."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, HIV is actually a pretty delicate virus. The conditions have to be just right for it to take hold. With anal intercourse, the rectum often becomes inflamed and the tiny blood vessels become exposed. That can be the opening for the infection to enter the body. But if the tissue isn’t damaged, then the virus simply dies before it gets to do its work."

"So it has to be rough sex?"

"No. Not at all. Those tiny tears are something a person would never notice or feel. The reason gay men have been so vulnerable is due to the frequency of sex and different partners. It’s like a game of chance. Let’s say your body is the type where infection is only likely to happen one out of every ten times. The more partners you have, the more chance of being infected."

"Oh."

"So no more chances, right? Always use condoms. And if someone cums in your mouth, be sure to swallow all of it right away. The acid in your stomach will kill the virus. Don’t hold it in your mouth and wait to spit it out. That only gives the virus a chance to enter through your gums."

"Swallow? I never heard that before."

"It’s a new theory. I just heard about it at a conference. Your best bet, however, is never to take cum in your mouth at all."

Paul had never gotten used to hearing words like "cum" spoken by a doctor. Dr. Joseph was the third physician he’d been to since coming to San Francisco, and they all talked like that. Cum, load, cock. The new terms of the trade, at least for gay doctors. After growing up in suburban Maryland and seeing his family pediatrician all his life, the move to The City meant he could finally get medical care from his own kind. The dotcom he worked for had changed HMOs a couple of times, bouncing him from plan to plan, but he always found at least one physician who was "family."

With each new doctor he’d go through the same thing. A test for HIV over fears about a broken condom. With that excuse, he’d usually get at least three tests done before a doctor would become suspicious and start asking questions. Paul was probably the only person who loved the fact that managed care was so messed up it forced people around to different doctors every year or so.

"Oh, man. It is so good to meet someone I don’t have to use a rubber with. I hate those mothers."

James was more handsome than most of Paul’s tricks. There were plenty of men in the chatrooms who wanted to fuck bareback, but the one’s who openly identified themselves as positive were usually a scary bunch. Too old, aging too fast, or deformed in some physical or spiritual way.

James worked out at least five times a week. That wasn’t difficult to fit into a schedule for someone on permanent disability. Imagine never having to work another day in your life, Paul wondered. No more dealing with idiot co-workers, server crashes, or worrying about the latest fall in the stock price.

He watched as James slowly pulled his jeans up, carefully tucking his still moist and swollen to the side so not to get caught in the zipper. Paul sat naked on his bed, thinking of when he first unbuckled those pants to discover the lack of underwear. He loved that. And the beautiful tight body, with the hairless torso, except for that dark trail pointing down from his belly button.

"We should do this again," James said. He tossed his brown short hair back into place without ever looking in a mirror. "I like fucking you."

"Yeah, definitely. Let’s do it again. Whatever." Paul tried to act as if he didn’t really care one way or another. He had learned years ago when he first moved to The City that too much enthusiasm scared off tricks. After all, if you gave the impression they’d been outstanding in bed, that made you a lesser partner in the act. Then the chase would be on for someone who would be more of a challenge.

"You are cute, guy," James said as he bent over to the bed where Paul still sat naked. He pressed his tongue to Paul’s ear. "So young." He kissed the top of Paul’s head. "This blond curly hair." Then finally on the lips. "And the little goatee. You’re beautiful. You remind me of that guy from that rock group. What’s that song? Aeeyyy just wanna fly…"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sugar Ray. I get that a lot."

"Let me know when you wanna play again, man. Next time I’ll fill you up three times, instead of just twice."

When the door shut, Paul crashed back against his pillow. He needed to use the bathroom, but clenched himself tighter instead. James was perfect. The type of handsome and together man he would love to show off to the world, including his indifferent parents. If he’d met James back in high school he would have risked scandal to bring him to the prom, instead of settling like he did with his overweight cousin Mary.

"I don’t understand why we keep doing this test every three months?" Dr. Joseph’s partner had called in sick that day and now he was overloaded with twice his normal schedule of patients. In his mind he was calculating that he could spend only 10 minutes per person if he was going to stay on track.

"Well, uh, I’m just trying to stay on top of things," Paul stumbled. "If it’s not covered by insurance then I’ll pay for it myself."

"It’s not that. You’re covered. I just want to know why you keep getting tested so often if you are having safe sex."

"I’m still a little worried about that broken condom."

The doctor flipped through the chart. "Okay. Okay. Get the lab papers from the nurse on your way out."

The latte didn’t taste right. Paul knew it wasn’t because the café at 9^th and Folsom made it wrong. It was him. Things hadn’t tasted the same since he got the news that morning.

He had been so sure about James. That he was the one. His soul mate into a lifetime journey of inhibition and answered questions. He really liked James. They’d spent several nights and every weekend together in bed since they met. It turned out they both loved watching Star Trek reruns, hated veggies on pizza, and had read all the Harry Potter books. So much in common, but Paul now knew it would never work.

The tests were in. Still negative. Just like all those times he was always the last one picked for teams in the church softball league. Paul was stuck in that moment where he panicked about whether he would ever get to play at all.

Millions had done it without trying. Maybe he’d have to move to Africa. Of all the places on earth, San Francisco was supposed to be a sure thing. He’d swished without swallowing more often than he used mouthwash. And still nothing.

His feet seemed to lack feeling as he made his way back to his apartment at 12^th. At least he had that place. It was rent control and he’d moved in while the market wasn’t too bad, so he could afford to live by himself. As soon he got through the door he went online and entered the PozM4M chatroom. One man called "Joe" described himself as in his 40s, with gray hair, a short-cropped beard and in "average shape." He had no picture to trade, but Paul wasn’t in the mood to be picky. He wanted frequency. If this was all a game of chance, then it was time to increase the odds.

The bell rang thirty minutes later. Paul didn’t even bother to use the building intercom. He just buzzed the door lock open. Hell, if it’s not this old guy Joe, and turns out to be the UPS guy instead, maybe he’d do him, too.

Paul threw off his clothes and unlocked the door. By the time the knock came, Paul was naked and on his knees with his eyes shut. He knelt with his mouth open. The old man would flop inside and in just minutes he would be hard and wet enough to be useful.

"Come in." Paul said.

He heard the door open and someone step before him. He never even thought of opening his eyes, for fear that what he might see would shake his determination. He waited for those familiar sounds of the belt, the zipper, and fabric brushing against hair. Instead he heard breathing. Not a series of excited breaths. Just one long one. A sigh.

"Paul. What are you doing?"

Paul knew that voice. An old trick? Why didn’t he recognize the screen name from online? He opened his eyes and looked up.

Dr. Joseph wasn’t smiling.