Dating Bradford: Letting It Slip

The other day while playing with my once-a-month regular, the unmentionable happened. That thing that playmates sometimes do -- but don't tell 'cause it's taboo -- When fooling around down there, it slips in rather bare. Just for a second or two, as if an "oops" thing that we do.

Usually this is the time when you let it slip out (ahem) that you're green-lighting the idea, but hold on while I grab the condoms and lube.

Then there are those times when you let the jury rest to catch a few breaths, while flirting with the idea of what life would be like without STDs and AIDS. Oh, wouldn't it be nice, you both think, but hold on while we grab the condoms and lube.

And then there are those times -- hopefully rare -- that the pause extends and you hit "play" instead. You move it around for a minute or two (or four) before guilt sets in and you realize alarms are going off, there isn't a snooze button and this needs to STOP!

The other night was one of those times.

I know, I know, you can all scream at me for copping to unsafe copulation -- no fluids flowed, but it's still fully forbidden, at least in my rulebook.

Forty million readers can chastise me with reasons why I shouldn't have let this happen. Correction, why we shouldn't have let this happen. I will welcome all harassment including horror stories, because those reminders -- no matter how painful -- are more scarring than an albino monks' self-flagellation a la Da Vinci Code.

However, my article today is not a quest for abusive reinforcement, but rather to discuss the effect going against one's personal rules of conduct has on a casual dating situation.

Sometimes unsafe sex might be allowed between two single people with no recriminations except for an occasional nonspecific urethritis. They might say to themselves, "We are both semi-responsible adults who trust the other is telling the truth about their HIV status," or, "Both of us get tested regularly, so what's the big deal?"

If they want to remain disease-free, it should be obvious they are gambling. The scary truth is that an increasing number of people today are living in the Vegas way. This behavior is reckless, yet is oddly proliferating even among us geezers (the over-30 crowd) who know better.

Perhaps this is a latent death wish symptomatic of a failed wartime economy, or a blind faith that "it won't happen to me," but what I want to know is how do the reckless reconcile their consciousness? How do we justify the possibility we might have been infected last week, or vice versa? Why are we lying to ourselves that we aren't scared? Or worse, what about not caring at all, like those we've given a zippy catch phase to like bugchasers and giftgivers? What the fuck, right?

It's like a sex scene out of "Ghostbusters" between Rick Moranis (the keymaster) and Sigourney Weaver (the gatekeeper). Do their titles make them more sexually appealing?

In my case, our two minutes of wild abandon, although the car reversed and our picnic was finished on the lawn, left us in a gridlock of anxiety and self-punishment. Not to mention a nagging urgency to get tested not just once, but once a month for the next six months to be sure that we're both still negative. A lot of wasted time and energy for a little guilty pleasure.

Different rules might apply for our positive friends, I suppose, but should they? Certainly if one is and the other isn't, then without a shadow of a doubt, play extra safe. But even when both are positive, you hear things about catching different strains, or that nondetectable viral loads make one supposedly safer. And, of course, STDs are everyone's party favor -- YIPPEE!

Perhaps the barebackers feel it's their payoff for having to live with HIV, but it doesn't mean they can't catch a nasty. And, come on, taking antibiotics for any reason isn't exactly responsible health care. Shut up, you know it's true.

So unless we'd rather drive a worrisome ride like a Rohypnol bride, for the sake of singles sanity, shouldn't casual sex be safe regardless of our status? Or, altruistically speaking, is it our responsibility to socially reinforce safe-sex practices, lest we all let slip our rules a bit?

This article may not have my typically light-hearted spin on things, but honestly this shit fucks with my head, and there's nothing witty or humorous to be said about that.

The worst part of this whole debacle is things between my date and I will never be the same. The fact "it" happened created such a head-trip between us that playtime might be re-scheduled indefinitely. And for what?

This dating experience, above all others, even my inherent longing for love, emphasizes my desire to alleviate fear from my sex life. It's the No. 1 reason I'm looking for a monogamous relationship.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who's tired of being afraid, and maybe I'm not the only one who's not afraid to talk about it?

Anyone? Anyone???