The ramblings of a middle aged man (who can no longer call himself a boy really). My views on life, love and some of my writing (which is all under copyright, would be thieves!). The world needs to know my views, obviously.
Friday, 8 June 2012
Ramblings: Dilated to Meet You
I sat across from the middle aged doctor. He was kind of cuddly looking with a big round African face and huge white dentures.
“In the past six months have you been the active partner in anal or oral sex? Have you been the receptive partner in anal or oral sex? Have you had sexual intercourse with someone who isn’t a British citizen? Have you used condoms?”
“Yes, yes yes and yes.”
“What nationality of person have you had intercourse with in the past six months?”
“Let me think…Spanish, German and Iraqi.” It had been a busy year. There hadn’t been much on TV. I was single and always careful. I was just in the Genito-urinary Medicine Clinic for a routine check up.
“Iraqi? Ha ha ha! You are a first! A first, my man. I have never in all my carerr met a person who has had sex with an Iraqi!”
It seems I had made his day. He in was in fits of laughter and reached across and shook my hand firmly as a congratulatory gesture. Maybe he thought I’d been doing my bit for relations with the Middle East. I hadn’t. I’d just indulged myself with a rather dashing man one night. He had a lovely complexion.
I got used to the G.U. clinic in the mid 1990s. I’d finally plucked up the courage to undergo a screening and an H.I.V. test and I ended up spending many hours there. Not because I was carrying anything; I actually got a clean bill of health. I’d had a course of vaccinations for Hepatitis B as a student nurse and they hadn’t taken. The doctor in the clinic decided this was terrible as I was of at double risk of contracting the disease due to being a nurse and a gay. She told me about a new vaccine that had just come on the market and they were eager to have a patient to try it on. I jumped at the chance. I’ve always loved a nice prescription drug and I love to be a guinea pig
I had to attend the following week and they made no bones about telling me that the vaccine was currently very expensive and had cost around a thousand pounds. It’s much cheaper now. I was very pleased to be getting my money’s worth. I had the vaccine and then came the sting in the tale. I had to sit in the waiting room for 45 minutes, in case I reacted to the injection. I also had to attend twice more for the follow on jabs and sit there for a further 45 minutes each time.
I read all the dog eared back issues of the dull magazines. I read all the leaflets and posters. I should have been granted a diploma in S.T.D.s. I also saw it as an amazing social occasion. I saw half the gay people I knew during those hours spent in the waiting room. It was great. Some were a little sheepish but why be like that? Having a sexual health check up is a good thing to do.
I saw lots of improbable people. There were people so ugly that it amazed me that they’d ever had sex at all. It sent my mind down avenues I didn’t want to think about. There were also some very elderly men attending, one even staggered in on a zimmer frame. The mind boggles. Good luck to him though. He could barely walk but clearly other parts of him functioned a bit better.
A good few years later I was attending for a check up again and a camp male nurse was asking the screening questions this time.
“Do you swallow when performing oral sex?”
“Ooh, you’re no fun are you?” He winked.
I gave him a steely glare whilst laughing to myself inside. It was a highly inappropriate comment but it amused me and he meant no harm.
Later, I was in a compromising position with the doctor. He was inserting a swab into a rather delicate area. The door opened and in marched a small nurse, as wide as she was tall.
“Oh hello! How are you? I’m Bob’s sister. You looked after him last month when he had a gastric bleed.”
I smiled back and acknowledged that I recalled her brother. It is difficult to make polite conversation, though, when someone is poking something down the end of your most delicate area. I rose to the occasion though. I can always make chit chat.