My boyfriend's STD secret

Q I’m a 23-year-old female, and just found out yesterday that I have contracted HPV/genital warts. I called the four people I’ve slept with in the past year to inform them, saving my current beau (he’s 28, BTW) for last. When I got on the phone with him (he lives in Boston, I’m in New York), I hardly had to say anything because he quickly responded: “Oh yeah, I have HPV too.” We’ve been dating for four months and he never bothered to mention that his last two girlfriends both magically contracted this virus after being with him. He apologized, said he felt terrible that he never told me, that he had planned to tell me soon, asked what he could do to make up for it, etc. I told him I never wanted to speak to him again. Now, the morning after, I wonder: Is getting an STD just part of being an adult? Or is passing a virus a deal breaker?

A Due to the prevalence of HPV (according to the CDC, at least 50 percent of sexually active people acquire the virus at some point), getting an STD is becoming more and more just another part of being a sexually active adult, but the thing that makes this a deal-breaker situation is the boneheaded way this guy dealt with it. Don’t fall for that “I was going to tell you soon” bullcrap. There’s only one good time to tell someone that you have an STD and that’s before you have sex with them. He acted like the quintessential coward, and because he was unwilling to take the risk of being rejected by you, he essentially opted to make a serious health decision for you. There’s no getting around it: That’s not only really lame, it’s immoral. But because I’m not a fan of sabotaging relationships based on one letter, I feel the need to point out that—although he did act like a schmuck—you could try to summon up compassion for the shitty situation he was in. Nobody wants to be the bearer of that kind of news, especially in the heat of the moment, and unfortunately, he chose the cowardly way out. In my opinion, the whole thing says too much about him as a person to not be a deal breaker, but since you know him far better than I, if you think he’s worth giving a second shot at being a better human being, don’t let me talk you out of it.

Q I am living next to a psycho who thinks I am masturbating outside his door at night. Yes, I am gay, but if I wanted to jerk off outside someone’s door, I’d pick the little old lady on the third floor over this guy. He is in no way, shape or form sexually appealing to me. Furthermore, I do not pursue straight guys, if indeed that is what he is. He’s gone so far as to post biblical verses proclaiming that all homos are destined to hellfire. He screams at me on the streets, he jumps out at me in the hall when I walk by and yells things at me like, “You really got your jollies last night, didn’t you?” I have complained to the landlord, who has promised to evict him should he do it again, but I get worried sometimes that just might not be the way to go with this sicko. When asked by the landlord how he knows I am whacking off, he says he hears me! Or, “I just know, I just know.” Jesus! The cops say they can do nada until he threatens me with violence, which he strategically hasn’t. The only thing he has said that could be taken as a threat was to a neighbor: “We knew what to do with guys like him in the Army.” I am sick of this shit and I want it to stop. Suggestions? Why the hell does he do this anyway? He’s not a foaming-at-the-mouth Southern Baptist preacher, so we can’t lay that on him.

A Don’t kid yourself that it’s only Southern Baptist preachers who have homophobia rotting their brains. The whole gay-marriage battle has shown how many people out there still like to demonize and marginalize gay people. I tend to think it’s a self-esteem thing. People without much self-esteem are always trying to find other people they can feel better than. Of course, the macho indoctrination of military life isn’t helping matters here either. This is so preposterous—he just made up the whole jacking-off thing, because in his sick mind, gay people are always trying to foist their sexuality onto innocent bystanders. Whatever. Still, you’ve definitely got a serious situation on your hands, and I’m glad you’ve notified the landlord and the police. People filled with such hate can act extremely irrationally, so I would veer away from engaging him at all. This guy’s like a bratty three-year-old: If you don’t pay attention to his acting out, there’s more of a chance that he’ll stop doing it.

Q As a longtime reader, I’ve always been respectful of your want to keep your personal experiences out of the column. So why now the admission that you have tasted your own spooge (isn’t it splooge?)?!? Barf. Double barf. If there has ever been a love that dare not speak its name, this is it. I’m formally nominating you for the hall of fame, where you can sit proudly next to the guy that shits in the shower. Keep up the good work but please keep your snacks PG-13.

A I didn’t say I snack on my own spooge, and neither did I proclaim that I loved it. I merely suggested that there may have been a time (or two—so kill me) when I was induced to sample it by either curiosity or the voraciousness of my passion. The context, by the way, was in my response to a letter from a woman who was disgusted when the guy she slept with lapped up every last drop of his seed after spilling it on her stomach. My point was that come tasting and swallowing shouldn’t really be such a mind-blowing thing. Many guys expect women to treat it like pudding, so what’s the big deal if a dude does the same thing? It’s not to everyone’s taste, but that doesn’t make him a full-on freak. Furthermore, just so people don’t get the wrong idea, I haven’t kept my life completely private for all these years just so I could dazzle you all with my spooge-tasting secret. I’ve revealed tons of stuff about myself here and there, both good and potentially embarrassing. Frankly, I think the fact that you latched on (so negatively) to this admission says more about you than it does me.

By the way, since I’m currently writing this column in a tiny village in Tanzania, it seems a little weird not to mention it, so let me use the rest of this space as a little travel diary. I’m teaching fifth-graders (in a little concrete hut with dirt floors) as part of a volunteer vacation thingy, and it’s been amazing. Clearly, Americans have passed through here before, because all the kids want to do fist bumps, complete with the explosion at the end. It’s a Muslim country, so that’s been an eye-opening experience too, and I have to say the people have been supremely friendly. In fact, the only negative experience I’ve had was on a ferry back from the island of Zanzibar, when the ride got far too choppy for poor, fragile-stomached me. I knew I was getting close to being sick, but the boat was rocking too much for me to try to make it to the bathroom, so I did the only thing a red-blooded American could do—vomited in my baseball cap. I know that’s probably an overshare, but what else is new with this column?

Send letters to Jamie Bufalino c/o Time Out New York, 475 Tenth Avenue, 12th floor, New York, NY 10018, or send e-mail to sex@timeoutny.com.

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