While I have written frequently about the largely one-sided open relationship I had with Axel and the importance of negotiation in a relationship, what I haven’t written about is how easy that “negotiation” was between us. Since I was so in love with him, it was easy to say and believe that whatever made Axel vital and full of enthusiasm for life and love was OK by me. Since variety was the spice of his life, variety it would be.
I made the condition however that pillow talk about yours truly be preempted by the phrase, “buy the book,” but otherwise wholly trusted his judgment as well as awareness of “safe sex”.
We didn’t know that he was going to die of a sexually transmitted disease that had likely been incubating for decades but for which he attributed to his being a first responder to Katrina in terms of the shock to his system and immune system. (He was erecting showers in the field to the survivors rather than say administering oral sex, in case that’s what you’re thinking.)
By the way, here is a reassuring article in terms of how Axel’s disease progresses and why I am not at risk nor are my partners, past and future: HPV Oral Cancer: Low Risk for HPV Transmission.
Nevertheless, I have made the largely principled stand to refuse cunnilingus, as I explain here: Goodbye Cunnilingus. It was not a great sacrifice, as I am too sensitive down there to enjoy it 90% of the time anyway. Besides, I’m a giver, and such was the full extent of my limited extra-relationship activity while Axel was alive, and which, it so happens, is the limit of my sexual activity today, albeit highly infrequent. There just aren’t a whole lot of men out there who I am interested in worshiping, even for just an evening.
None of Axel’s past partners or their partners or my partners to my knowledge have come down with any HPV-related symptom, and I am in touch with many of them, and the six-degrees-of-separation grapevine, to include the Swinger communities of which Axel was a part (I was too, for a brief period, long before I met him, but Swinging is not my scene so no big loss).
All that said, if there is a man reading this who has decided not to meet me out of concern for Axel’s disease, the above explanation is not intended to change such a man’s mind. I’m not that desperate. Any man not wholly enthusiastic about meeting me is not to be encouraged. Period. That would include a certain man who was about to be the recipient of a sizeable grant on my say so. Oh well. Boo hoo. I’ve ceded my role to someone else entirely in that regard. I couldn’t handle the responsibility, besides, particularly given how my life has been going lately.
Meanwhile, I’m between a rock and a hard place with regard to my living situation which has become increasingly perilous given the money at stake as applied to other owners in my retirement community. I was recently treated to just how perilous without elaborating much here (but rather in private to a host of individuals across the Eastern Seaboard who will start asking questions and raising a stink should I stop writing here or otherwise disappear).
Meanwhile, as if it would be any consolation, I have been practically besieged with offers to eat me out by near strangers. Do I have a sign on my forehead that says “Challenge to Pussy Eaters. Take your best shot!”?
I would like to live somewhere that I like better, around people and ideally a man who I admire, and instead I get an abundance of offers that I don’t appreciate. This would be the death knell of masculinity as I know it. It is almost weird how today, the anniversary of Axel’s death, I fantasize how much I loved to suck his cock. If he is still with me, and I believe that he is, he knows this, and that comforts me. It is my consolation as I return home after a three-week excursion to a place where I’m worth more dead than alive, that at least I was the best cocksucker that Axel had ever had. Please make that my epitaph.