Saved by Randomness
Pressed by many good friends and my own desire to write, I decided against a well-thought of post, to a rather series of vignettes (not the first time I do that) that unravel one after the other randomly, with no overarching theme, and no clear thread that seems to tie these vignettes together.
The only thing in common is their randomness.
Vignette (1)
'If I am not out with friends or at the gym, then I am having sex'
There it was, written so effortlessly, no doubt, no hesitation, nothing to hold one back from declaring such series of actions so readily.
Not apologetic in the least or slightly clouded by moral hesitation or contrition.
Almost flagrant - brandished in my face.
The above statement was an answer to my question, 'What are you doing tonight?'
And to further mortify me, it was declared as a generalization, a sequence of actions that happen every night.
Said one Lebanese gentleman. With no moral qualms, no deep psychological conflict, simple and to the point.
But the truth is never simple and never to the point.
The truth is anything but simple.
What amazed me about this declaration, is the implicit mechanistic feel to it.
Its as if its executed without much forethought.
The Lebanese gentleman has mastered the art of know-how of those three actions so much, that the process of self-reflection was no longer necessary.
It became akin to 'being' himself.
That is what I find scary. That a process becomes so intrinsic to what we do, that it no longer invites self-reflection or 'after-thought'.
Going out with friends, working out, fornicating, have one and the same intellectual and psychological engagement and thus stir no mental or emotional reaction.
How can anyone make his 'being' so flat?
Vignette (2)
Fellating soap?
My aversion to oral sex is no secret.
I say it everywhere and to everyone.
It does not do it for me and I have yet to see a man (and a specific body part of that man) that inspires me to do otherwise.
I always feel the act in itself has a lot of power play more than pleasure.
Realistically nothing about someone's penis provides an exciting oral pleasure, neither in terms of texture or flavour.
Even if some people claim differently.
However, as they say there is always a first time.
And one Cancerian gentleman with gorgeous eyebrows and magnificent arms, has been coming and going out of my life for some time now, and aside from awkward exchange of kisses (for kissing is not his forte) we never ventured beyond 'getting-intimate-while-dressed' point.
So in a rare moment when a Cancerian completely abandons his caution and inability to take action, and cowering in to their obsession with oral sex (Cancerians like Libras are primarily oral creatures) and me wanting to go beyond my own inhibitions and revulsions, he lightly pushed me 'downwards' while we were kissing very ungracefully as usual.
For once I took the hint and headed 'south'.
Now one of the key motivations for such an avant-garde move is the fact that he was immaculately fresh down there.
It really did feel like fellating a bar of soap.
Not a trace of anything human about his body or this particular body part.
Much to my relief.
While I was in the process of fellatio I kept wondering if I was doing 'it' right.
Anxiety of performance never leaves the male sex.
But then if the number of orgasms is any indication of sexual gratification then I did pretty well I think.
Vignette (3)
The politics of infection?
Before the demise of Kiki (for as of two days ago she has severed all ties with me, much to my delight and mental relief) she was on a quest of half-hearted activism that she was involved in, for purely selfish reasons of course, and in a moment where such colourful attempts pay off, we (the gay community that is) were given the address and location of an anonymous HIV testing and counselling facility.
It goes without saying that Kiki was the first one to go and 'try it out' and it goes without saying that she demanded that I go and offer all the moral support as a friend.
That I was not available and she to chose to go with the person I last imagined she would (the Aquarius gentleman who is now married with two offspring) made little difference to her.
However, my own moral indignation at her thoughtless and careless behaviour, did not stop me from wanting to go myself and test.
If my blog is a valid record of my sex life then I have nothing to worry about.
But I do.
I am not the biggest fan of safe sex.
And I am completely aware of the moral, political, sociological, psychological ramifications that puts me at risk in.
Not to mention pathological as well.
I realize the wave of judgements that is going to fly at me from every direction once this is out.
But its a fact.
Given the choice, I would really rather not have sex at all than to 'practice' safe sex.
And me being the son of a pathologist and coming from a family of established immunologists, surgeons and physicians, I choose the first.
So, its more of no sex in the city kind of choice.
No one knows as much as I do about HIV and the consequences of being 'infected'.
The disease in itself redefined the position of the gay community and how it views itself and how the outside world views it.
There was a whole new political dimension to the disease.
And even now, the choice to practice safe sex is not one that is primarily based on health-informed decision making.
Its a political choice.
Despite the fact that the majority of those who are currently infected with HIV are not gay people.
One infection reveals so much and at the same time very little about your biological and psychological and moral choices.
If you are HIV+ then you are everything the community is trying not to be (at the same time you are everything the community wants to be but hopes not).
HIV single-handedly forced the gay community to find a new sexual ethic and 'reform' its sexual practices for some time.
Maybe for a decade or so.
But then safe sex did not prevent the outbreak of more traditional venereal diseases, like the outbreak of syphilis in San Francisco a few years ago.
Promiscuity still remained the norm.
And the question that was going through my mind as I was heading to the testing facility to offer Kiki moral support on collecting her results and getting myself tested was:
If I was not promiscuous and yet I turned out to be HIV+, what does that signify?
Even with safe sex practices, nothing absolutely prevents the transmission of the virus more than 95%.
Nothing.
Does it mean that everytime I would like to be intimate with someone, we both have to run tests for every major STD/I?
Sex is messy.
And for the longest time syphilis was considered one of the most devastating ailments for those who chose to practice 'free love'.
They even had posters discouraging soldiers from sleeping around in the 1950s.
But people refuse to acknowledge this fact.
That sex is an instinct, but unlike food (which also can get you seriously sick if you are not careful) it does involve another human being.
All your other instincts do not involve another human being to fulfil them (you don't need someone to eat, unless you are immobile and then the risk of passing disease in such a case is minuscule)
Sex is the only instinct that requires the active participation of another willing partner to be fulfilled (I am not concerned with the solitary explorations or gratification of one's sexuality. I strictly speak of the act itself)
There was no outbreak of HIV because people ate together nor did anyone ever get to do anything more than wash their hands before they eat.
But maybe washing your hands amounts to 'safe' practices?
As the attending physician was drawing a blood sample, I couldn't help but notice the beard and the prayer mark on his forehead.
He knew that he was drawing this sample for an HIV test.
He knew that I was referred to him by the testing facility that mainly caters to gay people and prostitutes.
And I was thinking how would I feel if I were in his place?
If I were a conservative, middle-class Muslim, drawing a sample for an HIV test from a gay man?
I will leave that for Ice Queer to play with.
There is a week waiting period before you get the results.
I had a week to ponder over the politics of infection. And I kept thinking how would everyone around me think and feel if they discovered I was HIV+.
In the context of a Middle Eastern, Muslim, allegedly conservative society. Where homosexuality amounts to compromised masculinity and fear of penetration ranks with fear of being stabbed to death.
My own natural morbidity made sure that I entertain every possible scenario in which an HIV infection played the starring role.
When it was time to go get my results, it was already Ramadan and I was more than reluctant to go get my results.
Knowing how it is to get HIV test results from a public facility (even if anonymous) especially during Ramadan.
Of course Kiki refused to extend the same courtesy to myself and come along for moral support and as usual she never bothered to ask about the results.
I had to go alone and weather the storm of discovering.
So under the glaring Cairo sun and in the scorching heat I made my way among the crowds and headed for the testing facility. A guard at the door asked me where are you heading and I said at such and such facility, and he shot me a look of utter disdain, a look that said 'you are one of them queers, aren't you?'. I was not dissuaded by such welcome and went ahead and headed directly to the office where a veiled middle-class woman inquired whether I came to collect my results.
I said yes.
She gave me the results and then lectured me on the woes of unsafe-sex (she used the word practice).
And warned me that people are only allowed to test once.
After which they are supposed to be informed about safe practices and should not be in danger of contracting the virus.
I thought this is idiotic, but nodded nonetheless.
As I walked out from the building and wondered at the sheer randomness of such a devastating disease and the stigma inextricably linked to it I was far from being immune from the politics of infection.
The only thing in common is their randomness.
Vignette (1)
'If I am not out with friends or at the gym, then I am having sex'
There it was, written so effortlessly, no doubt, no hesitation, nothing to hold one back from declaring such series of actions so readily.
Not apologetic in the least or slightly clouded by moral hesitation or contrition.
Almost flagrant - brandished in my face.
The above statement was an answer to my question, 'What are you doing tonight?'
And to further mortify me, it was declared as a generalization, a sequence of actions that happen every night.
Said one Lebanese gentleman. With no moral qualms, no deep psychological conflict, simple and to the point.
But the truth is never simple and never to the point.
The truth is anything but simple.
What amazed me about this declaration, is the implicit mechanistic feel to it.
Its as if its executed without much forethought.
The Lebanese gentleman has mastered the art of know-how of those three actions so much, that the process of self-reflection was no longer necessary.
It became akin to 'being' himself.
That is what I find scary. That a process becomes so intrinsic to what we do, that it no longer invites self-reflection or 'after-thought'.
Going out with friends, working out, fornicating, have one and the same intellectual and psychological engagement and thus stir no mental or emotional reaction.
How can anyone make his 'being' so flat?
Vignette (2)
Fellating soap?
My aversion to oral sex is no secret.
I say it everywhere and to everyone.
It does not do it for me and I have yet to see a man (and a specific body part of that man) that inspires me to do otherwise.
I always feel the act in itself has a lot of power play more than pleasure.
Realistically nothing about someone's penis provides an exciting oral pleasure, neither in terms of texture or flavour.
Even if some people claim differently.
However, as they say there is always a first time.
And one Cancerian gentleman with gorgeous eyebrows and magnificent arms, has been coming and going out of my life for some time now, and aside from awkward exchange of kisses (for kissing is not his forte) we never ventured beyond 'getting-intimate-while-dressed' point.
So in a rare moment when a Cancerian completely abandons his caution and inability to take action, and cowering in to their obsession with oral sex (Cancerians like Libras are primarily oral creatures) and me wanting to go beyond my own inhibitions and revulsions, he lightly pushed me 'downwards' while we were kissing very ungracefully as usual.
For once I took the hint and headed 'south'.
Now one of the key motivations for such an avant-garde move is the fact that he was immaculately fresh down there.
It really did feel like fellating a bar of soap.
Not a trace of anything human about his body or this particular body part.
Much to my relief.
While I was in the process of fellatio I kept wondering if I was doing 'it' right.
Anxiety of performance never leaves the male sex.
But then if the number of orgasms is any indication of sexual gratification then I did pretty well I think.
Vignette (3)
The politics of infection?
Before the demise of Kiki (for as of two days ago she has severed all ties with me, much to my delight and mental relief) she was on a quest of half-hearted activism that she was involved in, for purely selfish reasons of course, and in a moment where such colourful attempts pay off, we (the gay community that is) were given the address and location of an anonymous HIV testing and counselling facility.
It goes without saying that Kiki was the first one to go and 'try it out' and it goes without saying that she demanded that I go and offer all the moral support as a friend.
That I was not available and she to chose to go with the person I last imagined she would (the Aquarius gentleman who is now married with two offspring) made little difference to her.
However, my own moral indignation at her thoughtless and careless behaviour, did not stop me from wanting to go myself and test.
If my blog is a valid record of my sex life then I have nothing to worry about.
But I do.
I am not the biggest fan of safe sex.
And I am completely aware of the moral, political, sociological, psychological ramifications that puts me at risk in.
Not to mention pathological as well.
I realize the wave of judgements that is going to fly at me from every direction once this is out.
But its a fact.
Given the choice, I would really rather not have sex at all than to 'practice' safe sex.
And me being the son of a pathologist and coming from a family of established immunologists, surgeons and physicians, I choose the first.
So, its more of no sex in the city kind of choice.
No one knows as much as I do about HIV and the consequences of being 'infected'.
The disease in itself redefined the position of the gay community and how it views itself and how the outside world views it.
There was a whole new political dimension to the disease.
And even now, the choice to practice safe sex is not one that is primarily based on health-informed decision making.
Its a political choice.
Despite the fact that the majority of those who are currently infected with HIV are not gay people.
One infection reveals so much and at the same time very little about your biological and psychological and moral choices.
If you are HIV+ then you are everything the community is trying not to be (at the same time you are everything the community wants to be but hopes not).
HIV single-handedly forced the gay community to find a new sexual ethic and 'reform' its sexual practices for some time.
Maybe for a decade or so.
But then safe sex did not prevent the outbreak of more traditional venereal diseases, like the outbreak of syphilis in San Francisco a few years ago.
Promiscuity still remained the norm.
And the question that was going through my mind as I was heading to the testing facility to offer Kiki moral support on collecting her results and getting myself tested was:
If I was not promiscuous and yet I turned out to be HIV+, what does that signify?
Even with safe sex practices, nothing absolutely prevents the transmission of the virus more than 95%.
Nothing.
Does it mean that everytime I would like to be intimate with someone, we both have to run tests for every major STD/I?
Sex is messy.
And for the longest time syphilis was considered one of the most devastating ailments for those who chose to practice 'free love'.
They even had posters discouraging soldiers from sleeping around in the 1950s.
But people refuse to acknowledge this fact.
That sex is an instinct, but unlike food (which also can get you seriously sick if you are not careful) it does involve another human being.
All your other instincts do not involve another human being to fulfil them (you don't need someone to eat, unless you are immobile and then the risk of passing disease in such a case is minuscule)
Sex is the only instinct that requires the active participation of another willing partner to be fulfilled (I am not concerned with the solitary explorations or gratification of one's sexuality. I strictly speak of the act itself)
There was no outbreak of HIV because people ate together nor did anyone ever get to do anything more than wash their hands before they eat.
But maybe washing your hands amounts to 'safe' practices?
As the attending physician was drawing a blood sample, I couldn't help but notice the beard and the prayer mark on his forehead.
He knew that he was drawing this sample for an HIV test.
He knew that I was referred to him by the testing facility that mainly caters to gay people and prostitutes.
And I was thinking how would I feel if I were in his place?
If I were a conservative, middle-class Muslim, drawing a sample for an HIV test from a gay man?
I will leave that for Ice Queer to play with.
There is a week waiting period before you get the results.
I had a week to ponder over the politics of infection. And I kept thinking how would everyone around me think and feel if they discovered I was HIV+.
In the context of a Middle Eastern, Muslim, allegedly conservative society. Where homosexuality amounts to compromised masculinity and fear of penetration ranks with fear of being stabbed to death.
My own natural morbidity made sure that I entertain every possible scenario in which an HIV infection played the starring role.
When it was time to go get my results, it was already Ramadan and I was more than reluctant to go get my results.
Knowing how it is to get HIV test results from a public facility (even if anonymous) especially during Ramadan.
Of course Kiki refused to extend the same courtesy to myself and come along for moral support and as usual she never bothered to ask about the results.
I had to go alone and weather the storm of discovering.
So under the glaring Cairo sun and in the scorching heat I made my way among the crowds and headed for the testing facility. A guard at the door asked me where are you heading and I said at such and such facility, and he shot me a look of utter disdain, a look that said 'you are one of them queers, aren't you?'. I was not dissuaded by such welcome and went ahead and headed directly to the office where a veiled middle-class woman inquired whether I came to collect my results.
I said yes.
She gave me the results and then lectured me on the woes of unsafe-sex (she used the word practice).
And warned me that people are only allowed to test once.
After which they are supposed to be informed about safe practices and should not be in danger of contracting the virus.
I thought this is idiotic, but nodded nonetheless.
As I walked out from the building and wondered at the sheer randomness of such a devastating disease and the stigma inextricably linked to it I was far from being immune from the politics of infection.
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