Non-binary (enby) twenty-something Darcy Spits (they/them) recalls a sensational rendezvous with a tender lover and a subsequent, all-too-familiar encounter with the STI gonorrhea (also referred to as ‘the clap’).
The faint, distinct buzz from my phone jolts me from my douching daze. A blurry black and yellow icon reflecting off my shower pane tells me it’s the message I’ve been waiting for. I feel that familiar anticipation that comes with the initial meetup setting in. Trembles shoot down my legs as I make my way to the vanity.
‘cum to 69 lay st, poundtown, tell me when ur close ;)’
I chuckle as another message blimps through with his actual address. And we’re on!
‘Asian twunk’ and I had been messaging on and off for a few weeks now. Despite his initial muck-up, ‘Hey man’, he recovered quickly with ‘Oh shit, sorry, hey you’. It’s a simple gesture, but I do get misgendered on the apps a bit, so I really appreciate his apology. His banter teetered between amusing and flirtatious, straying from the cookie-cutter convos I’ve come to expect online. His pics were gorgeous, a sharp jaw, sweet button nose, and a gorgeous jet-black mullet cropped much shorter than mine. I’ve been meaning to find a time. When he asked, ‘What are you into, cutie?’ I thought tonight might be the night.
So, I shuffled to the pantry in a post-work haze to grab my PrEP. I find it easier to take it daily so I am protected for any of my spontaneous fucks. As the pill went down with that slight sterile tang, I drafted up my usual response:
‘vers, into spit, pits, flip-fucking, rimming, and I like it a little rough’
*
Two hours later, fresh and prepped, my right knee bobs double the speed of my car’s indicator. Even though I go to hookups somewhat regularly I always get anxious the first time with someone new. Turning into a tree-lined street, that familiar nervousness blends with arousal, and I adjust my jeans as I pull up to his terrace.
He welcomes me in with a grin, and I follow him up the stairs to his room as he asks about my day. His pants, tighter than my loose flares, hug his ass, and I allow my eyes to linger as we ascend. In his room he hands me a tall glass of water and pops a chill RnB playlist on. Taking a sip and setting it on the neat, mid-century bedside, he offers me a massage. I am slightly taken aback, not accustomed to such kindness in previous hookups. But after the tedious week at work I’ve had, a massage was just what I needed.
De-robing down to my black jockstrap, he manoeuvres me so I am face down atop his plush white doona. He mounts me, still in his boxers, so I can feel his semi between my upper thighs. He works my back; his firm hands enliven my senses and relax my tender muscles. His touch makes me hard, and I try to hold in a moan as he compliments my body and asks how it feels. I lose myself in his caress and realise I should probably offer to reciprocate, pulling myself up so both our legs hang off the mattress.
‘Only if you want to’ he quips.
‘I want to’, gesturing to the indent I left.
His profile name checks out. Tight muscles cling to his smooth, tanned skin. He was toned but not too buff, with a softness around his waist. He clearly took care of himself but wasn’t a total gym bro. I like that. I was fully hard now, a small stain forming in my jock where some precum had escaped. Even though I’m sure I wasn’t doing a very good job, sensual energy lifted the room as I worked my way lower.
He must’ve sensed this, too, flipping over so our lips could meet. I loved the taste of his spit. The texture of his tongue against mine. I broke away, pushing his head to the side and diving into his neck. I ventured down, pulling his firm arm above his head and licking the slightly darker skin of his bushy pits.
I won’t give away all the juicy details, but it was a lot of fun. We flip-fucked for a while, moving around and switching positions. We laughed during one hasty manoeuvre, where we both almost went flying off the bed.
He wrapped me in a cuddle after we’d both finished and sampled my load. He acted as if I was the most succulent meal he’d ever tasted. We talked for a while like this, about life and our jobs, until I yawned one too many times and decided to call it a night.
‘It was nice to meet you, Darcy’ he said, eyeing me as I got dressed.
‘Likewise, Khánh’.
*
A week or so later, I noticed a numb pain in my balls and a stinging when I pissed. I know these can be a sign of an STI, so I nervously jumped onto Emen8 and found my symptoms were consistent with gonorrhea. My anxiety settles a bit when I read it’s a straightforward treatment, just a shot of antibiotics.
I booked into my regular sexual health service. I still get that pang of dysphoria when I select YES to the question, ‘Are you a man (cis or trans) who has sex with men?’. It’s great that services have become more trans-inclusive, but I think there’s still work to be done to make enby’s like me feel validated all throughout the testing process. If it had asked ‘Are you a man or person with a penis (cis or trans) who has sex with men?’ that would’ve made me feel comfier about saying yes, instead of that sucker-punch of invalidation. I know I need the right care for my body, and I like to be on top of my sexual health, so I push through. I also know the staff are lovely, always making me feel comfortable and using my correct pronouns.
I get tested every three months, so I knew not to feel nervous about disclosing to a nurse in cerulean scrubs my sexual history. She was so kind and non-judgmental, her brunette bob flicking up at the ends as she asked for my pronouns, followed by a series of questions about my sexual health. The whole thing only took about 30 minutes, less than an episode of Sex in the City. When the tests came back positive, I got my shot from another cute male nurse who asked if I needed help contacting my recent sexual partners. Luckily, I’d kept the contact details of my last few hook-ups, so I told the nurse I was all good doing it myself.
My fingers trembled slightly as I typed out the inevitable message to Khánh:
‘Heyy, I’ve tested positive for gonorrhea, you should probably get a test x’
*
A couple of weeks later, the beguiling Khánh reached out asking how I was. Flashes of our rendezvous blinked before me. A grin pulled at my cheeks. He really was sweet, wasn’t he? After letting him know that I finished treatment a few weeks ago, I shot him a follow-up, my smirk widening as I hit send:
‘what are you up to tonight ;)’
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