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February 2001

My Human Sexuality professor is a little cerebral.  He's a shorter, salt-n-pepper haired man with glasses and eyeballs that roll back in his head when lecturing about anatomy, sexual response and atypical sexual variations.  He takes the strangest stance during his lectures, hiking his pant leg halfway up his almost hairless white calf and planting his foot, housed in an orthopedic black shoe, on the table next to him.  One foot on the table and the other firmly on the floor.  Then, he leans into his knee pronouncing the stretch and strain of his grey poly-blend slacks which emphasizes the obvious smashing and separation of his testes.  The lecture hall is silent.  

Chapter 16, the chapter on STD's, is 44 pages long.  Fourty-four pages detailing, outlining and photo cataloging shots of human genitalia stricken with herpes, warts and gonorrheal discharge.  It was 44 pages too many.

October 2011

I had an itch, down there and without thinking I scratched it.

A piercing white hot burn tore through my vagina and a sudden flush of livid blood raced to my temples! I was in that ragged place between hystarical crying and furious anger... DAMN HIM!!

Mr. Scabs had been STD tested more than once.  Foolishly, I assumed I was in the clear.  Now, I'd regretted my confidence and trust in his test.  Stupid me!  STUPID ME!  It seems so ridiculous now, but I had avoided getting tested on the mere grounds of self-humiliation.  

Grabbing a mirror and assuming my old professors lecturing stance; one foot on the bathroom counter and one of the ground.  I tried a self examination; my results were inconclusive.   

Sliding down the bathroom wall, I crumple into a heap.  Crying out in rage, 
"Will this never end?  I hate him!"

Although he isn't living at home, his presence is everywhere, even in my pants!

Horrified by the tangibility and sweeping repercussions of his actions, HIS actions, not mine, I scream!  I could live the rest of my life fighting herpes outbreaks!  Those stinking commercials with happy girls holding the hands of nice looking young men while touting the awesomeness of the latest drugs for this incurable disease.  Incurable!  Or worse, I'd be losing my life to the ultimate killer, AIDS!

Grabbing a fist of my hair in each hand I pull so hard I hear the hairs begin to break.   In this moment a dam broke spewing out emotions I had only begun to see.  This man, this husband who made promises, risked everything.  His apathy for me as a wife and lover could be rationalized but his apathy for human life was inexcusable.  I realized my very life and the life of my son, who we conceived during his treacherous hunt for sex, meant nothing to him.  He's willing to risk our lives!

Is he a psychopath?  A sociopath, with no compassion for human life?  My heart stops as it begins to tear, ripping through my guts and forcing a flood of searing tears from my eyes.  This cry is different from my other cries.  My body turns marble hard, lifeless and cold.  My face is emotionless and flat as the chill of bitter hatred replaces my warmth.  Hot tears burn my icy cheeks and like venom it poisons me.

Seething and dripping with nausea, I call Mr. Scabs.  He answers timidly. Since moving out, I rarely initiate contact.  My phone call was out of the ordinary.    

"I have an STD!  @#4&%!!!  I'm getting tested tomorrow and your footing the bill!  Bastard!"

If you want to hurt Mr, Scabs you need to punch him the the pocketbook.

Naked and humiliated, I wrap the worn cotton medical gown closer to my body.  I feel tainted.  Janice walks into the exam room and I can't help but smile.  She is the woman that delivered my son and got her feet wet in the overflow of the birthing pool.  She passed my baby into the arms of my husband as he cut the umbilical cord.  I love her!  

She had shared the most sacred moment of my life.  Birth.  

Here I am, two years later, sharing the most degrading moment of my life.  Betrayal.

My eyes swollen and red meet her's.  They're a warm sapphire blue with the same highs and lows of a cut gem.  Her mess of short, curly brown hair mirrors her spirited personality.  I watch as her perma-smiles fades.  I've never seen her without a smile.  Bursting into tears she rushes to my side, holding me as I sob.  I love this woman!  I feel such a refuge in her arms.  

My tears subside enough to explain I've discovered my spouses philandering and fears I've contracted his parting gift.  A bonus from his compassionless and abusive decisions.

Holding my hand and touching my cheek Janice asks all the right questions.  Her eyes water as she shares concern for my safety making sure I am getting the emotional, mental and physical support I need.  Shouldering my burden.  We have shared only a few short moments in life but I can't help feeling she is my sister.  

All test results come back negative, a simple ingrown hair!  I am safe but my awakening remains.  I will never forget he choose to gamble our lives.  


Of course, I prolonged telling Mr. Scabs the results were negative.  I admit I liked watching him squirm.


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