Schooling Your Doctor On Gay Sex

Talking about sex isn’t a topic we normally broach with people we don’t really know.

Because, well, it’s sort of personal.

Unless you’re at work or church, there’s really no reason to bring it up.

Kidding!

***

For whatever reason, we’ve been conditioned to think that talking about sex in very basic, blunt terms is crass or *cringe* uncivilized. (I hate that word.)

Sure, other than Dan Savage (whom I love in a completely role modelish way) who of us is completely and utterly comfortable discussing every bit of our sexual history?

Show of hands?

I thought so.

(Whores.)

***

Like I was saying, I’m by no means a prude, but I also don’t go around blathering on my cell phone about intensely private matters, or about things that I hope will clear up in three to four weeks.

(I’ve actually overheard such conversations in line at Harris Teeter. Let me tell you, it made me rethink buying that Chobani for lunch.)

It’s always about balance.

(Even if the fucking GOP is more concerned with our sex lives, rather than admitting they’re being hypocritical dicks or vages.)

Because, sometimes, it’s actually prudent to be straightforward and honest in terms of sex.

Even if it’s not easy.

I mean, who had an incredibly comfortable talk about the birds and the bees?

I didn’t.

I actually shut it down after my dad said “vagina.” And then we had an incredibly awkward car ride to confirmation class. (Where we all had to read about the sin of “self love.” I couldn’t catch a break that day.)

Because, like I told him, “Gah, Dad! We already went over this in Sexth Ed. Gahhhhhh!”

Bless his heart. (And my lisp.)

***

Now, though, I’m an adult.

I’m past caring about the number of notches in others’ bedposts, and really didn’t care in the first place. And my friends and I don’t want to hear about each other’s sexual exploits, because, again, who cares? Each of us doesn’t really feel like wasting precious catch-up time hearing the details about how many times so-and-so “did it” a particular weekend (and I hope for your sake you don’t actually use that lingo).

Still, the subject of sex does come up.

Like when you go to the doctor.

Now, you might remember that I had to go to the doctor earlier this week.

And, as with almost every doctor’s visit, the questions follow a set rubric, and gradually venture into the whole sexual category.

This is where it can interesting.

That is, unless you have a practitioner who’s completely comfortable talking about sex–regardless of one’s gender identity or sexual orientation.

Then it’s just boring. (Albeit wonderfully so.)

So when I went in for my scheduled follow up, I got to speak with Dr. WebMD. Who, of course, wrongly assumed right off the bat that this was the second time I came to see him about being sick with this particular malady.

Me: “Actually, no. I’ve never had this before.”

Dr.WMD: “Oh, er, well. For some reason, I thought you had.”

Me: “I just wanted to follow up as suggested and make sure everything checked out and that this isn’t meningitis.”

Dr.WMD: “Sure, sure. So, you’re symptoms aren’t as bad?”

Me: “Nope, everything is much better. Pain is gone, fever is gone, and I only have some residual joint pain, which may be symptomatic of me approaching thirty.”

*Silence. Joke falls flat. I sigh.*

Then we start talking about general health, vitamins to take–the usual spiel.

But then. The sex talk starts.

And I know what’s coming.

Because I can already tell he’s getting nervous.

DrWMD: “So now, uh, you and your partner have, uh, been together for, uh, a good amount of time, correct?”

Me: “Yes.”

And then his uh-er-uh usage becomes more prevalent, and his questions about the “receptive partner” or “giving partner” or “both,” are whispered and stilted.

He never makes eye contact, choosing instead to talk to the flyer requesting patients to please “Refrain from wearing perfume, cologne, or spray-on deodorants” hanging above my head. (Which perplexes me. I guess he prefers B.O. Or, maybe he has an allergy.)

So, to save us both time, I give him a run-down of sexually sensitive information as it relates to me–explaining top, bottom, versatile categories–to better assist him in providing medical comment in the future, should he ever have the need.

He exhales a bit, focuses on typing away on his laptop, interjecting an “Oh, okay” or “Interesting” every now and then during my succinct stream of gay-sex-discussion.

Me: “Does that cover it? Anything else?”

DrWMD: “Uh, yes. I, um, think that covers it.”

When I get up to leave, I feel like giving him a pat on the back, telling him, “Son, you’re a man now.”

Instead, I thank him, take my prescription for nasal spray (the real reason I went for the check up–because I knew the first diagnosis was correct), and go on my merry way.

And even if he didn’t really learn anything from what I told him, at least maybe he’ll see it doesn’t have to be so overwhelming to talk about gay sex.

We’re all animals.

We all have needs.

And sometimes it’s best to just cast aside formalities, let our inner Dr. Ruth take over, and be confident.

Because, even if your doctor can’t talk about it easily, you can.

And you have the woman or man stones to prove it.