Throughout my sex with Guys #1 through #101 there was always a moment, however brief, in which I wondered what my mother would think of the Guy I chose to have sex with. I knew she would never judge me for my sometimes pedestrian tastes, but I often pondered the idea of bringing home someone who could be part of my family. I always assumed there would come a day I’d settle down and go on Grindr to find someone to join me on family weekends.
Then came the day my mother got diagnosed with ovarian cancer, the absolute cunt of cancers in terms of survivability.
Having sickness in your life affects your sex life.
Maybe it’s my inner Rain Man, but I couldn’t help but objectify the human body a little, even the ones I had sex with. Sex is the human body celebrating its existence. Sickness reminds us it’s just a carcass in the making.
Guy #102 was one of the most beautiful Guys I’ve ever been with. Both his body and face were human nature at its best. We met on two occasions. The first time we had a few drinks and strolled around the city, talking and getting to know each other. The second time we met at his place and had two rounds of sex in just under 45 minutes. When I hit him up online to invite myself over for a third date, he politely held it off, quickly ending our relationship with the words we’ll see.
The strange thing was I tried to score a third date out of politeness rather than desire. Despite his raging gorgeousness I didn’t really feel like seeing Guy #102 another time. It was a bit confusing to not be attracted by beauty, though it probably wasn’t beauty I had issues with. It was health.
I dated Guy #102 around the time my mother’s hair started falling out. Having never experienced sickness at close range it was difficult to shed my mind of it, even when I was celebrating life with Guy #102. Not counting a common mono infection, health had always been a given for me. Not once did a body I have sex with remind me of sickness and while Guy #102 was about as perfect as bodies come, I couldn’t help but be reminded of how the human body can turn against itself sometimes.
The fact our first date consisted of nothing but talking suggested Guy #102 was interested in me. I even told him about my mother’s recent diagnosis, to which he responded empathetically. On our second date it became apparent Guy #102 didn’t want total strangers in his house, our first date being his means to check if I was mentally stable enough for an actual sex date.
As I was putting my clothes back on toward the end of our second date, Guy #102 told me to hurry. He mentioned something about a landlord coming home any minute.
“Sorry for rushing you like this,” he said.
“That’s okay. I have to go home anyway because of my mother.”
While it was true I was expected for dinner that evening, I wasn’t exactly in a hurry. I merely mentioned my mother to gauge Guy #102’s reaction. By the look on his face he thought it was strange someone my age had to report to his mother somehow. He had clearly forgotten about her illness. I didn’t mind. Guy #102 wanted me horizontal. The fact he got me horizontal twice had probably been a compliment of sorts. He simply wasn’t interested in my back story. Besides, who wants to talk about sickness when you just celebrated the human body, twice?
Perhaps me bringing up the topic of mothers while there were still condoms on the floor was the reason I didn’t get invited for a third date.