How many times that night did I try to make contact, beg him to slow down, to stop? He would not stop. When it was over, my body rang in pain. Paul passed out instantly, and I lay there waiting for the strength to get up, to return like this to Steve. It never came.

I woke up to the sound of the shower. I was sore everywhere. My legs and stomach had dark red bruises. I found it hard to roll over. “You sound just like Gail,” he’d grumbled at one point when I complained about the pain. Is this how Gail felt in the morning? Is this what he did to her, or was it what he thought men did to each other, or was it simply what he did to me, to punish me?

The shower stopped. The faucet ran. The tap of a razor against the sink.

When he opened the door, his face was drained of color.

“Morning,” I said sweetly, mockingly, the contented lover beneath the sheets.

He seemed not to be able to come into the room. “Do you have AIDS?”

“What?”

“I need you to tell me the truth. Are you HIV positive?”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been tested plenty of times.”

“Like when? When was the last time?”

“I don’t know. Three years ago.” It’d been more like five.

“Three years ago. Jesus Christ. Three years ago. I have a wife and kids. Fuck! I cannot fucking believe this.” He went to the closet, unzipped a garment bag, and pulled a black suit and a striped tie off the hanger.

“Steve and I are monogamous.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah. I can see that. Is he as monogamous as you?”

“Paul— This was obviously. This was the first. I’ve never—”

“I heard Steve on the phone yesterday. He seemed up for a fuck. Face it, guys, straight, queer, they fuck when they get the chance. And gay guys get a disease for doing it. And you know who’s going to pay for it? My wife and my kids. You better fucking get out of that bed and go get yourself tested and send me the fucking results. Here, I’ll get you a card and you can send it to my office. You hear me?” He was rummaging around in his briefcase, which was on top of his suitcase. “What the fuck!” And he tipped the whole thing over, briefcase, suitcase, stand. They crashed against a little round table that held a small vase of tulips and when the table didn’t quite fall he pushed that over, too. Slowly I moved toward my clothes.

“I thought you guys were supposed to wear condoms.”

“I wouldn’t say I had a whole lot of choice about that last night.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”