Open Sores

"Hello?" Jessica prompted several seconds later.

"I'm still listening," I replied. "Go on."

"What? He's a nice guy that really likes you and you're treating him like he's the one with the plague. Think about it."

My moist eyes fell to the floor as I absorbed the truth in her words. "I guess you're right," I managed to mutter.

"Is he still there?"

"I think so."

"Then what are you still talking to me for?"

"Thank you," I said, still staring at the linoleum.

"You're welcome. Bye."

"Bye," I replied, moving the phone toward the wall.

"Hey! Wait!"

I yanked the receiver back to my ear. "What?"

"Call me back later; let me know how it goes."

A grin spread across my lips. "Ok."

"Ok. Bye."

"Bye."

Without looking, I moved my hand and the phone back to the wall, wiggling the receiver onto its perch. I sighed, swallowed, pried my eyes from the floor, and made my way toward my living room.

Peeking around the corner, I half-expected to find my sofa empty, but there was Ollie on the couch, looking back with big puppy eyes. "I'm sorry," he offered at once. "But I had to know."

My head bobbed twice in rapid succession. "It's ok. I should have just told you. It's just so embarrassing, you know?"

Oliver stood, and took a step my way. "No, I don't know."

I met his gaze for a moment, but then my focus fell with my confidence. "I suppose you'll be going now?" I blinked the moisture from my eyes onto my cheeks as I awaited his response, but none came. A dozen heartbeats later, I looked up. "Right?"

Oliver took the two steps required to stand near me. "I don't know."

My shoulders sagged. "It's ok, I..." That was all I could manage before a sniffle stopped what would have been the remainder of my sentence. I saw Oliver's finger approach my cheek and I imagined he'd catch my latest tear, but his aim was lower. Curving his finger below my chin, he pried my view upward.

"I said 'I don't know.' That's not the same as 'No'." He flashed a smile, one that looked forced. "I'm rather uninformed about herpes. I mean, I understand it's pretty bad, but I was expecting worse."

"Worse?"

"HIV. Cancer. Infertility. A history of abuse. Something like that."

I swallowed through a nod. "Yeah. I guess that would be worse."

Oliver's grin turned genuine. "A lot worse."

"But this is still pretty bad!"

"I'm sure it is." Oliver's fingers dropped from my chin, falling to curl about my hand. "You wanna tell me about it?" Grasping my palm, he took a step backward.

I nodded my agreement and allowed him to lead me to the couch. He declined to release my hand as we sat. For a moment I looked into his eyes, felt the feel of his skin upon mine, and wanted time to stop. But it didn't, of course, as confirmed by the passing of several seconds and the raising of both his eyebrows.

"Where should I start?" I asked.

Oliver smiled. "Wherever you want."

I took three breaths deciding where I really wanted to begin before concluding the honest answer was, nowhere. The fourth breath was larger than the previous three, after which I forced my eyes to those of my companion.

"I guess it starts two years ago, somewhere in Mexico. I'm not sure where it was; you see, I wasn't there. I was in Vancouver. My boyfriend was the one in Mexico."

"This boyfriend," Oliver interrupted, "he has a name?"

My head bobbed in the aftermath of an especially vigorous exhale. "Yeah. Trevor."

"Ok. Go on."

"So it seems Trevor had a little fun while he was there, fun of the sort he'd promised not to. You'd think that if I felt the need to obtain such a promise, that I wouldn't put much faith in it, but I did."

My eyes left Oliver's and fell to the carpet. "A few weeks after he got back, I got the first sores." I paused to swallow, recalling that portion of the trauma that my psyche could not suppress. "I managed to tell myself it was nothing for a day or so before the burning drove me to my doctor."

My eyelids clamped shut, squeezing a drop of moisture out one corner. "She said it like I had a splinter or something," I related. "I suppose doctors do that, just say it, you know."

"Sure," Oliver whispered. "What else can they do?"

Blinking, I looked back to him. "Nothing, I suppose. She did hug me when I broke down, I guess that's more than most doctors do; and told me how the first outbreak is by far the worst, although I didn't believe her at the time. I thought I'd be covered in those sores forever."

"She was right, I take it?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'm down to maybe an outbreak every other month now. A lot fewer lesions too, and they're gone in days instead of weeks. I guess it's like, well, a second period, only ten times as bad. The prescription helps too, when I'm not too embarrassed to go get it filled."

Pausing for a breath, I hoped Ollie would speak, but he just stared until I felt compelled to continue. "I'm not sure what else you want to know. It's contagious as all hell when I'm in outbreak, and I'm still dangerous without symptoms. Trevor didn't have symptoms, you know? And he still gave it to me."

"That must have been rough, being betrayed like that."

"The bastard," I hissed. I paused to purse my lips and swallow. "He wouldn't even admit he did it. Said he didn't have anything. That I cheated on him. Called me a disease-ridden skank and dumped me. Can you believe that? Who knows how many other girls he's infected by now."

I tried to blink away a tear, but it escaped anyway, tickling my cheek as it slid down my face. "But I really loved him. Even now, I don't know why, but I did. I loved him every bit then as much as I hate him now. Does that even make sense?"

I snapped my focus back to Ollie. To my surprise, and shameful thrill, I saw his eyes glazed as well. "Yeah," he affirmed with a shallow nod. "It makes a lot of sense."

My eyes wandered in the silent seconds that followed, flitting to our still joined hands. With the comfort of understanding he didn't see me as a leper, I forced a smile and looked back to his face. "Anything else you want to know?"

"Sure," Oliver sad, his head bobbing as he spoke. "Tell me about the, uh, the affliction itself. What's it like?"

I tried to swallow, but my mouth was suddenly dry. "Sores," I whispered. "All over. Not just my, uh, genitals. My ass. My thighs. My clothes stuck to the scabs at first. I had to wear dark pants, to keep the blood and stuff from showing through."

Oliver's cheeks twitched a bit, and I decided to skip additional details.

"It's better now," I continued. "My doctor says that'll continue as I get older and my body adjusts, but I still break out and it still hurts. Did you notice my slacks are mostly black? I carry a bottle of disinfectant. Any place, I sit where another lady might, I wipe. The doctor said that kind of transmission isn't very likely if it's even possible, but I don't want anyone else to suffer this." I paused for a single breath before adding, "Including you."

"I know." Oliver shifted. Moving his free hand, he cradled mine between both of his. "If you were selfish, you could have had me by now- but you're better than that."

A closed-mouth grin seized my lips I issued a shallow nod "Thank you."

"Thursday then?"

"Thursday?"

"Seven P.M. You. Me. Dinner and a movie?"

My mouth fell as I cycled a long breath. "You don't have to pretend. If you don't want to see me anymore, I'll understand."

"My dream girl doesn't have to be perfect, remember?"

"Dream girls don't have incurable, contagious diseases."

"The one I'm interested in does."

I swallowed. "She does?"

"She does." Oliver's brow lifted a bit. "Besides, we'd have to be intimate in order for you to be contagious, yes?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"So dinner and a movie is safe?"

I flashed an amused grin. "Sure. And you won't catch anything holding my hand either."

"Ok, then," he said with a nod. "I need to do some reading, you know, learn more."

My eyes roamed his face before settling on his eyes, seeking any hint of what he felt. I found none. I squeezed his hand just a bit, then relaxed as I felt him apply an equal pressure in return.

Every relationship has that moment I suppose, the one when you have to take a chance with your heart before your head is sure it's safe to do so. Looking back, this was that moment for me.

With a swallow, I parted my lips a fraction of an inch and leaned even less. But it was enough. He did the rest. As kisses go, our first wasn't the longest, or the most passionate, but when I think of favourites, no other comes to mind. My eyes still overflow when I recall it, just as they did when our lips parted that night.

I looked away after that kiss, wiping the moisture that blurred my vision before I steered my longing gaze back to Oliver. "How did you know a kiss was safe?"

His shoulders moved in the slightest of shrugs. "I didn't. You did."

A few minutes later we shared a second kiss at my door, then said our goodbyes. His car had barely left the curb before I sprinted for the phone to share with Jess what I thought to be the best of news.

* * * * *

Thursday found me waiting on my couch, dressed for the theatre and a restaurant. I grinned at my own assumption as I opened the door and discovered Ollie with a bag of Chinese takeout in one hand and a DVD in the other.

"Seen Bed of Roses?" he queried, brows high.

I shook my head. "No. Can't say I've even heard of it."

Oliver smiled. "Good, because I didn't have a plan B."

The film turned out to be a trite romance, but any movie can be the best movie ever when viewed by a couple cuddling on a couch too small for one. My eyes were moist as the credits rolled, but what made my tears roll was the single red rose Oliver produced from nowhere moments later.

"One flower," he said, extending the blossom to me, "for the one woman that makes the world shine for me. I love you, Tonya."

"Oh, God," was all I could muster before the sniffles overwhelmed my ability to speak. We hugged. My face to his shoulder, I wept, my tears reminding me why I had so often cried the last few years. Though my heart knew the little flower and the simple words that accompanied it meant Ollie thought of me as far more than a disease-ridden skank, my head wanted that last bit of assurance.

"I love you too, but my infection..." I began, intending to make a question of it.

"... doesn't scare me a bit."

I pulled away to look into his eyes. "How can it not?"

"I did a lot of reading. I didn't realise how many people had the disease."

I nodded. "One in five. Most just don't know it."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed. "With all that uncertainty, I'm not sure you can say that Trevor infected you."

My lips formed a line as I swallowed. "He's the only one I've ever been with."

"Oh." Ollie's body leaned, retreating an inch of two. "I didn't know. But still, he could have been a carrier for years?"

My head fell to one side. "Are you defending him?"

Oliver shrugged. "Yeah, in a way."

"Why?"

"Because you didn't trust your partner. That scares me more than the disease. I guess I'd like to know why."

For a few seconds, I but looked into Oliver's eyes, trying to reconcile my indignity with his logic. "Ok," I began, "I guess I don't know that it was Mexico. But I knew Trevor was a cheater, a player. My head knew it but my heart wouldn't listen. Then, when this happened, I guess my heart wouldn't listen either if that makes any sense. What you really want to know is if I can ever trust anyone else, right?"

"Not anyone else," Oliver responded with a shake his head. "Me."

"My heart still wants to hide. But my head wants to take a chance."

Oliver's head continued to move in a pivot. "Not what I asked. Can you ever trust me?"

I looked away, releasing a long breath before I spoke. "I don't know. I like to think I can, but I won't know until I try." I forced my focus back to my companion. "How can I know until then?"

Oliver's gaze did not waver in the slightest. "I guess I don't need to know today, but I do need you to understand faith in a partner is everything to a relationship."

"Everything?"

"Ok, not everything, but without faith in one another, all the love in the world won't be enough. Anything beyond faith, a couple can work out if they really want to." He paused for a swallow. "We just have to figure out if we want to."

I want to! my heart screamed, but my head chose something more practical. "Anything else we can work out?"

Ollie's head moved in a single nod. "Anything."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"Ok," I agreed with a sniffle. "Where do we start?"

Oliver grinned. "We've already started. I want to continue by dating you exclusively, with the prospect of something permanent, if you are of a similar mind."

My head bobbed in a brisk nod as a smile spread across my face. "I am." So true were my words that I went to bed with visions of Tonya Hart dancing in my very similar mind.

My mood however was not quite the same after a night's sleep. I'd wanted to marry a man before, so badly I had nagged him about it; and I had been wrong.

The doubts followed me to work. Only weeks before I had wondered if any man would ever want me. Now that one did, I wondered if I was settling for the first man to express an interest, making him out to be something more than he was, much as I had done with Trevor. Thinking of my old beau again, I realised that everyone had seen it right away, how wrong we were for each other. Everyone but me.

By mid-afternoon, I knew what I had to do. My front door was barely closed before I had the phone to my ear, silently urging Jessica to pick up as the ringing began.

"Hello?"

"Hi," I replied. "It's me. Got a sec?"

There was a pause, one long enough to make me doubt the "Sure. What's up?" that followed it.

"Can I still tell you anything?"

"Depends. Is it a secret and are you going to accuse me of telling it?"

"Never."

"In that case, shoot."

"Oliver and I had something of a long talk last night and..."

"Did he ask you already?!"

"Ask me what?"

"To marry him?"

"No!"

Jess sighed. "Oh."

"Not yet, anyway."

"Yet?!"

"Well, we did talk about, how did he put it, 'dating with the prospect of something permanent'."

"You did?!"

"Yeah."

"Oh, Tonya," my friend squealed. "Don't let him get away!"

"Are you sure?"

"What do you mean am I sure?"

"Remember Trevor?"

"Not by choice."

I smiled at my friend's quip, and the truth behind it. "Remember when you told me I was an idiot for thinking Trevor was the one?"

"Definitely."

"I've known for a long time all I really saw in Trevor was a handsome hunk. I just don't want to make the same mistake again."

"Oliver's no hunk."

My lips formed a purse as I absorbed what I at first took to be an insult to my beloved. An instant later, I smiled. "So, am I being an idiot again? You did say he was too good for me, right?"

"Herpes may be the second best thing that ever happened to you."

My mouth formed a hard, thin, line. "What?!"

"Remember that bubbly, fun-loving little blonde named Tonya everyone loved back in high school, the one that's been gone for a couple of years?"

My mind drifted back. "I guess so?"

"You have my wedding photos, right?"

"Sure."

"Ever look at them?"

"All the time."

"The picture of you and Oliver."

I noticed I was smiling. "Of course."

"Get that picture."

I leaned around the corner to my bureau and retrieved the album. Bringing the book to my kitchen table, it fell open to my favourite page. "Ok. I'm looking."

"You're looking at the picture?"

"Yes."

"And you don't see it?"

"What?"

I heard a subtle chuckle on the other end of the line. "Don't look at Oliver. Look at yourself."

I did. At once I saw her, the bubbly fun-loving blonde, smiling back at me. "So soon?" I mused aloud.

"Yeah," Jessica said. "Everyone saw her come back that day. And we don't want to see her disappear again."

"Oh, Jess," was all I could manage to mutter. "I must have been a real witch these last few years."

There was a muffled sniffle on the other end. "Now do you see why herpes is the second best thing to ever happen to you? Think about it."

Although she'd instructed I think about it, no consideration was necessary. "You're right," I agreed before the echo of her words had faded. "Ollie is the best thing that ever happened to me."

* * *

As if to underscore our conversation, I awoke the next morning to an unwelcome itching in my loins, an itching I knew would soon become a burning, and then worse.

"Stress," I told my reflection while I combed my hair. "That'll do it every time."

Fifteen minutes later I marched into the nearest Shoppers Drug Mart, stared the clerk square in the eye, and handed him my prescription.

I tried to cancel my date with Oliver that evening on account of my condition, but he wouldn't hear of it. "I need to see you like this," he explained, "so I can understand more what it's like and help you through it. This has to be our problem, not just yours."

I swallowed, understanding there was but one appropriate reply to that sort of logic. "I love you," I whispered. My heart all but melted as the words left my lips, knowing full well that my ears would hear them but a second later.

Thus that evening became another date spent on the couch eating take-out and watching a forgettable movie. And the following night as well. And the next.

Once, that little voice tried to register its objection to our new routine. You have to stop this! Keep eating all this fast food and you'll have to find a new name for your poofyness! I noticed myself smiling as I ignored the voice and wiggled my scab-covered bum back into Ollie's poofyness. I never heard that little voice again.

Oliver's pliant paunch was not the only thing I felt when we cuddled together on my tiny sofa. I often detected something not so pliant through both sets of clothes, a rampant masculinity that I could not resist pushing and rubbing my bum against.

There was something special about feeling him there like that, night after night, knowing he wanted me notwithstanding my condition. Even after my outbreak had subsided we continued our pattern, movies and fast food on the sofa. In spite of the state of his manhood, he made no move beyond kissing and caressing to satisfy the urges I knew he felt, urges I very much shared. I became unsure whether his reluctance to proceed beyond cuddling stemmed from chivalry, or concern for his health, but I knew there was one safe way I could have him.

One evening as Oliver nuzzled my neck, I slid my lips to his ear and nibbled his lobe before whispering. "I want more than kissing tonight."

My love's mouth left my flesh. "What do you mean?"

"A blowjob?" I suggested in the same low tone. "That's safe. We can do that."

Oliver's brow became a line above his eyes. He sat upright shook his head. "No. Not yet."

My mouth fell. "Please." The word was out of my open mouth before I realised I had spoken it.

"I couldn't," Ollie insisted. "Unless I could do something for you as well." With that, he shifted his position.

My eyes dropped, to the epicentre of his squirming. I smiled. Imagining the hard-on in his pants, I directed my gaze back to his face. "You don't have to do anything for me. I want to do this for me." It was true. Though I'd always considered giving head to Trevor an unwelcome chore, I found myself salivating at the thought of doing the same for Oliver.

He shook his head again. "No. There must be something I can do for you?"

"Fingers," I said, holding my hand upright and wiggling my spread digits. "I've fingered myself often enough."

His throat flexed with a swallow. "You'll eventually want more, won't you?"