SEXIS WRONG

minutes of listening to what he’s saying and bouncing it back
to him, he’s calmed down enough and is breathing deeply. It’s
always hard, these kinds of calls. I’ve been down that frightening
stretch of dark road myself when a condom broke.
I tell him that yes, he is at risk, but from what he says (it was
unprotected oral sex), it is a relatively low risk—though not
impossible. I reassure him and calm him, soothing him till he
can listen. There’s no reason to panic till he knows. I give him
the information that oral sex is still debatable, but he’s still
bargaining for his life—especially after the new study that
suggests that unprotected oral sex may be just as risky as
intercourse—so why take a risk on your life? I tell him that
the only way to be sure is to have himself and his partner
tested as soon as possible to find out their status. Then, after
either abstinence or good safe(r) sex for six months, get
tested again.
I take a deep breath. “You can’t get anyone to do anything
they don’t want to do, but you can talk to her. Tell her how
much you like it and how much it would mean to you. If she’s
scared or nervous, take it real slow and at her pace.”
He listens. I’ll give him that at least. Sometimes the callers,
mainly male callers, are angry at not getting their idealized lovers.
We try our best to get them information about consent,
safe(r) sex, and communication: Ask, be safe, and talk about
it. I hope I get some of it across to him and wish him the
best—and tell him he might want to have her call us, too.
Meanwhile, one of our female volunteers is having trouble
with a caller. I can hear her voice, angry but level, disengaging
from the call. I hear only one side of it, but it’s enough to
know most of what’s going on: “Do you have a question? If
you don’t have a legitimate question, I’m going to hang up. If
you don’t stop, I’m going to hang up. I’m hanging up.”
Besides, I remind him, there are other things out there that
are sometimes as bad or worse than HIV: the clap (gonorrhea),
syphilis, herpes, hepatitis (which can kill faster than
HIV), PID (Pelvic Inflammatory Disease), genital warts—the
list is long and scary.
Afterwards, I’m shaking. I let the other volunteers take some
calls while I sit and decompress. Sometimes we get hard
calls, scary ones—I was abused; I was raped
(those we talk down and try to get them to call
the police or a rape crisis line); I was hurt. One
of the things SFSI trains us for is a sex-positive
attitude, but these kinds of calls remind
us that while sex can be beautiful, it can also be frightening
and dangerous.
By now the night is getting late. Outside, a street I can’t name
(because the switchboard is a secret) hums with late-night travelers.
Next to me one of the phones chirps, and I pick it up.
She clicks him off (I know it’s a him) and looks at the phone
with frustration and disgust.
I take the next few calls, along with the other male volunteers.
We get nothing but hang-ups for about fifteen minutes.
It’s a sad, but realistic, fact of life for any kind of switchboard
(suicide, AIDS info, or whatever) that you have those callers.
“How can I get my girlfriend
to go down on me?” he says without
preamble.
They can get to you sometimes, the angry men, the mentally
ill (men and women), the just plain lonely (who just want
to talk about sex—of any kind), and the self-righteously religious.
But then the phone rings again, and it’s someone we
can help, someone with a question we can really answer.
“San Francisco Sex Information, can I help you?”
“How can I get my girlfriend to go down on me?” he says
without preamble.
Consent. SFSI is big on consent. In a world that frequently
acts without asking, San Francisco Sex Information is a
bastion of asking permission, of communication. “Have you
talked to her about it?”
“Yeah, but she says she doesn’t like doing it.”
“Does she say what she doesn’t like about it? Does she
choke? Doesn’t like the taste?”
“Yeah, she says she chokes on it.”
“San Francisco Sex Information, can I help you?”
“I have, um, a question...” He sounds young, maybe midtwenties.
His voice, while nervous, is laced with strength—I
bet he’s just trying to frame his question and isn’t paralyzed
by calling.
“Sure, that’s what we’re here for. Go ahead.”
“I like to, um, ah, wear my girlfriend’s panties....”
Reflexive listening: “And how does that make you feel?” I say
back, getting comfortable—sometimes it can take a while to
coax out the real question.
“Good—I mean, it turns me on and all.”
For many calls, the bottom line, again, is, “Am I normal?”
ANSWERS 11