Once, I got genital warts, but because I'm a cocksucker, I got em IN MY THROAT. The clinic sent me to a specialist in Infectious Diseases. I didn't recognize the name when I made the appt. I didn't recognize him till he walked into the examining room. It was a str8 guy I went to college with.

A str8 guy who couldn't stand me in college.

And there I sat on one of those paper-covered exam tables - a referral from the public STD clinic downtown. With genital warts. IN MY THROAT. Who the fuck gets that?

Taking a cue from me, he pretended not to recognize me. But his smug grin got bigger and bigger as he examined me. Playing dumb, he began asking questions. I turned red and stared at my feet, avoiding eye contact.

"So I take it you're a homosexual?" Me: "Yes." He grinned. I'd just confirmed what he'd accused me of in college. "And you... engage in oral sex with men?" Me: "Yes." Him: "That's how you got genital warts in your throat?" Me: "I assume so." Him: "You assume so? Could you have contracted them some other way?" Me: "No. No, it couldn't have been any other way." Him: "So your partner had penile warts?" Me: "Some of them did, yes." Him: "Some of them?" Me: "Yes." Him: "So you've had multiple partners?" Me: "Yes." Him: "How many partners would you say you've had? 10? 20? More?" I was silent. "So, more. Would you characterize yourself as... promiscuous?" I stayed silent. He repeated, "You're promiscuous?" Me: "Yes." Him: "Extremely promiscuous?" I stayed silent, then whispered, "Yes. I'm... extremely promiscuous." He snorted. "Typical homosexual. Typical homosexual. Where do you meet men?" Me: "In adult bookstores." Him: "Oh, classy. Very classy! You do it right there IN the adult bookstore?" Me: "Yes." He put his head back and laughed. "Like a farm animal. Just out of curiosity, do you perform oral sex on... black men?" Me: "Yes." He snorted again. "Figures." He dropped all pretense of not recognizing me. "You've worked on it, but you still have that lisp. Bro, you have ended up the lowest of the low. Tell me, Randy, is it genetic? I mean... was your mama a slut like you? Did your mama like dick like you do?"

When I came back a week later to have the warts removed, he used a device to go down my throat and shave them off, cauterizing as he went. I was 'twilighted,' not anesthetized; I remember seeing flashes of light. That was the cauterizing part. I kept squeezing the nurse's hand, fighting down panic. I swear I heard the doctor sneer, "You'd think he'd be used to having a big hose down the back of his throat." Even though she was squeezing my hand and comforting me, the nurse laughed, too.