As If Death Summoned. Alan E. Rose

Lukas squealed. “Always! Isn’t it wonderful?!”

      The others chuckled and laughed, but John just stared at him. It wasn’t so much a look of disapproval as of distaste, so I decided to put them on the same practice team.

      In the third session, we began counseling techniques appropriate for HIV testing. The twelve participants would be divided into their practice teams. Before that evening’s session, Arthur and I met with Chad, Leo and Lionel, who would each be assigned to a different group.

      “The role-playing the volunteers will be doing can be emotionally intense,” said Arthur. “It’s important that we staff maintain professional boundaries.”

      “Professional boundaries?” asked Lionel.

      “I mean that we not become emotionally or sexually involved with the volunteers.”

      Chad meekly raised his hand. “Uh, too late.”

      Arthur looked at him. “Oh. Well, we’ll put you and the other fellow in different practice groups. Who is it?”

      He looked sheepish. “Darren.” After Leo, probably the handsomest guy in the group.

      “You dog, you!” said Lionel, punching him on the shoulder.

      “Okay,” said Arthur, “so we’ll put Darren— ”

      “And Frank.”

      “ . . . Okay. So, we’ll put Darren and Frank— ”

      “And Reggie.”

      Arthur stared at him.

      “And Lukas.”

      Exasperated, Arthur said, “Are there any of the volunteers you haven’t bedded?”

      Chad thought. “Um, John, the straight guy.”

      “Thank God,” breathed Arthur.

      We began the first hour with team building. By this time, they were becoming more daring with their personal questions, and when it came John’s turn, he asked, “I’m just interested: Have any of you ever had sex with a woman?”

      All shook their heads. Except Lukas, who shot his hand into the air like an excited kid with the answer to the algebra problem. “I have! I have!” he shouted. “Four, maybe five times. It was great!” Then he looked at the others staring at him. “Okay, so I admit I occasionally get off on kinky sex.”

      The team members laughed, but John was appalled. “Maybe four or five times. You don’t know?”

      “I might have been a little inebriated on those occasions.”

      “All right,” I said. “Your turn, Lukas.”

      He turned to John. “Have you ever had sex with a man?”

      John immediately shifted into bristle-mode, arms crossed, insulted even to be asked. “No. Never.”

      Lukas studied him for a moment. “Let me amend the question. Have you ever had sex with another boy?”

      We saw the colonel redden, a flush rising to his face, his brain stalling. He cleared his throat. “Once.”

      “Bingo!” Lukas cried. “So, we’re both experienced in the ways of the other.”

      The group was laughing. Still red, John explained, “We were two thirteen-year-olds fooling around.”

      “Oh, I just adore fooling around!” said Lukas.

      Later, as we wrapped up that hour, John confessed, “I’ve never told anyone— not my wife, not my gay son— about . . . about that time.” There seemed to be a melting going on in the group, a warmth and acceptance being shown toward him.

      I said, “Thank you, John. For your honesty. And for trusting this group with that information. I remind everyone that what we share here remains confidential.” The others nodded soberly. Lukas made a zipping motion across his mouth.

      Following the break, Arthur began training them in how to ask the required questions in a direct and nonjudgmental way. He demonstrated the technique, and they began practicing in pairs, using the pretest questionnaire. I kept my eye on John as I floated around the room, listening and observing.

      “In the last thirty days have you engaged in oral sex?” “In the last thirty days have you engaged in anal sex?” “In the last thirty days . . .”

      But he was good. He stayed with the script, kept his tone professional and neutral, didn’t stutter or gag at behaviors that must have been exotic to him. I was impressed. It turned out the greater challenge was keeping certain of the other volunteers to a professional and neutral manner.

      “My God! Five guys in one night?” shouted Lukas. “That even beats my record!”

      “Uh, Lukas . . . “ Arthur began gently. “Try not to editorialize.”

      “Oh, sorry.” He sat up straight, held his questionnaire in front of him, and resumed. After ten minutes, they switched partners for the next set of questions.

      “Oh, honey, I love your shirt. Where did you get it?”

      “Lukas, stay focused on why you’re there with the client,” said Arthur.

      “But I’m establishing rapport!”

      “Yes, well, keep your rapport-establishing to a minimum, please.”

      On some things, it was Arthur who had to adapt. Lukas was asking his “client” in the role play, “Within the last thirty days have you engaged in . . . oral-anal sex— What is that, anyway?”

      “Rimming,” said Arthur.

      “Then why don’t we just say rimming?”

      “It’s advised that in these settings we use clinical terms rather than the street terms.”

      “But we all know what the street terms mean.”

      The others agreed. If the point was to make gay men feel comfortable with us as other gay men (excepting John), we should use our own language, they argued. I nodded to Arthur, supporting the team, and he acquiesced on this point. It would be acceptable— here only— to use street terms.

      The training proceeded. After switching partners again, Lukas asked Frank, “In the past thirty days have you engaged in sex with other men in public venues?”

      “Yes. Up in Washington Park.”

      “The Fruit Loops? Which part?”

      “Behind the tennis courts in the woods.”

      “Oh, is that any good? I haven’t tried it there— ”

      “Ah, Lukas. Focus, please?” said Arthur.

      Lukas took a big breath, sat up straight in his chair, then winked at Frank, whispering, “We’ll talk later.”

      Next, John and Lukas were paired up, John looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Well, let’s get to it.”

      Lukas gave a brisk salute. “Oui, mon Colonel!”

      I was waiting for John to request a different partner, or a different practice team— any team without Lukas— but he didn’t. He got right into the questionnaire. “Do you know your blood type?”

      “Um, red?”

      Before John left that night, I checked in with him as he was putting on his coat. “How’s it going?”

      He smiled, shaking his head. “It’s an education, all right. I’m beginning to understand the meaning of vanilla sex.”

      “You’re going to learn more about gay sex than you might want to know.”

      “No, no, it’s fine. As the Roman poet Terence said, ‘Nothing human is