My Nonconsensual COVID Sex Scare
Or how my housemate’s COVID era booty call scared the crap out of me.
“You’re coming over?” my ex-girlfriend and current roommate, chirped. Immediately there was a flurry of activity as she battened down the hatches and made ready for a guest. Immediately, I knew she was talking to her boyfriend. I’d call him a glorified fuck buddy, but I’m enviously biased.
My ex-girlfriend and I had discussed possibly having
- her boyfriend,
- one of her latest hopefuls, or
- both over for conjugal visits during the “Safer at Home” social distancing here in Los Angeles (my ex-girlfriend isn’t playing the field. She and I are both ethically non-monogamous).
Due to the glacial pace of life during COVID-19 isolation, it felt like we had the conversation months ago. In reality, it was days ago, a week at most. We even discussed the possibility of one of her two leading paramours being on lockdown with us in our home. You can guess I wasn’t thrilled about the prospects. Especially since, for her safety and to protect her feelings, I never bring anyone home for dates, Safer at Home or not. I went along with the idea, though.
Since having that conversation, my ex-girlfriend decided not to see any of her many harem hopefuls until social distancing was no longer necessary. She told me she and her boyfriend discussed getting together to “reconnect”, but both thought the idea was too risky and irresponsible. This was the day before the main event of this article.
My Ex hurriedly straightened her room, donned sexy undies, and made herself even more enticing than she naturally is. I sat dumbfounded, not knowing what to say or do. I was frozen until the doorbell rang, the door opened, and the gleeful lovers’ reunion began. Then I snapped back to, and the first thought in my head was, “wait, what?”
Immediately, my mental helmsman screamed, “Captain, our hull integrity has been compromised!” Yes, I’m referring to my home as a starship. I am a huge nerd.
The lame everyday part of my brain took over when I heard the lust birds quickly move into the dining room. “What the fark!?!” echoed in my head. “She took him into the dining room?!?! How could she take a possibly infected man into our dining area?”
I heard him drop his shoes and his bag. Then the giggles and careless whispers drifted off into the same bedroom I once shared with my ex-girlfriend. The bedroom that I am occasionally allowed to visit but is now solely hers. I knew it wouldn’t be long before my Ex and her boyfriend were at it!
Experience assured me that during the visit of my ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend, there would be dinner, a movie, and a very loud, lusty “dessert”, followed by light conversation and more giggling. Yup! That happened!
Shortly after “dessert”, my now dressed Ex emerged and entered the living room where I continued to resonate in the pitch of rage.
“Are you ok?” she asked sincerely.
“No!” I hissed. “I am livid! I can’t believe you would jeopardize our safety for some dick!!” I’m pretty crude when I’m hurt and angry. I maintained low, seething tones.
My Ex continued to look concerned and slightly confused for a “COVID half-hour”, then stated sympathetically, “if you want to talk after he goes home, we can.”
Through ever diminishing grinding teeth, I replied, “not sure what we have to talk about. But ok.”
“Boy, you showed her!” my mental idiot snorted in denial.
Without another word, she returned to her room.
My mind raced. “What the actual fuck?!” My mental tirade was cut short by a reprise of my Ex, and her boyfriend’s dreaded thumping and euphoric, religion tinted exclamations. “What am I gonna do?” I thought. “Now, not only am I heartbroken and enraged.” (A condition I failed to heal in myself after breaking up with my ex-girlfriend due to our proximity and my immaturity.) “Now I’m genuinely scared for my life!”
I have to tell you, while social distancing, I have been more concerned with the inconvenience and isolation than the health risks brought on by the COVID-19 Pandemic. Also, I must admit that my relative calmness about the pandemic is due mainly to my Ex. She and I have remained diligent about staying home, eating from our social isolation stockpile, and thoroughly wiping down every incoming item with bleach wipes.
It’s also important to state that my Ex leads the charge in our disinfecting safeguards. That said, I couldn’t help imagine her being a bit careless, having longed for her boyfriend’s “touch” since before the lockdown. I mean, hadn’t i heard nothing remotely like the sounds of wiping anything down, and in less time than it takes to disinfect anything before they entered my Ex’s room?
I immediately downloaded every apartment shopping app I could think of, and feverishly began looking for affordable apartments in our area. I’m not risking my life because my housemate is horny for someone we aren’t in isolation with! You know, it’s surprising what good deals you can get on rent when everyone is too scared to visit an apartment building, let alone organize a move to one.
I would have put a deposit down and taken my essentials to a new apartment, sight unseen, straight away had it not been past business hours when I started searching. I found and bookmarked some surprisingly sweet available listings that I could move into right away.
Two days later (COVID time — a few hours in reality), my housemate and her boyfriend emerged from her room, and I could hear my Ex failing to persuade her boyfriend to stay.
“Why does she put up with that guy?” is a phrase on heavy rotation in my Top 10 mental playlist.
After i heard the sounds of the obligatory goodbye kiss and other interactions that I prefer to leave undeciphered, my housemate came back to talk to me.
“Stay away from me!” I squealed pathetically. She sat at the far end of the couch in the middle of the room while I sat as far into the corner as I could in my favorite chair along the same wall. “What happened to the two of you waiting until the Safer at Home order is lifted?” I frantically demanded.
“Well, Farley (not his real name) and I talked about it. He rides back and forth to work on his bike, and he works in isolation. So he has little to no interaction with people. And we wiped all his stuff down as soon as he came in.”
“Nuh-uh,” said the 12-year-old in me. “You guys barely paused at the door before rushing into the dining room! Where we eat! His shoes and bag were there, and his hat was on the table! Were we eat!”
“You’re right,” she said. “We did head straight into the dining room. But I didn’t let him touch anything, and I wiped everything he had with bleach wipes, made him shower and go straight to my room and insisted he stay there. He never came out once while he was here. And I put a clean washrag on the table under his hat after wiping his hat down.” She said all of this with a look of concern and not a hint of smugness.
I felt like a self-righteous cartoon character with its soundless mouth held agape after learning it had no clue what it was talking about. “Well, thank you for taking those precautions,” I said stupidly. “But, you would think someone would consult their isolation partner before bringing another person into their shared home from out there! If I did that shit, you’d be beyond pissed!”
Again she agreed, “you’re right.” The concern and confusion on her face turned into concern with a tinge of shame. “That was very inconsiderate of me. I should have given you a heads up at the very least. I am sorry. I can re-bleach the floors and the inside of the shower if you like.”
“That would be nice,” was the only concession I would allow.
The reality was that my Ex hadn’t endangered me. She had scared the poop out of me. But still, that was unintentional. I’ve done worse without the motivation of having desperately needed sex on the line. The only things that had really been hurt were my feelings and pride. I went to bed angry, sad and a bit wiser for the wear.
