Rising to her feet, Robin finished her cigarette and stamped it out in the shell of a Venus de Milo statue. Taking his hand, she led Pangloss out of The Garden and back into the reception area. She pulled back a curtain, revealing the entrance to another hidden room.
Robin stepped into the small room with Pangloss following close behind. With the flip of a switch, the room was illuminated, revealing walls adorned with instruments of torture. In the center stood a wooden cross, leaned back at an angle and equipped with arm and ankle cuffs. Ropes and whips hung from hooks on the walls. In one corner, a few leather ottomans and a chaise were scattered about, inviting those who entered to lounge while exploring their dark desires.
Robin walked around the room with a playful look on her face and the curiosity of a little girl alone at night exploring a toy store full of dolls and tiny outfits. She approached the wooden cross, grabbed the arm cuffs, and tugged on them hard to test their strength. Satisfied, she looked up at the instruments of pain hanging on the wall next to the cross, her eyes lingering over a crop and a flogger. After a moment’s deep contemplation, she decided on the flogger. She picked it up and slapped it against the cross, producing a loud, harsh sound that echoed through the room. Turning to Pangloss, she smiled mischievously.
“Do you want me to tie you up and whip you?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye.
Pangloss smiled with wide eyes and said, “No I don’t think so. I’m not really into giving or receiving pain.”
“Awww,” Robin whined, with a pouty look on her face. “You’re no fun! So, what does that make you? More of a ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ kind of guy?”
“Maybe,” Pangloss replied. “Why don’t you show me what you mean and I’ll let you know.”
Robin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Okay, Professor, your wish is my command.”
She moved in close again, circling him slowly, her fingers tapping like claws all the way across his back and around to his chest. She then playfully rubbed up against him, purring softly to Pangloss’s delight. Reaching out, the professor gently placed the tip of his finger just beneath her chin, lifting her lips to his for a slow, tender kiss.
“Well then, Professor,” Robin said, her lips lingering close to his, “I’ve got an itch that needs scratching too. Let’s head back to the bed, and I’ll show you something that’ll make us both want to purr.” She playfully ran her nails over his back again for a moment before dashing out of the room, her laughter echoing off the walls. She leaped onto the king-sized bed in the center of the main room, the luxurious, silky sheets crinkling under her weight as she settled in with a playful grin.
Pangloss followed, his heart racing with anticipation. Robin turned to him, her expression serious but her eyes dancing with excitement. “Take off all of your clothes except your underwear,” she commanded, a hint of seduction in her voice.
Pangloss hesitated a little, asking, “What are you going to do to me?”
“This isn’t Basic Instinct or something, there’s no ice pick waiting for you under the pillow” she said with a playful grin. “I’m going to give you a massage, and when I’m done, you can give me one in return,” she replied with a reassuring smile.
Pangloss smirked at her, then complied, undressing down to his underwear. He lay face down on the bed, feeling a mixture of anticipation and curiosity. Robin slipped out of her jeans, revealing her lacy underwear, and walked over to one of the nightstands, retrieving a bottle of massage oil. After climbing onto the bed and straddling his hips, she poured some oil onto her hands, warming it up before gently spreading it across his back.
The room was quiet now, the music had stopped, leaving only the sounds of their breathing and the slick slathering of the massage oil as her hands glided over his skin. He felt her fingers working their way across his shoulders and back with a firm yet gentle rhythm, expertly finding knots and tension points. Her touch was confident and skilled as she kneaded his muscles with her elbows.
“Let me know if it’s too hard, or not hard enough,” she reassured him, her voice soothing.
“It’s perfect,” he replied with a groan.
The scent of the massage oil filled the air, a blend of lavender and chamomile and Pangloss closed his eyes, allowing himself to fully enjoy the sensation. Robin’s hands moved with practiced ease, her palms pressing into his back in slow, rhythmic motions. She worked her way down his spine, her thumbs applying just the right amount of pressure to release the built-up tension.
As she continued, her hands moved to his lower back, circling and pressing in a way that made Pangloss sigh with relief as waves of relaxation flowed over his entire body. Her touch was both firm and tender, each movement expertly designed to melt away tension. She moved to his legs next, her fingers tracing the contours of his muscles and easing out the stiffness with every stroke.
He began to lose track of time as his mind wandered into a dreamlike state, entranced by her soft, careful touch. Each caress felt like a whisper from another world, drawing him deeper into a realm where reality blurred with fantasy. It was as if her hands wove a spell, wrapping him in an ethereal cocoon of timeless tranquility, carrying him away on a gentle current of pure, unadulterated bliss.
“Are you asleep?” Robin asked, her voice gently rousing him from his drowsiness.
“No, just drifting,” he replied softly.
“Perfect,” she said with a smile. “I’m done with the massage but just keep relaxing a little bit longer. I want to sing something for you.”
Still lying face down with Robin straddling his legs, he was jolted from his groggy trance by the unexpected intensity of her voice. Singing in a familiar yet incomprehensible language, her words sliced through the air like a razor.
“Tod kündend trat ich vor ihn,
gewahrte sein Auge, hörte sein Wort;
ich vernahm des Helden heilige Noth;”
He recognized the sound of opera ringing in his ears, causing goosebumps to spread across his arms, but he was unsure of its origin. Her voice was incredibly beautiful and powerful, resonating through the air with such intensity that the shadows on the basement walls began to tremble. She continued.
“tönend erklang mir des Tapfersten Klage:
freiester Liebe furchtbares Leid,
traurigsten Muthes mächtigster Trotz!
Meinem Ohr erscholl,
mein Aug’ erschaute, was tief im Busen
das Herz zu heil’gem Beben mir traf.”
The room felt crisp and new in the moment of silence that followed her final drawn-out note, the shadows now bowing to her magnificent performance. Professor Pangloss was transported in his mind back to memories of a choir echoing within the dark, vaulted corridors of a gothic church, and the profound chants of Tibetan monks in their secluded mountaintop monastery. It was as if light and dark had united in spiritual union, bringing him and the ghosts who haunted the tunnels to the brink of tears. In that instant, everything between them had transformed.
The professor turned over to look her in the eyes, waiting for her to open them. “That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard,” he said in awe. “What was that?”
“It’s from Wagner’s Die Walküre,” she replied. “It’s a German opera. The part I just sang are the words of Brünnhilde, a Valkyrie, just before she loses her wings and is stripped of her immortality. She is condemned to slumber in the veils of time alone until a true and worthy hero comes to awaken her.”
Pangloss nodded, the understanding of her song dawning in his eyes. “I thought I recognized the language. I could sense the immense wells of emotion in your voice. The fluctuation in pitch, the richness in tone, the somber vibration – I hung off of every syllable.”
Robin leaned down, cupped his face, and kissed him. She then slowly ran her fingers through his hair, pausing to examine the tips with intense focus. “Your hair, my dear,” she said, her voice tinged with concern. “It’s a bit long. Remind me to trim it around the edges and then it’ll be just right.”
Pangloss smiled at her, feeling the tenderness in her touch. The beauty and magic of her voice had woven his soul to hers in a way he had never experienced with another person. Almost collapsing from exhaustion, she gently plopped down next to him on the bed. They both turned to look each other in the eyes.
“Are you high?” he asked softly, noticing how her eyes were dilated and seemed to expand into the surrounding darkness.
“Yeah, a little,” she admitted, her lips curling into a small smile. “The room just got a little more colorful. Here, let me see your hand,” she said suddenly, reaching out to take his hand in hers. She held it up, inspecting it closely, then with a look of glee said, “Look! Look at your freckles. They’re moving.”
Pangloss quickly looked down, his heart jumping into his throat as he saw the freckles on the back of his hand shifting like tiny ants. He felt a wave of panic rise within him, his breath quickening.
“No, no, no, don’t worry, honey, it’s totally fine,” Robin said soothingly, noticing his distress. “Shared hallucinations are usually just optical illusions.” She then looked him in the eye and winked.
“I’ve never hallucinated before, so this is a first,” he said a little uneasy. “I thought you said these mushrooms weren’t that strong.”
“Oh, you might have some visual hallucinations, but it shouldn’t be too intense. I gave you a small dose. When I want to have a good time, I usually take two.”
“Ok, well, I trust that you wouldn’t give me something I couldn’t handle,” he said.
“Of course not, honey,” she said, cuddling up next to him.
As Pangloss began to relax, he started examining the room around him. His eyes caught details he hadn’t noticed before. Everything was more vibrant. The colors cast by the lava lamp on the nightstand seemed richer and more alive. He felt a warm tingling all over his body and an anxiousness as his senses seemed to blend together. But when he peered into the dark corners of the room, it felt as though something was lurking, silently watching him from within the shadows. The inky blackness seemed to conceal motionless figures, their presence both elusive and unnerving, giving him the eerie sensation of being observed by unseen eyes.
Robin turned her head, scanning the room before letting her eyes drift to the ceiling. She grew silent for a moment and appeared to be deep in contemplation before saying “This is where it happened,” her voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow.
“Where what happened?” Pangloss asked, his curiosity piqued.
“This is where I was infected. This is where they welcomed me into the world of AIDS,” she said, her tone more solemn.
Pangloss felt a chill sweep over him as he processed her words. Robin took a deep breath, her eyes distant as she began to recount her story.
“I was invited by one of my close girlfriends, someone I confided in with everything. She told me I had to keep the party a secret but she knew it was exactly what I was looking for. It was one of the scariest and darkest moments of my life. I thought I might have a panic attack.”
Her voice wavered slightly, but she continued. “‘Welcome to the world of AIDS,’ he said to the group. They all sort of snickered after he said it. All except for me. I was the only virgin in the room—not a real virgin, but the only one without it. I knew I would get it eventually. I’d always known, and I never even imagined I wouldn’t. It was like an initiation, I guess.”
Robin’s gaze dropped to the floor, her hands playing nervously with the fabric of the sheets. “Some of them stopped to watch us for a while.”
“Watch?” Asked Pangloss.
“Me and the dark mysterious host of the party.” She replied
“I’d look over every once in a while and see them all cuddling up with their partners, just staring in our direction. We were fucking like animals and we just kept going for what felt like hours.”
Pangloss’ eyes grew bigger as he listened intently to her recalling the memory. “My heart was pounding, and I wanted to run away. That is until he looked at me from across the room. The other people had already paired off to have sex with each other. He and I were the only ones left without a partner. He looked at me with those big, dark mysterious eyes, blacker than night, and asked me if I was okay.”
She paused, her voice trembling a little. “I ran so fast from across the room and leaped up into his arms and wrapped my legs around him and he was so startled he barely had time to catch me. We started making out and then, as he held me, we slowly inched our way backwards until we plopped down on the bed – this bed right here, the one we are lying on now. I was terrified, but the fear was like a drug coursing through my veins as we tore each other’s clothes off, transforming into two ravenous animals devouring each other’s flesh.”
Robin’s eyes met Pangloss’s, a mixture of fear and defiance in her expression. ““Once you’ve been initiated, sex becomes like water; It’s like shaking hands; It’s like grabbing a cup of coffee on your lunch break. I’ve heard there are underground clubs in San Francisco that won’t let you through the front door until you’ve taken a 20-minute AIDS test—to prove that you’re positive.”
“Really?” Pangloss said, astonished.
“Yeah, you don’t understand. That’s what I’m trying to say, Professor. It’s like waking up one day and finding out you just won a golden ticket!”
Pangloss shook his head with a hint of disgust, trying to comprehend her perspective. “I definitely never looked at it that way. That’s a pretty radically positive point of view. No pun intended”
Robin chuckled softly, a hint of sadness lacing her laughter. “In the queer world, you know there’s a good chance you’ll get it. So I wasn’t even afraid that I might get it one day. I already figured I would.”
She looked away, her gaze drifting to the ceiling again. Pangloss reached out and took her hand in silent support, feeling her squeeze it tighter in acknowledgment.
After a moment, she turned her eyes back to him, locking onto his with an intense, almost vulnerable expression. “It’s a crazy world, Professor,” she said quietly. “But sometimes, you find beauty in the strangest places. In the midst of all the chaos, there are moments that make it all worthwhile.”
“And Tom?” Pangloss asked.
“I’m sure you’ll keep it between the three of us, but yes, of course, he has it too,” Robin replied. “He wasn’t here that time, but he lets his friends hang out down here and throw crazy parties. I was introduced to him later through someone in the community, and we’ve been friends ever since.”
She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve told someone that I was infected and they decided they didn’t want to hook up with me even though they knew I had it,” she began, her tone reflective. “It was different in the beginning, before it became second nature to sense out who might already have it. These days, the people I tell either already have it or don’t care, and I’ve gotten pretty good at picking both types out of a crowd.”
She paused, looking at Pangloss intently. “But this is what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve been infected for a while, but you’ve never discovered the whole other world that exists for people like you and me. When I was younger, it felt like some dark new playground for adults, hidden in the shadows, off-limits to those who haven’t learned its secrets. Some people who wouldn’t even hang out with me before I got infected would now run into me at a club and take me into the bathroom to fuck me bareback.”
Pangloss looked a little embarrassed but managed to say, “Ok, ok, I get that you’ve experienced this, but how could someone like me be a part of something like that. I’m too old-fashioned, and how many people could actually know about this anyway?”
Robin smiled knowingly. “Some people go out and get infected just so they can join in the fun. I know that’s what I would have done if I hadn’t already been invited by my friend. Have you ever seen the movie Rent?”
“Yeah of course, I’ve watched it multiple times,” replied Pangloss.
“Well then you sort of get it. They made it look romantic, but to be completely honest, it is actually really hot. Once you have HIV, it’s the only social lubricant you need; it’s the guest of honor at every party. It’s the reason for your bad behavior, both the cause and the scapegoat.”
She leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Look, I’m telling you this, but there are a few small drawbacks I must mention. First off, it’s very important you never repeat what I just explained to you out loud to another person. You need to be a little more subtle than that.”
Robin’s eyes sparkled with admiration. “You’re like my hero. You’re the one who defends the official story when everyone else is too scared to speak up. I’ve dreamed about you. I always pictured bumping into you at an underground party like this one and just devouring you!”
Pangloss blushed, and she smiled when she saw his reaction.
“I’m telling you this because I want you to be a part of this community with me. I already suspected you might have it. A lot of powerful people do, but they go to great lengths to keep their status secret. I could share some of their names because I trust you, but I wouldn’t want to put a dangerous rumor in your jaw. These individuals still need to maintain their public appearances. They are powerful people—ones you definitely don’t want to mess with.”
She looked at him earnestly. “But you already know how to deal with people like that. You stand up to powerful people every day to fight for truth and science.”
“So, if so many rich and powerful people have it,” he asked, “why do so few of them talk about it publicly?”
“The rich and powerful are good at keeping secrets. They have their ways,” Robin replied. “But sometimes, things happen that make it harder to keep it under wraps. That’s the only reason we know that any of them are infected in the first place.”
“So, when I think about celebrities with HIV, the first person that comes to mind is Magic Johnson because everyone knows he has it,” Pangloss said. “But you’re saying he’s probably not the only basketball player to ever contract the virus?”
With a chuckle she replied, “Let’s just say, due to NDAs and some serious pinky swears, I can’t directly answer that question, but I’m sure if Magic Johnson knew of someone who had it, you can bet he’d keep it to himself.”
“Of course, that makes sense,” said Pangloss.
“I’ve never used a condom with a rich, powerful man. I just assume they all have it. We don’t even need to have the conversation most of the time.”
“So, you think all rich men have it?” Pangloss asked.
“No, no, that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, at that level, it doesn’t really matter anymore. For a couple of million dollars, you can hire a voodoo witch doctor to make it go away for you. Pay enough, and that doctor can even make you taller, thinner, younger, or can say in public whatever you want them to say.”
“And the less adventurous rich guys,” he asked, “the ones who aren’t the bad-boy types?”
“They all just use matchmakers,” Robin said with a shrug. “If they’re not into taking risks, they find safer ways to play.”
“But how did this all start?” Pangloss asked.
“Well, I can’t say with total certainty how it all began, but one name always comes to mind when I think about HIV,” Robin replied. “Roy Cohn. He was one of the most powerful men in American history to contract the virus, but many knew him by another name—the Devil.”
“The Devil?” Pangloss questioned, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
“Well, at least his advocate,” she said with a smirk. “He is infamous by that name in many circles, even today. People called him that for a reason. His was the hand up Mona Lisa’s skirt,” she added with a wink.
Pangloss furrowed his brow. “Where have I heard that name?”
“Most people today know him as Trump’s lawyer and mentor, but back in the ‘50s, Roy Cohn was actually the legal counsel for Joseph McCarthy’s anti-communist crusades,” Robin explained. “These were known as the ‘Red Scare’ and the ‘Lavender Scare,’ targeting suspected communists and homosexuals in the government, respectively.”
“Oh yeah, I remember hearing my parents talk about McCarthyism when I was growing up. They kind of glossed over that whole time period in the history books, though,” he replied.
“True. I was raised protestant Christian and what always fascinated me about Roy Cohn was how evil he was and how blind conservatives were to it. From a biblical perspective, who better to convince Christians that the collectivism of the Book of Acts was from the Devil, than the Devil himself? That’s what Christians would call ‘the sin unto death’ or ‘unforgivable sin’ — blaspheming against God by attributing the works of God to the Devil. And Roy Cohn was McCarthy’s right hand man! What a cruel joke he played on Americans with that one. Isn’t it ironic?” She sang playfully, “It’s practically an Alanis Morissette song.”
“Fascinating! I was raised atheist. My mother was actually Jewish and my father came from Poland, but they raised me and my siblings to look at the world through the lens of science, so the biblical stuff you’re talking about is all sort of new to me,” said Pangloss.
“Oh wow, I had no idea you were Jewish,” said Robin. “My father’s side came from Denmark and my mother’s side came from somewhere in Estonia, but I’ve never investigated my family tree all that much. Beyond Cohn’s blasphemy, though,” she said, “he was also well-known for the lavish parties he would throw for celebrities and power brokers. It wasn’t until he died that his doctor revealed he had succumbed to complications from AIDS. No one saw that coming, or maybe some people did, but no one wanted to admit it in public. Making accusations about someone like that came at a price.”
“I see,” said Pangloss.
“Publicly Cohn was a homophobe, but in private he was allegedly known to regularly have sex with men.” she continued.
Pangloss leaned forward, intrigued. “Were there any men that came forward claiming that he had sex with them?”
“Not that I’ve heard of,” Robin said. “But there were no women who came forward to claim that either. It’s not the kind of thing that the powerful men and women who attend these types of high society parties go around blabbing about.”
“So why was he the only one who was identified as having the HIV virus?” Asked Pangloss.
“Great question! It’s most likely because of the rumors that he was homosexual.” She said, “It made it easier to hide his partners of the opposite sex. Whether he was or was not homosexual doesn’t matter, it became the excuse for why he had it.”
Pangloss nodded in understanding.
“It’s probably comparable to the rumors that Charlie Sheen contracted HIV from a transgender lover,” Robin said with a laugh. “Like Cohn, Sheen was likely sleeping with women at the same time. Who he slept with and whether he infected any of them or not, we will never know, but it was wildly entertaining when it happened, don’t you agree? Did you ever watch any of his viral live rant videos from that period?”
“Off the wall,” Pangloss replied with a chuckle.
“Fun fact, I do actually have tiger’s blood,” Robin said, trying to keep a straight face as Pangloss continued cracking up. “Sheen just got a little sloppy. Multiple people accused him of giving them diseases, and he got sued too many times, making it difficult to keep his HIV status a secret.”
Robin looked him in the eyes again as they playfully touched each other’s feet, their laughter mingling in the air and creating a light-hearted moment that brought them a brief reprieve from the heavy topic.
“Back in Cohn’s time, his parties and sophisticated gatherings were the epitome of exclusivity, attended by a who’s who of celebrities and powerful figures,” Robin continued. “These events, often held at iconic venues like Studio 54, attracted a mix of judges, mayors, writers, actors, and businessmen. His social circle included not only influential figures but also high-profile personalities like Nancy Reagan and Gloria Vanderbilt. It was rumored that even mobsters found their way into his gatherings, making him a dangerous person to cross.”
Pangloss’s eyes widened. “Yeah, it sounds like it. It must have been quite the scene.”
Robin nodded. “Absolutely. The mix of glamour and danger was intoxicating. His charm and influence allowed him to navigate various circles seamlessly. People were drawn to him, but they also feared him. He even threw a birthday party for Bianca Jagger, the wife of the Rolling Stones’ lead singer.”
“I’ll bet the devil made his rounds at that party,” Pangloss replied, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, he was there, alright. And he answered to more than one name.” She leaned in closer, and the professor could see the fire in her eyes. “Despite being a closeted homosexual, Cohn was often seen with attractive young men at these parties, which only fueled the rumors.” Accusing a conservative of being gay, especially back then, was like accusing a Nazi of having Jewish heritage. No offense to you, obviously,” she added with a sincere nod.
“None taken,” he replied, smiling.
“It had to be the scariest thing a conservative could ever be accused of,” she continued. “From what I know, I’d imagine many powerful elite men and women of that time got infected the same way he did—at one of his parties. The need to hide their HIV status created the extreme secrecy surrounding the virus that persists even today.”
She paused, her eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and understanding. “The stigma and fear were so intense that it forced many to live double lives. The wealthy had the means to keep their secrets buried, but it also meant they could never fully trust anyone. This secrecy created a shadow world where people like Cohn ruthlessly navigated, masking their true selves while mingling with the elite noble class of our society.”
“It’s really no different than the syphilis outbreaks in Europe in the early 1500s after Columbus brought it back from the New World,” she said.
“Really? I never heard about that,” said Pangloss.
“Oh yeah, it was a huge problem, and there’s a lot of historical evidence to back it up. Back then, they didn’t have a cure, so once you were infected, you had to live with it for the rest of your life. It slowly degraded the quality of life and could even shorten it. In the long term, it affected the brain, causing people to act a little crazy. It wasn’t all that different from HIV today.”
“That’s incredible,” Pangloss said, nodding thoughtfully. “I had no idea the impact was so severe and could be compared to the effects of HIV.”
“The common churchgoers back then weren’t the ones who were spreading it though. It was the noble elites, the ones who engaged more often in extramarital and premarital sexual activities who were the main vectors for the virus. Their social status and involvement in courtly life, which often included interactions with multiple partners, increased their risk of contracting syphilis,” Robin explained.
“Really? History can be so fascinating,” Pangloss said, his intrigue evident.
“Absolutely,” Robin continued. “For instance, the Medici and their court were suspected of various illicit affairs and Anna Maria Luisa de’ Medici was rumored to have died from it. Even the clergy were involved in these high-risk activities. The Borgia family, for example, were infamous for their alleged moral corruption. The sexually permissive atmosphere and frequent intimate encounters in courtly life spread the disease quickly. The son of Pope Alexander VI, Cesare Borgia, suffered from syphilis, and later in life, as the disease ravaged his face, he was compelled to wear a leather mask to cover the disfigurement.”
“Wow, that’s crazy. Even the son of a Pope. Do you think the Pope was ever infected?” Pangloss asked, clearly shocked.
“We’ll never know for sure, but it’s entirely possible,” Robin replied. “And then there was Casanova. His name is synonymous with seduction and romance, but he wrote extensively in his memoirs about struggling with venereal diseases. Despite knowing the risks, he continued his hedonistic lifestyle, inevitably infecting more and more women.”
“It’s incredible to think about how these historical figures lived such dangerous lives, yet their stories are romanticized,” Pangloss mused.
Robin nodded. “Exactly. The glamorous image often hides the harsh realities they faced. It’s a stark reminder of how much things have changed, yet how some aspects of human behavior remain essentially the same.”
Pangloss leaned back, absorbing the weight of her words. “It really makes you think about the legacies we leave behind and the truths that get buried.”
“Precisely,” Robin said with a knowing smile. “History is full of hidden truths waiting to be uncovered. Casanova knew his sexual escapades led to repeated infections, but he accepted it and just kept going.”
Pangloss raised an eyebrow. “So he just…embraced the risk?”
Robin nodded. “Exactly. And it doesn’t stop there. Although we don’t know for sure, like many of these stories, Henry VIII’s erratic behavior later in life is sometimes attributed to syphilis. Some even believe it was a factor in the inability of many of his wives to give birth.”
“Oh wow, I think I did hear something about that once, but I don’t remember where I heard it,” Pangloss said, frowning in thought.
Robin nodded. “Henry VIII’s desperation for a male heir and his subsequent marriages were pivotal moments in English history. If syphilis played a role in his wives’ inability to bear children, it indirectly influenced the religious and political upheavals of the time.”
“That’s crazy,” Pangloss said as he looked up at the ceiling, contemplating the implications. “It makes you wonder how many other historical events were shaped by such hidden factors.”
Robin smiled. “Oh it doesn’t stop with the monarchy. Even as democracy became the norm and the noble class became less pronounced, there were still people in positions of power whose STDs played a huge role in the history of nations. There’s a story about a Confederate general who may have lost the Battle of Gettysburg due to a really bad case of the clap.”
She glanced at Pangloss, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Can you believe that? A sexually transmitted disease affecting the outcome of one of the most important battles in American History?”
Pangloss chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s almost too incredible to be true.”
Robin continued, her smile widening. “He was bedridden and unable to lead his troops, which may have played a huge part in their loss and retreat to Virginia.”
“So, a disease most likely contracted from a prostitute or during an affair could have been a turning point in the Civil War?” Pangloss asked, his eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“Yes, but it wasn’t just the South that suffered from it,” Robin continued. “Even Abraham Lincoln confided to his biographer that he had been infected with syphilis, and it was suspected to have caused the premature death of three of Lincoln’s children.”
Pangloss shook his head. “And here I thought I knew everything about Lincoln.”
Robin nodded. “And then there’s Pavlov—you know, the guy with the dog experiment.”
“Yeah, I know exactly who you’re talking about,” the professor replied.
“Well, he is famously remembered for saying that the Communist revolution was ‘made by a madman with syphilis on the brain.’ Lenin was reportedly infected with syphilis, and the Soviets went to great lengths to cover up the real reasons for his erratic behavior and sudden bouts of rage in the years leading up to his death.”
“So, your point is that many powerful men and women throughout history have had debilitating sexually transmitted diseases because their lifestyles allowed for risky, debaucherous behavior. And these diseases have also had a huge influence on the outcome of many historical events,” the professor summarized.
“That’s it,” Robin replied with enthusiasm. “Even in more recent times, just before the cure for syphilis was discovered, some modern-day mobsters like John Dillinger and Al Capone contracted it. The treatments they used, like silver nitrate and mercury down the urethra, were actually worse than the symptoms. Syphilis likely contributed to the deterioration of Capone’s mental faculties shortly before he died as well. As soon as we found a cure for syphilis though, it wasn’t long before it was replaced with HIV.”
Robin looked at the professor again and asked, “So how long do you think it will take before everyone on the planet has HIV?”
The professor was a little confused by the question. “I don’t know, we’d have to look at the transmission rates, wouldn’t we?”
“Yes, we need to look at the… Oh, what is that word again?” Robin said, pulling out her phone to Google it. “You know, it’s represented by an ‘R’ and a ‘0’. I forget how you say it.”
“R-naught,” replied the professor. “I think that’s the word you’re looking for.”
“Yes, exactly,” Robin said with a nod. “HIV has an R-naught of between two and five, which is lower than a lot of other viruses like measles, which has an R-naught of close to 18.”
“And R-naught, what does that represent again, I forgot?” asked Pangloss.
“That’s the average number of people that each infected person will eventually infect while they are still contagious,” she replied.
“Okay, so if the R-naught is two, for example, then for every person like you or me who is infected,” He asked, “we will eventually infect another two people on average, correct?”
Yes and that’s a conservative estimate; if the R-naught is closer to five, then every infected person will eventually infect 5 others” Robin explained. “There are countries in Africa where over 27 percent of the adult population has HIV. Unless we can slow the disease down to an R-naught of less than one, the US could eventually end up in the same position. That’s how exponential growth works.”
Pangloss shook his head. “I don’t even need to run the math to know that’s going to be a lot of people.”
“It might only take a few generations before HIV is as prevalent as HPV or worse,” Robin continued. “Did you know that more than 80% of sexually active men and women will be infected with HPV at some point in their lifetime? Those are current statistics, but we rarely discuss how similar HIV will be one day if we don’t find a vaccine or a cure.”
“Yeah, the same goes for herpes,” he replied.
“Yes, herpes. The gift that keeps on giving. Let me look up the numbers for that.” Robin said with a smile.
“No need, I already have them,” Pangloss said. “It says here that over two-thirds of the world’s population—around 3.7 billion people—have oral herpes, and about half a billion, or 8%, have genital herpes.”
Robin grimaced. “Do you remember the first time you saw herpes sores on your body? It’s a real sight for sore eyes, if you know what I mean.”
“Absolutely horrific,” he agreed. “It’s a nightmare.”
“Or how about right after you get it and you just lie in the bathtub shivering for like five hours, crying?” she said, her voice tinged with a twisted sense of glee. The professor nodded with a knowing smile.
“But then, the first time you’re out at a bar with friends and you see a hot guy across the room screaming at the top of his lungs, ‘I have herpes! I have herpes!’ without saying a word… that can actually be a real turn on,” she continued, a mischievous glint in her eye.
Pangloss leaned in with a smile to kiss her, and they both started cracking up.
“See, I knew you had a sense of humor, Professor. I just had to break through that stuffy exterior,” she teased, biting his lip and tugging on it playfully. “Our estimates are based on average numbers though,” Robin explained as she continued. “Most people who are infected won’t infect that many others. Just like with most things in life, a small percentage of HIV-positive individuals will do the majority of the infecting. Some of them will have an R-naught closer to measles. You’ve never infected anyone, have you?” she asked Pangloss.
“No, I haven’t,” he said. “I haven’t had sex with anyone since I found out, other than my ex-wife—the person who gave it to me.”
“For legal reasons, I can’t tell you how many people I’ve infected, but let’s just say I’ve done more than my fair share to keep the R-naught higher than 2,” she said with a smirk. “I went through that phase a lot of people experience at the beginning, where you just want to infect as many people as possible because you know they’re all going to get it eventually anyway. Unless they’re a Mennonite or a nun or something.”
“I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind a time or two during my depression. Misery loves company,” he said with a sigh.
“You know, it’s crazy how they handle HPV,” Robin said, leaning back in her chair. “They don’t even test men for it. Do you know why?”
“No, why?” Pangloss asked, genuinely curious.
“Because the powers that be knew that If they tested men for HPV and those men knew they had it, they could be held liable in court for transmitting it. But now, with the HPV vaccine, they don’t have to worry about being sued or having a young woman get pissed off at them for breaking out in warts.” Robin replied, rolling her eyes.
“That’s ridiculous,” Pangloss said, shaking his head.
“Now we just need to keep AIDS researchers from dying in plane crashes,” Robin said, “so we can finally come up with a vaccine like HPV or maybe even a cure.”
“Have a lot of them died in plane wrecks?” he asked, eyebrows raised.
“Enough to slow down progress,” she replied.
“So how do you figure out who has HIV and who doesn’t? I’m curious how you know,” Pangloss asked.
Robin smirked. “It’s all about how you let people know you have it. I like to use the ‘Scare and Attract’ method. One person’s temptation is another person’s warning. You can scare away the ones who don’t understand while attracting those who do.”
“How do you do that?” Pangloss leaned in, intrigued.
“Well, think of it this way. If you want to scare away the innocent types, you bring up topics that would frighten them. But for the more adventurous or daring individuals, those conversations won’t scare them—in fact, they might even get a little excited.”
“Interesting,” Pangloss nodded thoughtfully.
“It’s a bit like extreme sports,” Robin continued. “I remember hearing that when wingsuit sports first started, the life expectancy was so low that most people died within the first two years.”
“It was that dangerous?” asked Pangloss, wide-eyed.
“So I was told. For those afraid of dying, wingsuiting was too dangerous to even consider,” Robin explained. “But for the people who loved riding the tail of the dragon, wingsuiting was exactly what they were looking for. It’s the same with HIV. The risk and danger attract a certain type of person, the ones who aren’t afraid of pushing boundaries.”
Pangloss nodded again, his mind racing with the comparison. “So, by talking about HIV in a certain way, you filter out those who are too scared and attract those who are intrigued or already in the know.”
“Exactly,” Robin said with a satisfied smile. “It’s like social Darwinism. Only those who are meant to be part of our secret world will stick around.”
“That’s a fascinating way to look at it,” Pangloss admitted. “It’s like a hidden language or code.”
“Precisely,” Robin agreed. “And once you learn to speak it, you can navigate this hidden world with ease. There’s a whole different language that people in our community use, one that isn’t understood outside of it. It’s a way to identify and connect with each other without drawing unwanted attention.”
“Do you have an example?” he asked.
Robin paused, thinking for a moment. “Okay, here’s a trick I use. If I’m chatting with someone at a bar who I think might be infected, I’ll casually say something like, ‘Yeah, my boyfriend is high risk because of his social circle,’ and watch to see their response. Based on how they respond, I can usually gauge whether or not they’re infected or at least if they understand what I’m implying.”
Pangloss nodded, clearly intrigued. “That’s clever. So, you’re using their reaction as a way to determine if you should share more information with them or not.”
“You get it,” Robin replied with a satisfied smile. “It’s a subtle way to figure things out without being too direct. If they get nervous or confused, it’s a clear sign they’re not part of our world. But if their eyes light up and they nod knowingly, or if they get really excited and engage with the topic, I know I’m dealing with someone who understands.”
“Wow. I never thought to do it that way,” Pangloss said, with admiration in his voice. “It’s like having a secret handshake.”
Robin chuckled. “Exactly. It’s like Neo being pulled from the Matrix and suddenly seeing the code. You have to read the signs and know how to interpret them. There are specific cues and phrases that only someone in the know would recognize.”
Pangloss leaned back, absorbing this new insight. “It must feel like being part of a secret underground society, with its own rules.”
“It does,” Robin agreed. “Once you’re in, you start to notice those subtle hints everywhere. It becomes second nature to sense who might already know and who’s just clueless.”
Pangloss nodded thoughtfully. “It’s fascinating. I never realized there were so many layers to it.”
Robin smiled. “There are. But it can create its own problems sometimes. Every once in a while, new people slip through the cracks. Either you misread their reaction, or you convince yourself they already knew, even though they probably don’t.”
Pangloss looked concerned. “So it’s not foolproof.”
“Not by any stretch of the imagination,” Robin admitted. “It can also become pretty dark and manipulative. Sometimes, people use it to convince someone new, who isn’t infected, that they’ve already told them about their infection. When the person finds out they are infected and confronts the one who infected them, the offender will bring up an early conversation and point out the subtle hints they gave. They will remind them of their reactions to make it seem like they thought they understood. The truth is, it’s usually a lie. They knew the other person wasn’t infected and didn’t understand the hints.”
“That sounds extremely manipulative,” Pangloss said, frowning.
“Oh, that’s not even the worst part,” Robin continued. “I’ve known people who go through phases where they intentionally infect someone, then turn around and accuse that person of infecting them.”
“That’s horrible,” Pangloss said, shaking his head in disbelief. “You ruin someone’s life by infecting them without their consent, and then make them believe they were the ones who did it to you?”
“As long as they are relatively sexually active, they won’t be able to prove where they got it, and they won’t be able to prove that you were actually the one who gave it to them. This phase often overlaps with the phase where people intentionally cause outbreaks, infecting as many people as possible. If it ever comes back around, you can always just blame one of the people you infected instead of yourself.”
“That is twisted,” Pangloss said, his voice full of shock.
Robin nodded. “It’s a dark world we live in. Boyfriends and girlfriends who cheat on each other do this sometimes too. One finds out they are infected and says, ‘I can’t believe you gave it to me,’ and pours on the guilt. The other person feels horrible because they don’t know which partner they were cheating with gave it to them, so they accept responsibility. Then their partner forgives them and says they can stay together, but they use it as leverage for the rest of the relationship.”
“That’s just… I don’t even have words,” Pangloss said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “It’s so cruel.”
“It is. When I was younger, I had a few girlfriends who went through those phases. They even looked young enough to convince men they didn’t need to wear condoms because they were still virgins.”
“I never imagined that people could be so evil,” he replied, shaking his head.
“That’s just human nature,” Robin said softly. “They were afraid of being alone and thought that if they could infect someone and convince them to stay, that person would stay and take care of them. Sometimes it’s hard to understand, but it happens more often than you’d think. What happens more often than that with rich people,” Robin said, “is that they find out they are infected and pay their doctor to keep it from their partner. The doctor ensures that both of them get the medication they need and manipulates the test results so their partner never even finds out they had it in the first place.”
Pangloss took a deep breath, struggling with his thoughts. “I’m not sure how to say this, but as I was listening to you, I realized that what you described—some of your friends accusing their partner of infecting them—that’s exactly what happened to me.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry,” Robin replied, her tone softening. “I know it’s hard to talk about, but you can tell me.”
“It was my wife,” Pangloss confessed. “She cheated on me and gave it to me then tried to blame me. I knew I hadn’t cheated but she tried to convince me it wasn’t her and she stuck to her guns till the bitter end of our relationship. She never admitted it. After she left, I withdrew into my work. I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me.”
“Professor, you don’t have to be afraid anymore,” Robin said gently.
“The first time my wife told me she had it, I went to a local clinic where no one knew me so I could get tested in private,” Pangloss explained, his voice heavy with the memory. “I was ashamed and couldn’t bear talking to my regular doctor about it.”
Robin’s eyes widened. “And how did it feel when you got your results?”
“Well,” Pangloss continued, “that’s actually the weird part. I went home and waited about two weeks for the clinic to contact me by email. The results were supposed to be in the week before, and my wife got anxious, so I decided to call the clinic to see if they had finally received my results. The person who answered asked me what I was calling about, and I told them. They regretted to inform me that the clinic had burned down the week before, and all the samples and test results of their patients had been lost.”
Robin’s eyebrows shot up. “You have to be shitting me!” she exclaimed, shock written all over her face. “See, that’s what I’m talking about!”
“What do you mean?” Pangloss asked, confusion evident in his voice.
“You were already connected; you just didn’t know it yet,” Robin said, leaning forward.
“What are you implying?” Pangloss asked.
“What do you think I’m implying?” Robin countered with an incredulous expression.
“That someone burned down the clinic on purpose to hide my results?” Pangloss suggested, a look of disbelief on his face.
“I didn’t say that,” Robin said, her eyes wide with astonishment. “But yeah, now that you’ve mentioned it… of course!!! What did you think happened, it was just a coincidence?”
“I mean, it crossed my mind back then, but it felt too paranoid for me to entertain the idea,” Pangloss admitted.
“And what did your wife say?” Robin asked, leaning in.
“Come to think of it, she looked sort of pissed off, which I thought was weird at the time. But the whole thing was confusing, and I just wanted to move on. I ended up getting an at-home test, and it came back positive,” he said.
Robin sighed, gazing deeply into his eyes with a mix of sympathy and excitement. “It’s a whole new world now, my dear, sweet, sweet Pangloss. Maybe we can rewire that beautiful mind of yours to see the glass as half full. Honestly, in some strange way, getting infected feels like the greatest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Really?” Pangloss said, confused.
“It’s my life, it’s my community,” Robin explained. “I can be a dirty little slut in the World of AIDS, and no one judges me. They love me for who I am, and I’m free to head out into the night as an unchained woman, free of rules and inhibitions.”
“I sort of see what you’re saying, but it still doesn’t sound real to me,” Pangloss admitted.
“It’s way realer than you could ever imagine,” Robin said, her eyes shining with conviction.
Pangloss held her hand and looked her in the eyes. “It’s fascinating how a whole subculture can develop around something as intense as shared diseases.”
“I know,” she chuckled. “There are a lot of wolves out there searching for fresh meat, but when two of them connect, it can actually be an incredible experience,” Robin concluded, staring back at him with her deep blue eyes.
Pangloss squeezed her hand gently. “I’m so glad I found you, Robin. I feel such a deep connection with you, even though we’ve only just met.”
Robin’s eyes softened. “Okay, enough talk about AIDS. Let’s change the subject. I want to tell you a knock-knock joke,” she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
“Okay,” Pangloss replied, looking amused. “Shoot.”
“Alright, here goes. So there was a chicken and an egg lying in bed together…” Robin began.
“I thought you said this was a knock-knock joke,” Pangloss interrupted.
“Shut up, I’m trying to tell the joke,” she said, pushing him a little as she leaned back to light a cigarette.
“Aren’t you supposed to smoke that in the garden room?” Pangloss asked.
“No one’s here to enforce the rules. You gonna call the cops or something?” she replied, leaning back to take a drag, then letting a smoke ring slowly exit her mouth as she formed an O shape with her lips. “The best jokes,” she continued, “are the ones where you say the punchline first but only imply the joke.”
“Who’s there?” Pangloss quipped with a cheeky grin.
“Ha, ha,” Robin replied, smiling at him before continuing. “So the chicken is smoking a cigarette…”
“Is this really the joke?” he asked, cracking up.
“You have to wait until the end, jackass,” she said, slapping his chest playfully and taking another drag. “So the chicken is smoking a cigarette, and the egg is lying next to it with its back turned to the chicken. The egg says to the chicken with a hint of annoyance, ‘Well, I guess we answered that question.’” Robin then immediately turned to scan his face and gauge his reaction.
Pangloss sat there, looking at her, then looking away, then looking back again, clearly puzzled. Finally, he chimed in, “Well, I know it has something to do with the chicken and egg metaphor, but I’m still trying to understand what the joke is. Give me a minute, I’ll figure it out.”
Robin started laughing uncontrollably, then pulled him in and kissed him again, holding her puckered lips against his for nearly a minute before pulling back for another drag. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Professor. I didn’t get the joke right away the first time either. I’m sure it will dawn on you later tonight or tomorrow. I don’t want to give it away and spoil the surprise.”
“To get to the other side?” Pangloss guessed, still looking puzzled but hopeful.
Robin giggled, shaking her head. “No, but nice try. Here’s another one for you: Knock, knock.”
Pangloss played along, “Who’s there?”
“Boo,” Robin said, her eyes twinkling.
“Boo who?” Pangloss responded, smiling.
“Don’t cry, it’s just a joke!” Robin said, bursting into laughter.
Then they both started laughing together, their laughter filling the air. As it faded, they looked into each other’s eyes. Robin pulled him close, her warm skin and lips igniting a flame of desire that swirled around them as their bodies intertwined and they began to lose track of time.