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Rings (chapter 1)
  I was in shock when I saw what Anne exposed when she undressed, but I've got to admit it, she did warn me. We met six months ago at a meeting of the local support group for survivors of AIDS. The group was hosted by the local Metropolitan Church, but don't get me wrong, I'm not gay. I'd joined the group after the death of my previous lover; when we'd started living together, she'd never told me that her previous lover was bi, but now she'd paid for it with her life. Now, I thank God that we'd always used condoms.
  Anne was very withdrawn when she first joined the group; she said that she was an artist, into jewelry design, but that she usually worked as a sales clerk in a jewelery store because her artwork didn't support her. When she explained that she'd just arrived from Chicago, having fled the city when her best friend was diagnosed with AIDS, I'm sorry to say that we weren't a very supportive group.
  While the rest of the group came down on her for abandoning her friend, I admired her. She was stunning looking, if plainly dressed. Her long hair was tied back in a ponytail to show her ears, and in each ear, she wore a row of gold earrings that ran from the earlobe right up over the top, as many as twenty in each ear.
  I still remember Anne's outburst at her first meeting. "Damn you!" she screamed. "Don't you understand? Janet and I," she sobbed, "Janet and I shared all the same lovers." She paused for a ragged breath. "How can I make you understand? See these rings?" She ran her finger over the arc of rings in one ear. "Janet and I had this deal. Everytime we had a new guy, we'd put in a new pair of earrings, one ring for each of us. Now she's got AIDS, damn it, but I didn't run away from her, I ran away from all of our lovers! Janet I could face, I couldn't face all the guys!"
  She was so different from me, but somehow over the months that followed, we found that we had something in common. We weren't the only straights in the survivors of AIDS group, but mabe the fact that most of the group was gay did help push us together. The first thing we discovered we had in common was an aversion to everything we associated with our encounter with AIDS, and that included sex.
  A few weeks after she joined our support group, we ended up walking out to the parking lot together after a meeting. It was January, but above freezing, and after the recent cold spell, we both found it pleasantly warm, enough so that we stood outside and chated a bit before we got in our cars to drive home.
  "By the way," I asked. "I remember you said you did jewelry design; got any of your work to show off?"
  "Other than my earrings, Nope," she said, and then paused thoughtfully. "It's funny, I used to like flashy jewelry, but since Janet got AIDS ... well, I guess I've tried to avoid being flashy. I guess I'm one of the new puritans the minister talked about at the meeting. It sure sounds odd saying it, though, I mean, my self-image is about as far from that as possible."
  "I guess it's about the same with me," I said as I fished in my pocket for my keys. "How come you still wear the earrings?"
  She looked oddly at me for a moment before she answered. "They're in permanently; I'd have to cut them to get them out."
  Can you call it dating when neither partner is interested in making any sexual advances? In March, a few months after Anne joined our survivors support group, we started going out together. I think we were both using our relationship defensively; by staying together when we were in social settings, we could were shield each other from sexual pressure.
  I remember one night after we left a meeting of the survivors, Anne gave a good summary of her feelings. "You know, Jeff, there are times I wish I could become a nun, I wish I could live in an isolated world where sex didn't exist."
  "Why not marry me?" I joked.
  "What?" she said, stopping me on the street and staring at me.
  "Like you said at the meeting," I said. "You said you'd always thought that marriage was a trap to be avoided, that marriage would mean the end of your sexuality. Wouldn't marriage be more fun than a convent?"
  She smiled at me and chuckled. "It probably would, but you're so ..." She paused, her voice trailing off. "Damn it, you're so straight that I'm afraid I'd offend you."
  I couldn't imagine what she meant by straight, but she didn't say more until a few weeks later. We'd gone out to a late movie after one of the meetings of our support group, and as we walked back to the parking lot where we'd left our cars, we talked.
  "It's been a few months since I left Janet," Anne said, "and still, it's hard for me to face it."
  "You should call her up, talk to her," I suggested.
  "It's not that," she said, chuckling. "I've been phoning Janet once a week for a while now. What I can't do is imagine me living the rest of my life monogamously or without sex."
  "Don't take it so seriously," I said. "You could always marry me."

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