Currently browsing Posts Tagged “gynocologist”

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What’s Better Than Sex?

Posted by The Girl's Guide to Depravity in fuck, sex

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butt-thong-gg

When Heather introduced me last week, she mentioned that I had come straight from the gynecologist’s stirrups.  I only like spreading my legs when I know I’m about to get a primo poundfest, but the one thing I obsess over more than sex is getting answers.  And I know the gyno is the one place where I can go to find out what’s 100% real and what’s not. Even psychics can’t guarantee those kinds of numbers!

After ending things with yet another doucheboat (douchebag + dreamboat, which is seriously half of the men in Los Angeles), I was a little concerned that some of our amazing, condom-less sex might have left me with more than just fond memories of our naked romps in the bedroom. Every time I hook up or break up with a guy, I somehow manage to convince myself that I have herpes, even though I’ve never had a single symptom or a positive reaction on a blood test. Just to play it on the safe side, I always get tested in between partners.

I had been tested before my latest lover and I was fine, but since we weren’t using protection after we had “the talk” and I didn’t see his test results on paper, I knew there was a small chance that I could have the herp. Apparently 1 in 5 people have HSV2 (the genital kind), and of those 20%, up to 80% of them never show signs, so you do the math. It’s fucking terrifying. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I also know of two females who got herpes on their vaginas from a guy who only tested positive for HSV1 (the oral kind). You CAN get HSV1 on your mouth and down south, but it’s kind of a perfect storm situation to get them on your cooch. I’ll write all about that some other time, but it’s gotten to the point where I’m seriously considering using dental dams. I don’t know what’s more alarming: the thought of getting an untreatable STD that causes painful blisters or the thought of having completely terrible oral sex because there’s essentially a piece of saran wrap between my clit and my man’s tongue…

And that’s the thing. Even if you’ve figured out who he’s banged over the years, examined his dick with a magnifying glass and he’s showed you his test on paper, you never know until you get the good word from your gyno. And that usually comes in the mail (or in my case, via an e-mail attachment of my lab results). If they call, it’s never a good thing. But either way, at least you know for sure! I do now…and I’m happy to report that I am totally disease-free.

Want more from Elisabeth?  Check out her blog at singlegirlproblems.com!