I love sex positivity. I love talking about sex. Sex health, sex practices. One might say I have a psychological complex probably given to me in childhood — but i’m not here to draw those conclusions. I’m here to tell you about the time I got gonorrhea. This involved a lot of waiting, because you cannot simply tell anyone you got gonorrhea. I’m friends with homosexuals, and getting homosexuals to keep secrets is like asking them to wear condoms. Statistically, it’s not happening, and if I see it in porn I’m turning it off.
My entire life I had extremely risky behavior, especially when I discovered the wonderful world of online dating. It became incredibly easy to have men delivered to your home, and even more so when Tinder made finding the next man to disappoint you for 10-15 minutes easy, especially if you wanted to book three for the same night of sex based self-harm. Despite all of this, I had never once knowingly gotten an STI—perhaps that was where all of my luck and fortune was going. After I had set aside my six inch heels and instead opted for four, I entered a mostly monogamous relationship with a narcissist that both physically and emotionally destroyed me to the point where I couldn’t enjoy sex, carbs, or online validation, and my life became an endless abyss alternating between binges of Daria and Buffy.
As I slowly emerged from my depressive cocoon, I determined that it was finally time to try dick again, as a treat to myself for not gaining weight. There was a long string of countless flirtations, until I finally settled upon a retail store manager or something. He had some fuckboy occupation and pecs the size of my head, so I knew I had found the horny stranger of my destiny. And even more provocatively, he actually wanted to MEET me. As a tranty, I am very self conscious and often avoid meeting people in public locations, but I was emboldened. I was going out with a friend to her boyfriend’s DJ set at some disgusting dive I will refrain from naming for legal reasons.
In person, he was my height, which absolutely would’ve been a deterrent if he wasn’t entirely shredded — obnoxiously so. Until this point I had really only had sex with men who resembled corpses and may have actually been corpses, so this was a welcome change. He bought me drinks, and then later asked if I knew where the drugs were.
The answer to this question was no. I had no idea where the drugs were at. I had never done capital D drugs. I knew only the liquor, not the Tina or the coke. It was like fate when a girl I knew from social media who had more than one face tattoo entered the bar and offered me molly since I had fake complimented her a few times. I immediately pretended I was some cool girl who knew all about drugs, made him buy some, and tried it in a bathroom under my friend’s supervision who said “Oh, you’ll probably get really horny. Also, it’s probably not real molly.”
This was after I had already ingested it. Maybe 15 minutes later, I found myself, who detested PDA, sitting in this mans lap kissing him — I had made eye contact with a girl who looked at me affirming, or maybe I hallucinated her expression because I was craving validation for my decisions pretty badly. He was chewing gum, and then I was chewing gum. My friend kept asking if I was okay, and said she didn’t really like that guy and he looked like a douche — and it was exactly for that reason I decided to leave the bar with him in what was one my worst ideas yet.
Because I was under the effects of probably not molly, his dick felt much larger than it actually was — not to encourage anyone but dick related hallucinations don’t always have to be the bad kind. His biceps were honestly the size of my head and harder than math, so needless to say I had absolutely fallen in love with this man who’s last name I do not remember, who later ghosted me that week.
Coincidentally, the following week I had a check up scheduled, and my doctor disclosed unto me a few days after that I had gonorrhea. Horror filled my mind as I became aware of literally every orifice on my body. It was incredibly easy to determine who gave me the gonorrhea since I had only slept with one person in the space of several months, and god bestowed divine punishment unto me when the nurse who injected the antibiotic into my butt-cheek was also hot. If there is any lesson I would like to share from my confession, it is this: if he works a dead-end job or both of his ears are pierced, just don’t do it, and if you’re still going to do it, you probably will have no difficulty swallowing the giant antibiotic pill your doctor will prescribe to you and your pharmacist, who is also hot, will judge you for.