The last place where you want things to burn is "down there."

I always make sure I’m checked for every possible STD under the sun when I hit up my gynecologist once a year. Then, depending on what I’ve been up to and with whom, I’ll get another round of tests six months or so later just to be sure. Even if a condom has been used, there’s still that point before actual intercourse where things are meshing around and making friends with each other and there usually is no condom at that point in the game.

Then Lena Dunham went and added even more paranoia in that particular episode of Girls where she asked: “What about the stuff that gets up around the sides of condoms?” Thank you, Dunham, for giving us all one more thing to worry about when it comes to sex. I can’t even look at a condom now without thinking about all that potential “stuff.”

So the other night when I met someone who actually said he gets checked once a month for STDs, I was floored. His point was that sometimes he’s an idiot, and since it can take awhile for things to show up, he’d rather go once a month than worry about it. Then my girl friend, who was sitting opposite us, admitted that she hadn’t been tested in three years, let alone even gone to a gynecologist for a check up, because she doesn’t want to know if she has anything.

Even if I were scared shitless to find out that I’ve been walking around with an STD, I’d really want to get on medication stat then go through the horror of telling every past boyfriend or fuck buddy that I have something dreadful. It would suck and probably be an entire level of humiliation that I’ve yet to know, but I know it would be a must.

Denial is a great thing, but sometimes it bites you in the ass, or at least your vagina, and no one wants that.

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