The Herps, Part 3: Speculation, The Herps

(Thought I was gonna say speculum nation, huh?)


July 23rd 2014

Last night I over-wanked after writing about my pious Judaism, a.k.a, the study of Jonathan Ames’ sacred scriptures. When I peed, it hurt. First, I thought of Eminem. Then, I thought, “I have a UTI from over-wanking myself to sleep and being irresponsible, not peeing post-self-coitally. (Which I have never had before, just FYI). I am a weak, weak, lazy human being—might as well shove McDonalds down my piehole and ride motorized vehicles like a Wal-Martian.”

When I explored: aha, a bump! Eureka, I’ve found it. So like an intrepid vagina explorer, I stuck a Bahama Mama toothpick umbrella in it. Kidddding, I took commemorative photos for you lovely readers. And to chart the progress. For medical purposes, of course! I feel like a kid in a growth spurt. Pencil lines up the walls. Thick creases in my withered face. Mommieee, I sprouted my first pube! Like Jonathan Ames, I have a complex from my delayed puberty.

"I am weak, weak. Always giving in." --Jonathan Ames

“I am weak, weak. Always giving in.” –Jonathan Ames

In some pics I took that feature more than just my vagina, it looks like I am diddling myself. which I am not. Because herpes is no laughing matter. That is my PSA. Seriously, though, while taking them I totally thought, “I wish EBF were here to be my herpes photographer. He’s infinitely better at holding a camera steady.” (Spoiler alert: Body Horror, Part 4).


Yes, I am PAINFULLY aware that now I have pics of my vag, but not my face on my blog: SOCIAL COMMENTARY!

Vagina skin in general is weird and varied. So I know I shouldn’t put to much stock in not-stock photos of bumps.

Vagina skin in general is weird and varied. So I know I shouldn’t put to much stock in not-stock photos of bumps.


This last one is for perspective. Lest you believe I’m being a hypochondriac (See: Woody Allen’s Hypochondria: An Inside Look), the bump is almost as big as my clit head. THAT IS TOO BIG!

This next bit is purely speculative because The Herps can live latent in the nerves surrounding your spinal cord FOREVER. Think I got it from Andrew, who writes about music scenes (and we raised ourselves in similar music scenes—same extended scene, diff location). He coined the term “scenester merit badge” to describe merch you can only pick up at shows, where opening bands peddle buttons and tees outta their vans (the vehicles, not the shoes—though I see how that might be confusing) for gas monies. The above bump is my Slutster Merit Badge, which I’ll pin on myself like a badge of honor. Like being the Mayor on 4square, except less imaginary and geeky. Girly Shrieks! My first real social disease!!! Tangible proof of a road well-traveled. Gimme a scatch ‘n sniff sticker to pheromonally brag to all of my friendz! I have ascended the social ladder—to the level of my mom. It’s as if I’ve had 70’s sex without the flower power and wacky tobaccy: YES! Next time I go to my mom’s gyno, I hope she appraises, “You look just like your mother!” (Which is true). Twinsies!

If not Andrew, probably Clyde. Who is a national man of mystery worthy of an absurd pseudonym (what Andrew wishes he were). At this point it would be sales pitch-grade tacky if I sustained another injury from him. As in, “… and there’s more!” I’m sure you are wondering why I would bother to speculate as to the origin of a prospective disease when I have fucked my way through a large metropolis over the course of more than a decade. Here goes: I’VE ONLY TOUCHED ONE PENIS IN THE PAST FIVE MONTHS. Phew, I feel so much better now that I’ve gotten it all out. As if. We all know the only instrument of catharsis is the almighty penis.

It would be so rich if it were Andrew. To him, I divulged my 30th birthday resolution: take more risks, physical and emotional. Which is not a thing I’ve shared with anyone else. In rational society, you cannot declare, “I’ve decided to be irresponsible because I made it this far being too responsible! Risky is the way to go because it could get worse: Chlamydia is child’s play compared to ulcerative colitis! I LURVE SEMEN! MOARR.” He met my disclosure with giggles, and many offerings of semen. Hooray!

Now, for some retroactive foreshadowing:

Last Friday night I started a volunteer job that I love! My responsibilities will eventually include educating people about harm reduction techniques. So, during orientation, I got to participate in a fairly intimate sex ed lesson; I was shocked to discover how demure the other volunteers were about putting condoms on dildos. Condoms on dildos: it’s silly! The volunteer coordinator reluctantly shared that whenever he offers people dental dams, they laugh. And I was like, yeah, because you basically can’t get anything from eating out a woman that matters. On the menu of sexual diseases, anything of the mouth is merely an appetizer. He protested, “Lots of people live with herpes.” And I was like, yeah, operative word, “Live.” NBD. Herpes is an inconvenience and sort of a funny one. It’s all about the stigma. Societal bullshit. Unless you are in a high-risk group for HIV, in which case the herps can facilitate transmission. But we were specifically talking about woman-on-woman sex, so whateves. I left volunteer orientation full of glee. Thinking, wow, I get paid in good citizen points (and med school app points) for saying “anal” in public. This is the life.

And that feeling of glee soon returned.

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