Congratulations on Proving You Don't Have Herpes!

You’ll take off your pants and point to your freshly shaven vagina.

“Check it out,” you’ll purr at your partner to be. “No herpes.”

He’ll shrug, not even bothering to put down his X-Box controller.

“They could just be in remission,” he’ll say as he guides a sports car into a wall, only to watch it re-materialize seconds later half a lap behind where he was. “Damnit it, you’re distracting me.”

You’ll roll your eyes and sigh. If you don’t find a way to prove you don’t have herpes you’ll never find a way to get your roommate to let you trade your poon for your half of the rent. But just then a knock will come at your door. You’ll open it up and outside your friendly Afro-American letter carrier will be standing, a very special piece of mail in his hand.

“Check this shit out,” he’ll stereotypically shout. The two of you will share a laugh and then high five as he hands you your mail. It’ll be just what you’ve been waiting for: the STD test results you ordered from Planned Parenthood a week ago, back when you were worried you wouldn’t be able to make rent this month.

“Fuck yeah,” you’ll shout, high fiving the letter carrier again. He’ll oblige you and then stand there and watch as you open the letter, partly because he wants to know how your struggle will unfold and mostly because he wants to keep being able to fantasize about having sex with you without imagining himself with a disease afterwards.

The piece of paper will be almost indecipherable, but a breakdown at the bottom will announce the results to you in simple terms: you’ll be totally clean.

“FUCK YEAH!” you’ll shout again, louder this time, high fiving your letter carrier and slamming the door in his face as you turn to show your roommate what you’ve found.

“Check this shit out,” you’ll announce to him, shoving the letter in his face until he grabs it. Then, while he’s distracted, you’ll unzip his pants and start working his penis. It’ll get hard almost immediately, which is what you expected. You live with the guy, and you know how rarely he gets laid.

That’s why you came up with this idea. You figured that if you could prove you didn’t have herpes you could find a way to fuck your way out of paying rent for at least a month, and you figured that he’d have to play the field in a pretty stealthy way to have caught herpes himself. He won’t be complaining as you get him hard. You won’t be sure if the letter satisfied him or if he just stopped caring once you touched his dick.

He won’t put the letter down until you slip out of your jeans settle on top of his penis and guide it gently inside of you. As you begin riding him you’ll look at the pause screen of Forza 3 and wonder if you should’ve asked him to get tested too, just in case. But as your body takes over you’ll stop thinking about anything other than being able to afford food for the next few weeks, or anything else after that if you don’t get another freelance editing job.

Congratulations on Proving You Don’t Have Herpes!