And I wouldn’t be dramatic, just simply say, you need to know something, I have herpes.I control it with medication, but no matter how you slice it, it is what it is.If ok, want to jump on my soapbox for a second, if anyone reading this has herpes, do the right thing, let people know. As far as genital herpes goes, we’re talking 20% of the population.One of the most difficult things I had to do was call former boyfriends I may have exposed (think it was dormant in my system for quite sometime, I honestly did not know). I think all the readers should take a second to put themselves in your shoes for a moment. That’s 50 MILLION people, a majority of whom don’t even know they’re infected.Last time I checked, it takes two to hook-up, and as a result, I’m willing to assume some accountability too.First off, and for the record, my girlfriend’s STD has never turned me off or turned into an awkward moment in bed. *** Telling people about it still isn’t easy or fun, but it’s my own magic Hogwarts-esque sorting hat.
He told me sometimes he didnt use any protection with his gf(she knows) and she has been okay.
And then, definitely aloud: “I have herpes.” Silence. “But before you freak out,” I said as casually as I could, “let me tell you about it.” “The transmission risks are tiny,” I started, and they are: about 2–4 percent from woman to man, depending on condom use. I’d worry about how to escape this foreign part of Brooklyn later. Bye then,” I said, stepping toward him, him, a body shellshocked on the bed. So I made a sort of ill-informed compromise with my sexual cravings: everything but. Down there, I looked and felt the same as I always had. And then one day at the office I met him, a tall, dark-haired, sunkissed drink of coworker water. Thanks to herpes, I took things slow, until the temptation to make things NSFW grew too strong.
I untwined my legs and sat up, hopped off the bed, and picked up my underwear. This was always the weirdest part: negotiating a leave. Pictures of the clap danced in my head whenever I had penetration to consider, even in college. The nurse, a bespectacled woman with short hair and a slight waddle, delved into the center of my spreadeagle. “Well,” she said lightly after I had tied my paper gown, “it looks like someone was a little overzealous down there! I had educated myself about STIs and the medicines available to fight them; the whiteboard images of unchecked disease were erased. The first time I told a man, I couldn’t help but cry. The second time, we — a different he — were stoned. The Conversation continued to ruin my life after dark; disclosure brought the othering I had dreaded. I felt more fragile and powerful and worthy of careful handling than ever. Instead, it became a filter for expendable men in my life.
With the technicalities out of the way, we can now delve into the real stuff.
For instance: do I think about the STD during sex – is it a turn-off, are there certain sexual activities we can’t do?