Hello dick doctor – The results

So, a few weeks have passed since my STI test and the results have finally come in. I know I said it would be a week but hey, there were some ‘complications’…

So I waited the 5 working days the nice, pretty nurse told me to wait before phoning for the results. To be honest, I wasn’t too worried about the results, whatever they were going to be, but to be told them by a machine freaked-the-fuck out of me. You call up and type in your number, I am a number now remember, then your DOB, and it starts reeling off all the things you got tested for starting with the big guy – HIV. Computerized woman says negative, sweet. Then chlamydia, inconclusive. What the F does that mean??? I peed in the cup just like she’d told me to! Next up – syphilis. Again, negative. Then gonorrhea, inconclusive, again. So basically the blood-tested ones are all good, the others not so good it seems. “Press 0 to speak to an advisor”, yes-fucking-please.

So after holding for a minute or so a polite young lady informs me it is common for urine tests to invite complications upon themselves. Okay, so let’s re-test then. Tomorrow sounds great, 10.20? I’ll be there. I am late, as always. No biggie, got the waiting rooms patients, Phillip Schofield and that poster again to keep me company. Same sort of clientele again, some rudeboys, a few fags, me and the guys who are definitely here at their girlfriends request. What’s this, no Phillip Schofield? Some fat, annoying Northern Irish guy and some old looking chick (too-old-for-TV-looking I mean) instead? Well let’s hope today’s topic is better than last weeks (they had a woman on who was sexually abused by her own mother, not exactly STI waiting room material). It is actully worse. They’re doing a feature on women who wear the wrong sized bra’s. Seriously. What. The. Fuck. Is this what the unemployed, old people and housewives/husbands are watching???

I am a little concerned I am gonna have to get my wang out any second now as I’ve been here awhile and these chicks massive titties in better fitting bra’s are kinda giving me a semi-on. The “I love my gay son” poster has lost its potency. Luckily they swiftly change to a woman with super small tits in a better fitting bra. I can barely believe she wears an A-cup but they reckon she’s a D. They look the same to me. Suddenly a large Indian enters the male waiting are and calls my name.

He is in his late 40s, greying, over 6 feet tall. He ushers me to a room next to where pretty-polite-nurse had her wicked way with me just last week. He sits down, as do I without invitation. He looks at me and tells me to shut the door which I have to stand up to do. Before I can re-seat myself he tells me to open my pants just as I see him opening a package containing what looks like a bike wheel spoke. It dawns on me that not only am I re-taking the urine test but he is going to put that fucker down my jap’s-eye. Door closed I stand there transfixed on the penile probe to-be with my jeans ajar. No small talk. He requests I open them further. I get my guy between my index and thumb, he tells me to roll back the skin and without hesitation (or warning) jabs the little fucker right in my dickhole. Ouchouchouch you fucker, that hurts. Noticing my discomfort he looks up at me and sticks it in even further. I let out a bitchy little yelp but by the time I look down he already has the end of it in a small jar. The swab not my dick. Then he hands me a cup to pee in.

Really? My urethra fucking BURNS guy, piss is really not going to soothe it at all. And he doesn’t give me a cap. I piss as much as I can but like the little bitch I am it gives me some real pain. A few drops will do. It feels like somebody is dragging a mile of steel-wool out of the little crevis. All this on an empty stomach too. From now on must start eating breakfast, never can tell what will happen before lunch these days. I finish and leave the cup, uncovered, steaming in the hatch. I walk in like, “done! What’s next!?!”, and he looks at me like, “fuck off back to your shoebox full of skanky ho’s kid” and tells me that we’re done. Riding my bike home was an experience I guess you could say, my foreskin felt like it was full of nettles or something. Can somebody please invent a cooling douche for men’s urethra’s please. Thanks.

Now I have another few days to wait but he said Monday or Tuesday this time. I wait till Tuesday, nothing. Thanks again dickhole-swabbing fucker. Wednesday, automated woman who I am now beginning to form a bit of a voice-crush on tells me results form last week are in. And guess what? ALL NEGATIVE. 12 years of unprotected penetrable sex, including 10 years of sodomy, and I’m cleaner than Mr. Muscle/The Queen. I am hardly over the moon as I didn’t really expect to realistically have anything anyways (does anyone?). Its like somebody telling you you didn’t win a competition you didn’t enter. In future though I will take the dentists advice (the clinic didn’t offer any as it goes, not even a few free rubbers) – prevention is better than cure. Which kinda makes no sense. And doesn’t really work in this context but rags away.