by Storm

Probably the most important memory from my reckless 20s was: feet in stirrups, hearing the doctor say, “You have genital herpes.” What?! I’m in the OB/GYN office and I’m trippin’. It took a minute to register. This can’t be happening, I thought to myself. I touched myself gingerly, making sure that this wasn’t a sick dream; or worse, a cruel joke. The itching and burning. Herpes? Impossible!

Who was this man? For a moment, the doctor looked like a menacing clown who had delivered the worst, most horrible, practical joke.
The only thing I was sure of was that my legs were spread haphazardly apart on this examination table, feet resting not-so-comfortably in the stirrups, and this man: was he speaking to me? I couldn’t be sure. I looked again. Yes, it was my doctor.

The room was warm, there was noise and the lights were dim. Somewhere, again, I heard the word: herpes. It was then I knew. Now it all made sense. The pain and discomfort: the burning, stinging and itching. Brand had given me herpes.

When the hell had this happened?

My mind flashed back to the last time we’d had sex, about 3 weeks ago. I grinned before I could stop myself, thinking of how Brand had me bent over the dryer in the basement, pounding me from behind.
Then I remembered.

We were in the basement, washing clothes and measuring the dimensions of the walls, trying to calculate the amount of paint we would need to brighten the unfinished room.

Looking throughthrough photo albums and school pictures, we were laughing at Brand with missing teeth and bad hair days, when I came across an unlabeled packet of pictures.

“Hey, what is that?” Brand asked me, reaching to snatch the pictures out of my hands.

“No way, mister, I found it first. With these, I’m gonna blackmail you for my car and my diamond ring.” I held the pictures out of reach and turned my back to him.

I pulled out the pictures, shuffled throughthrough the first five pictures and loudly cleared my throat. “Make that a brand new BMW.” I held one picture at an angle, “Damn Brand, I didn’t know you got down like that.”
“What the hell is it? Damn it, Eva!” He snatched the picture from me and whistled. “Oh, shit. Give me the rest of them.”

“Hell no.”

There were pictures of Brand having sex with two women. Other pictures showed two men having sex with one woman. One of the men was Brand.

“You naughty boy. You never told me you could do that.” I looked closer at one of the women. “Is that Tammy? The married one with the twins?”
A naked Tammy was on her knees, deep throating Brand, her eyes staring up into his face: no easy feat, trust me. Brand was looking down, grinning, but not at Tammy. Fucking Tammy from behind was Evan, Brand’s friend, squeezing her breasts, grinning back at him.
Poor Tammy. But then again, maybe not. A few pictures later showed Tammy grinning with pleasure as Brand came on her face and hair. I hoped the twins hadn’t been born yet.

Then I thought, who the hell was taking the pictures? I changed my mind. I didn’t want to know.

The rest of the pictures were equally as explicit, showing Brand’s dick in every orifice the women had.

Evan didn’t appear in any of the other pictures. Damn. Just when I was getting turned on.

“Come here, Naughty Boy. How’d Tammy get you all in her throat like that?” I pulled Brand to me and got on my knees in front of him. “Let me show you what I can do.”

We both knew I was talking shit. On a good day, I could only get Brand halfway into my mouth. But it was worth a try

I pulled Brand’s penis out of his shorts. It was soft and small. I sucked it hard into my mouth and throat; it was easy to deep throat it when he was soft. I felt him getting hard and automatically pulled back before I started to gag.

Brand didn’t let me compete my mission. Somehow, we made our way over to the dryer. He sat me on the vibrating dryer and pushed his hard dick inside my dry pussy, ripping me on the sides.

We both cried out at the invasion.

“Don’t stop.” I grabbed his head, pushing myself forward, seeking the release only Brand could guarantee me. I lost myself in thought, kept seeing the pictures in my head. The sight of Tammy sucking Brand’s dick, with Evan’s dick in her ass, was turning me on and making me wet.

“Too. Fuckin. Tight.” Brand gritted the words out between his teeth. He pulled out and turned me around, bending me over the still vibrating dryer.

He pushed himself into my now-wet pussy. I moaned with pleasure.
Two minutes later, he climaxed. “Christ, Eva. I’m sorry.” He fell forward onto my back. “Damn. Eva….”

I stayed there, motionless. I couldn’t remember the last time Brand had left me hanging this way. I always came. That was part of the charm; part of our magic.

I didn’t even get the chance to come. It was over. I pushed Brand off me and went upstairs to repair myself. There was slight bleeding from him ripping into me. Great; just what I needed. And for what?
What a waste of time. Were we losing our touch?

“Eva.” The doctor broke into my reverie. “Eva. It’s very important that you adhere to these precautions. I need for you to pay attention to my directions.”

I felt myself nodding affirmatively to the doctor, to show that all was well in the universe. No, of course I wasn’t surprised. Yeah, this happened to me all the time.

But I wasn’t listening. My mind was racing!

Brand, that miserable bastard. Brand, my boyfriend of 11⁄2 years. Brand, that nasty, dirty bastard!

No, not Eva. This can’t be happening. My God, I’m 21 years old. This type of shit doesn’t happen to people my age. This shit doesn’t happen to pretty, young woman who are only fucking their boyfriends. This type of shit happens to ugly, desperate chicks, and old women. Just to make sure, I peered into the mirror to make sure that I was all that I believed I was. I continued to stare at myself in the mirror. I looked at my light brown eyes, my naturally curly, light brown hair. An actual waist, slim legs and arms. A little short on height, but nice breasts (a small C-cup on good days).

Not some nasty-ass disease for Eva, the hottest, prettiest chick in Germantown. Not some funky-ass disease for Eva, who had been practicing being faithful, finally. Not Eva, who never had a STD in her life. And definitely not for Eva, the one who had been so careful in selecting her partners as of late.

Okay, reality check. Now it all made sense. The burning pain ”down there” that she tried to ignore; afraid to mention to her boyfriend; afraid that he’d think she’d been cheating. Well, what a damned revelation. He’d been cheating!

Okay, reality check. The clown/doctor was saying something about, “going home and using cream medication for topical pain. And please don’t forget condoms for all future sexual encounters.” The doctor went on to advise that I may be unable to give birth naturally, as there was a possibility of transferring the disease to a newborn baby. What? Condoms? For whom? Yeah, I know that we’re all told, almost warned, to wear condoms for unprotected sex; but wasn’t sex with your only boyfriend more like protected sex? This is fucking surreal. This type of shit only happens on MTV Real World episodes and in the movies. Who gets herpes at 21? It couldn’t have been that easy to get herpes from Brand. Sex that last time in the basement? That’s not possible! Why haven’t I gotten it before? What the fuck is happening here?

I’m not even sure how I got out of the doctor’s office. I got into the car, unlocking the door without thinking. The pain throbbed between my legs. I kept thinking of my now-ruined life with Brand. Who else would want me? Who would understand, other than Brand, that this was not the result of countless sexual partners gone awry? How do you say, “I have genital herpes?” When’s the right time to broach the subject with a potential life mate? What had I gotten myself into?

The word herpes kept ringing in my head. I felt dirty. I felt faint. I was angry and crying. I didn’t feel quite like myself. Why me, I kept asking. What had I done? I felt like the only one in the world with the disease. I couldn’t think of anyone I could talk to about this. How could I tell anyone? What would I say? Would they look at me different? What the hell went wrong?

Okay, reality check. On the way home now, driving the car that he, the dirty pig boyfriend, had bought for me, I thought of the babies I would never have. Was this the payoff? Get a few local trips, money in your pocket occasionally, and the free alcoholic drinks and appetizers you could ever consume; in exchange for a dirty little nasty disease that would stay with you forever? Some shitty-ass deal.

Okay, reality check. Making a small stop on the way home to the pharmacy to get the small tube of cream to combat the constant pain & itching ”down there.” Paranoid as hell. Okay, is it me? Is this pharmacist looking at me with a knowing look? Knowing what this cream is for, and what the hell is this cute, attractive, few sexual partners, young, able-bodied woman doing getting this “nasty people’s medicine?” I raced from the store.

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