Herpes: The Ultimate Valentine's Day Gift

Our story begins many years ago. A single me is out in the dating world. But I am not alone this particular Valentine’s Day. I have a hot new man, & a real romantic date. Fancy restaurant, desert at his place...

Oh, yeah, I shaved my legs for this one!

After eating out, we eat in -- strawberries & whipped creme, which leads to well, sex. It was our first time together, and it was special. The sex was fantastic as it was the climax to several weeks of dating/waiting, led up to with superb seduction.

Sounds traditional, sounds fab. But mainly it was memorable. For after driving me home, walking me to my door, a now nervous Bob hands me a letter. Well, not so much hands me, as thrust it at me, gaze averted, mumbling something about how he’ll understand if I never call him again. I try to talk to him. But he starts to cry & rushes to the car. I don’t follow him -- partly due to shock, partly the high heels.

I am freaked to find this whole evening’s morph into chaos -- after I did give into sex -- so I get in the apartment, and, coat still on, read the letter:

I know that if you’re reading this, you may never speak to me again. I’d understand that. Really. Let me say first that you are so beautiful, so much fun to be with, and I think we have a shot. Which is why this is so painful for me.

I know it’s the coward’s way out. But I didn’t know what else to do. Remember Colleen, my x? Well she gave me herpes. And if you’re reading this, it means I didn’t have the guts to tell you before we made love. Which means you have been exposed.

There was more, but I think you get the gist.

No, I didn’t dump the guy then & there. I was an idiot. I was young & in love. I drove over to his place, held him while he cried, and told him it was all OK.

Sure, sure it was OK. I had just been fucked. Screwed sexually, then royally fucked by getting herpes.

I’ll always have that to remember him by.

It’s not a sentimental dreamy reason to remember a past lover, but it is all I have of Bob.

After we broke up (and while the specifics are not important, let me tell you, it had a lot to do with his honor -- or lack thereof) I realized a few things:

Number 1, a person with an STD isn’t an automatic write-off. But one who has sex prior to disclosure, and without a condom (hey, baby, you’re on the pill...) is. Or at least should be. Bob had no class, and poor, poor me -- both for him not telling me, and for me being a young dope worried about Bob instead of myself.

Number 2, STD disclosure is not fun, but it’s a must. If you have herpes, or another STD, you had better be telling your story to your potential lover. Condom or not. Do *not* be a Bob. Your ability to act with integrity defines the kind of person you are, so be a decent human being. You are not dirty & nasty for having STD. But you are dirty & nasty if you don’t declare the issue to a potential sexual partner. And if someone should tell you they have an STD, give them credit for having the respect, the honor, to give you the information to make your choice. By all means, research the matter before you make your choice. But remember to be thankful of having the choice.

Now I was the one who had to tell a nasty before doing it.

Flash forward a few years, it’s another Valentine’s Day. Another date. Another classic fancy restaurant, and hopes for sex... his, not so much mine. I didn’t shave my legs.

After a wonderful mean, it’s back to my place this time. There is some kissing, some petting, and maybe it’s the wine with dinner, or his great technique, but off goes the blouse. More kissing, more sucking, and he’s making moves to slide my skirt down. I struggle to gently, playfully keep his hands away & my skirt intact. After all, I’m not ready for this. He isn’t ready for this. He tries again. I know that the slight slip of satin of my panties will be no protection at all.

But still his hands insist. Now we have to talk about it. We have the classic ‘ready for the next level’ conversation. He insists he is. I have to tell him he isn’t - because he doesn’t know everything.

I have to tell him. I’ve told the story before. I’d never been turned away for having herpes before, but I’ve had many evenings turn into less than romantic talk, a few ‘I need to think about this’ statements at the door -- but they always returned. For herpes isn’t a death sentence. Folks can be educated about it. But even if those men stayed, it’s never a fun thing. A real mood breaker. So now I have to poor ice water on our seduction, and tell him. There’s no other choice for me.

“I know you think we are ready, that you’re ready. But you aren’t. There’s something you need to know first, in order to make a choice & be ready. There’s no easy way to tell you, this, but I won’t do to another person what was done to me. I have to tell you & let it be your choice. *deep breath* I have Herpes.”

“Oh, that. It’s ok, I have a condom.”

“Do you know what Herpes is?”

“Yes, one of my... well, one of my last girlfriends roommates had it. I did some research, talked to my doctor actually... So I’m not uncomfortable or freaked out or anything. I am a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I was a bit then. But now I know better.”

“So, I am ready now, if you are...”

“There is one more thing... I didn’t shave my legs today...”

“Hmm, perhaps we should draw a bath & I can help you with that...”

This is where we fade to black on this little scene. A girl can only share so much at one time!

I will tell you that we went on ahead & screwed our hot-young-selves into ecstasy. We still do. He is now my husband.