Number One

Boy #1, I’ll call him Christian, is the poor man that I was seeing when I first found out about my vaginal apocalypse. I had begun sleeping with him about 10 months prior. We were never exclusive during this time, but I had stopped sleeping with anyone else about five months after meeting him, as did he. Fast forward to September 21, 2016, the day after I received my lab results and the day that I told Christian about it. The conversation, which mind you occurred over FaceTime, went as any normal conversation should. I downed a shot of liquor, facetimed him and told him, cried, and hung up. Then I popped my obligatory antiviral pill for the second time that day.

Now the way the conversation went was both relieving and completely unfair. We made our usual chit chat before I finally word vomited. Following his “holy fuck” facial expression, which looked something like this:

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came silence, and then finally he said, “this doesn’t change anything about our relationship.”

It was exactly what I wanted to hear, but in retrospect it completely skewed how I expected my succeeding encounters with other men to go when I had to have the same conversation with them.

Disclaimer: our relationship really didn’t change after that for a few months, but my relationship with Christian has ended for other unrelated reasons.

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