Number Two

Morris was the first guy I agreed to go on a date with following my aforementioned vaginal apocalypse. So far as I could see from his profile on Bumble and our conversation via text, he had a sense of humor and didn’t seem to mind my borderline inappropriate personality. So I agreed to go when he asked me out for drinks.

He told me to meet him at a dive bar in D.C. (brownie points for that) and paid for my first Brooklyn Lager right off the bat (more brownie points for that). About two minutes into the date he offered to let me try his Blue Point Toasted Lager. Then he smiled and said, “don’t worry I don’t have herpes”. Now I’m sure he said this with a normal inside voice, but to me it was more like he screamed it at me while simultaneously stabbing me in the gut with a knife. But I laughed it off and continued on with what was a really great date.

Fast forward a few days to Sunday morning, when I woke up in his bed at 10 AM. Don’t worry, nothing beyond PG-rated had happened the night before. As we were laying in his bed, knee deep in conversation about our families, jobs, etc., he somehow slipped in another joke about herpes.

I wish I could say I had the balls at that point to disclose that I actually do have herpes, but it was still new to me and I still wasn’t emotionally stable enough for it. So I did the thing I swore I would never do to anyone. I politely drank the coffee he made me, kissed him goodbye, hopped into my uber, and never replied to another text message from him again.

I still feel guilty about this one – mostly because I HATE being ghosted after going on a date with a guy, and I had just ghosted this perfectly nice guy who was actually interested in me. Still, I wasn’t quite yet sure how to tell a guy about my situation, but promised myself that I would with the next guy I dated.


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