A couple of weeks ago, my best friend caught Chlamydia.  Actually, a couple weeks ago my best friend discovered that she had caught Chlamydia somewhere within the sixth month period between her regular tests, but she had no idea from whom it came.  She had gone to the clinic that day like any promiscuous, yet healthy, adult, with the confident belief that her genitalia was uninfected and the desire to simply be proven right.

“Any symptoms?” the nurse asked.

“No.  This is just my regular six month checkup,” she answered back proudly, with a smile.  She always practiced safe sex, and whenever she left a clinic, she was never ashamed to take a handful of free condoms.  When the procedure was finished, they told her she did not have AIDS, and that if she had any other infections, they would call her.  She sauntered out of the clinic and decided that tonight, she would have sex just to celebrate.

A couple days later, she got that phone call.  One of her whores had passed on Chlamydia.  It was probably the one who brought one condom and then slipped it off when she wasn’t looking, or it could have been the guy with whom the condom had popped.  His massive slab of manhood was far too big for her normal size Trojans.  It was either one of those two, or it was her regular booty call. She had so many grown up sleepovers with him that he had boyfriend privileges with condoms; however, seeing as neither of them were monogamous, his right to go raw should definitely have been revoked.

“Make sure you tell your partner,” the nurse instructed, but that statement was a slap in the face.  For the past six months, she had multiple orgasms with multiple partners.

She was treated, and didn’t have sex for a whole two weeks just to be sure it had cleared from her system.  Her health was restored, but this next step was toying with her dignity.  The past six month’s partners all thought they were in bed with a Snow White type, not a Jezebel.  Besides, in her tiny college community, news spreads faster than a cold in a pre-school.  She wasn’t ready to be known as a dirty whore.  However, the preacher’s daughter moralist in her knew that it was her responsibility to tell her partners to all get tested.

We devised a plan to tell these boys anonymously.  We sent a text to the first guy from my phone number: U gave me chlamydia. Handle that. He called, and she ignored it, then we texted back.  Keeping it anonymous just go handle it. He asked who it was, but she refused to identify herself.  That was it, bachelor number one was in the know.

The next guy didn’t have a cell phone when she met him at a house party, but she hadn’t anticipated seeing him ever again.  She did, of course, have him as a friend on Facebook.  It’s  moments like these that the honesty box was invented for.  For those who are too cool for Facebook, the honesty box feature allows you to send a message to someone anonymously.  Our message was, I may have given you Chlamydia. His response was, Who the fuck is this? My girl answered, just get tested.

The third guy had been the worst sexual experience of her life, and part of her didn’t want to tell him at all.  But the thought that some unsuspecting woman would be the victim of both bad sex and an STD was more than this preacher’s daughter could handle.  She didn’t have his phone number either, she tossed his business card out soon as she left his house.  All she had on him was a URL to his blog site.  So she logged in and left an anonymous comment that read, Hey, I may have given you Chlamydia.  I wouldn’t have told you so publicly, but I lost your phone number.  Get tested. She was satisfied by the knowledge that she had both informed him, and gotten him back for a horrible night.

Our devices were pretty immature, but she had done her grown up duty.  I assume that without the exhaustive use of technology, she probably wouldn’t have told any of these guys.  And it’s not just getting tested regularly, but it’s also informing your past partners that will keep STDs from spoiling all our grown up fun.  Remember to get tested regularly, and tell your partner(s) when your body isn’t 100% Snow White pure.  It’s the adult thing to do.

—

Karen is a young writer born in Boston, now writing from Atlanta.  You can follow her at www.lovealise.com or @xlovealise on twitter.