The perils of SYPHILIS!

I deliberated about whether to share this embarassing little gem with you all, but if I don't, I'll have nothing fresh or juicy to read. And that is worse than DEATH! I've already told a version of this story, but not the aftermath.

So this is the merry tale of Dashing Doug and the Evil STD Clinic. It opens with our hero's father giggling his way through a very practical version of the birds and the bees.

Scene: Late at night, late last year, the family residence. A secret rendevous under the nose of the religious authorities (Mum). Father offers to walk son to the car in unusual move. After loitering near son's car for an unusually long time, the father speaks.

Father: Ah. Ahem. Tee hee. This package is for you, Doug.

A package changes hands. It is wrapped in brown paper, very, very tightly. It is the approximate size and shape of a box o' condoms. Our hero is 24.

Son/hero: What is it? (with an inkling of what 'it' might be)
Father bursts into a fit of giggles and rubs his hands nervously.
Son: Can I open it now?
Father: AhaheeheeahaNONONO wait till you get home (hands are rubbed and feet tapped in a dance of nervous hilarity)
Son: Are you sure? (makes as if to open the corner)
Father emits strangled noise, seizes the box and juggles it before rushing around to the other door of the car and hiding it in the glovebox.
Father: Go, go, go now, drive, see you next Sunday, byeseeya

Son drives 10 metres down the street and opens it to find a rather expensive looking, double-strength box of condoms. He turns it over. Stapled to the front is a picture of a fleshy collision between a penis and an asteroid. There is a gaping hole, rimmed with pus, growths and remnant hair. Gagging and retching ensues. The picture has a caption. It reads 'Fig 1.3: Late stages of syphilis.'

----

So, I carry the package home and show my American housemate, Ryan. Ryan and I laugh for a long time. The laughter finally hiccups to a standstill and we wipe tears from our eyes. Ryan looks at the picture one more time and his smile wavers. He thinks of his rampant promiscuity and supreme sex powers. I think of my own attempt at promiscuity, which sits on a level well below my lovable slut from the States. We look at each other and Ryan says fuck dude, I need to get myself checked out. There is a rush for the phonebook and soon we are on the phone to the Melbourne Sexual Health Centre making appointments frantically.

----

Cut to the appointment. I duck into the entrance, hoping like hell no-one I know saw me. Everyone in the waiting room looks away when they meet my eyes. I wonder what everyone has and analyze the way people walk, in case it gives it away. After a while, I'm in a private room with a doctor and a nervous trainee asking me very personal questions. Then they poke me and prod me and examine me. It's the least erotic experience of my life, and I spend the whole time shrinking away from the trainee's touch.

----

Two weeks later, I ring them up to find out the news. I'm suddenly enormously nervous. The woman on the other end is professionally bored.

Bored woman: Name and date of birth
Me: Blah
Woman: Ok. Give me a mo. So, ah, your results for chlamydia are...................
(The moments stretch out unbearably as she draws out the moment)
Woman: .... negative. And your results for syphilis are.......................................ah, oooh. Oh! Negative.

(My heart pounds. The woman continues with her agonising, lengthy pauses through a variety of potential horrible infections. I start to suspect she's doing it on purpose)

Woman: Oh - your results for hepatitis are interesting....... You've got very high antibody presence.
Me: What? What the fuck does that mean????
Woman: It means you've been immunized successfully.
Me: AAARRGGHHH