I found warts on my genitals about four years ago.

It had been about four months since my last longish-term (two-year) relationship ended, after my partner semi-dumped me, asked if we could still be together, but differently, went on a weekend trip to visit friends, came back, and, after I drove her home from the airport, told me about her two “accidental threesomes”.

We had what could be called breakup sex about a month later. I assume that’s when I contracted HPV. What strain?

That’s a question I posed at Music City PrEP Clinic last Tuesday. I was told, no way to really know for males, other than an anal pap smear. But even that wouldn’t show anything, most likely, if nothing had ever happened around my anus, and nothing had.

I was there to get tested because, for the first time since 2018, I’m almost ready to date.

Testing required a couple vials of blood, and then I was handed a paper bag with what I can only describe as a sustainable, disposable, paper-ish coffee cup for urine, a couple swabs, and some tubes labeled “T” and “R” ¹, and given instructions for swabbing my tonsils and rectum, before being escorted to a restroom.

I was also gifted a bag of condoms ², after telling the person assisting me that I was four years celibate and preparing for reentry into the wild.

I drank three pints of water before my appointment. So I led with the piss.

But, they only wanted so much. There was a line on the cup, and it wasn’t high. I had to stop mid-stream, and then still dump some out the cup and into the toilet. I was careful, no splash, but gods damn the warmth of urine in a paper cup.

I had never swabbed my rectum before, so once the urine was done I was hyper-focused on tackling that obstacle.

I sat on the edge of the toilet, removed the first swab from its wrapper, and attempted to dive in. But I couldn’t find the thing for 2-3 minutes. ³

Days later, my psychiatrist asked me, “Weren’t you using your other hand to find it and not just poking blindly with the swab?”

I said to her, and now I say to you, dear reader, I was doing both. It was all the king’s horses and all the king’s men trying to find the hole in humpty’s rear end.

Eventually, the swab was in. I felt what I think was equal amounts of relief, discomfort, and panic. Ten seconds in, swirl around a bit, pull it out ⁴, and grab its receptacle tube.

I pick up the “R” ⁵ tube, but before I’ve placed the swab in its receptacle, there’s a knock on the door.

I forgot to lock the gods damned door.

“Occupied!” I shout, with all my post-rectal-swabbing strength.

I hear her talking to a patient. She doesn’t hear me, I’m sure of it.

I’m holding the swab poop-side up, of course, in one hand, and in the other is the tube it goes in, but I am unable to operate my hands while also shouting “Occupied!”

I hear, before I see, the handle turn.

“Occupied! Occupied! Occupied!” I shout.

The door’s open about a foot at this point. No one’s in the hallway, except her and her patient, and all I can see from another human is her hand.

“Occupied! Occupied! Occupied!” I shout at her merciless hand.

The hand, and the door, freeze in place. It was probably for three seconds, but it felt like 30.

I would like to inform the reader at this point, at the time, I was bald down there. I had some warts remaining, I had gotten a prescription for a cream to treat them, and I had shaved everything I could in the region so I could see any potential wart.

As I’m shouting, “Occupied,” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m trying to spare you from the mind-scarring sight of the 40-year-old naked mole-rat ⁶ between my thighs.”

Finally, she started to close the door. But, I want to place the emphasis on “started”.

I opened and closed that door. There was no resistance either way. This had to be intentional. She slowly closed the door, dramatically, even. Maybe she was trying to teach me a lesson, like, “lock the restroom door”.

I scrambled, duck-walked, really, shorts around the ankles, quickly as I could, and locked the door, with my wrists and available fingers, those that weren’t busy holding the used rectal swab and its tube.

Door locked, I placed the swab in the tube, washed my hands for a full minute, then did a 30 second breathing exercise.

Then I swabbed my tonsils. Different kind of struggle. Just a lot of gagging, “Am I gonna puke? I guess not. Wait, am I? I guess not. Wait …”

Finally, I put everything in its place, put it on the carousel ⁷, which delivers the stuff straight to the lab.

I try to turn the carousel. I’d seen it turn minutes earlier. I know it turns. It won’t turn. Why won’t it turn?

Here’s a tray on a carousel with my hot piss in a paper cup and and a shit-covered swab, and it won’t turn.

I open the door, about to leave, thinking, “This must be by design, like there’s a motion sensor, and as I walk out, it’ll turn on its own.”

But I’m looking back and it’s not turning. I close the door again, and remember to lock it. I push. I pull. Nothing.

I lift, then push, and the thing moves. My refuse is finally in the lab, where it belongs.

I walk out without saying a word and drive home feeling like I’d just moved a fucking mountain.

I should find out in a day or two if I have anything besides warts.

Moral of the story, get tested at Music City PrEP. It’s free. Take their HIV prevention drug. It’s free, too, and they’ll deliver it to your door.

Just remember to lock the restroom door before you swab your rectum, and if the carousel is stuck, try lifting and then pushing.

I’ll update when I get my results. Beyond that, I plan to get on dating apps in November, and “Tommer Dates Again” will proceed.

August 30, 2022 Update: I checked the results yesterday, no STIs were found, and I’m overall pretty healthy, which is cool.

1. “Tonsils” and “Rectum”
2. an interesting variety, I hope I’ll get to try the glow-in-the-dark ones
3. I’m always clenching. If a fart escapes, it’s because I had to focus on breathing for a second. When I poop, I rely on a squatty-potty, and prayers to all the gods that will listen. When I wipe, I start from the perineum and move back. I don’t know where it is. I have something like a, “don’t ask, don’t tell,” policy with my anus.
4. Yes, there was some brown on it, psychiatrist asked that, too.
5. Rectal
6. See: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/02/Nacktmull.jpg
7. Not sure if this is the best term for it, but “lazy susan” doesn’t seem right, either. On my side is an opening. When I turn it, the opening is on the other side.