I’m symptom free. Thank you, modern medicine. I can’t help but feel a bit smug. I diagnosed and treated myself; I’m that much closer to being like House, M.D. Fuckin’ A, doggy!
I spoke with some of my friends on the topic of sex a few weeks ago. One of them asked, “Jess, what the hell do chicks do in the bathroom after you’ve fucked ’em?”
My answer: Probably pissing so they don’t get a UTI.
Oh, the irony.
After reading all those websites on how UTIs are contracted and could be prevented, I’ve been thinking of finger banging and oral stimulation. Chock full of bacteria. If I gave my main homeless man, Pistol, a high five instead of a dollar and proceeded to give a sexual partner a hand (lololololol), loverboy wouldn’t be in too much trouble. Now if we do a switcharoo and my main squeeze dapped Pistol, came over, and began to manually pleasure me before the main event, I might be in some trouble.
The cave of wonders (and its adjacent cavities) is a warm, moist place where bacteria can thrive.
I mean, it IS an incubator.