Romance Between Swabs: The Story of an STBBI Testing Date

I might have a romantic streak, but I tend to have pretty typical dates: dry white wine, Netflix and chill, and the occasional walk in the park for second dates that require more decorum. I rarely suggest outdoor activities.

They say that the important thing is to get to know each other. Well, I’m more of a one night stand than a wedding night kind of person. So, it shouldn’t surprise you that most of my single life has taken place in the catacombs of Tinder.

We matched breezily on a Tuesday afternoon. Chatting was easy and fluid. We unpacked our secret gardens in our DMs without thinking twice. Some people just make texting easy, you know?

I don’t know if it was the dating app or my lonely-cat-in-heat personality, but it didn’t take long before our DMs overheated. No more polite questions about our careers: we told each other what we wanted to each other’s bodies, how we’d touch each other with the tips of our fingers, and then, with the tips of our tongues, the cries we would make, the soft moans that we’d whisper into each other’s ears. Needless to say, my Tuesday afternoon was no longer slow and relaxed.

With all the finesse I could muster, I wrote:

• I want you now.

• Me too 😈

What followed made me feel like a ton of bricks fell in my lower abdomen.

• When did you last get tested?😇

My match tossed me a good one. I started pacing in my head. I had already started my pre-date prep routine: picking out a cute outfit, taking a shower, listening to a playlist that helps me feel hot and confident. But getting tested for STBBIs was not part of it.

Still, it should have been. I was embarrassed to answer. I didn’t want to ruin my chances of finding the love of my life (like I said, deep down, I have a romantic soul: I believe in finding the perfect match!).

I must have thought too hard, because I think my date somehow read my mind.

• It doesn’t matter if it’s been a while. I haven’t gone in a long time either. We could go together!

It was definitely an idea that was out of the ordinary. Me and my boring date ideas were in shock. But mostly, we were very, very intrigued.

“Why not?” I thought to myself. After all, maybe they were the love of my life. Maybe it was worth breaking out of my old habits. At worst, I would at least have done my STBBI testing and I could take the necessary measures if the results came back positive. At best, we could fully enjoy each other’s bodies without having to worry.

After what felt like an eternity, but must have been like three or four seconds, I replied:

• Alright, I’m down.
  How do we go about it?

Another ton of bricks in my lower abdomen.

• Have you ever done self-sampling? We could go tonight.

Love moves fast, people! I had never done anything like this. So, I filled out the short online questionnaire, quite impressed with the advances of modern society, repeating to myself, “One day, lord, they’ll let me use the drive-thru on foot.” I know this has nothing to do with my story, but it is a cause that is close to my heart.

A few clicks later, I had received a confirmation for an appointment to get tested with the love of my life. It beat Reel Deal Tuesdays at the movies, believe me.

We met, my date and I, barely two hours later in front of the self-sampling centre. I felt weak in the knees. Their face was even more beautiful In real life. I pretended I wasn’t nervous at all.

My date went first. I waited outside for about ten minutes, scrolling mindlessly on my phone.

My time had come. I entered my secret code at the door. Quite the VIP experience! I walked up to the nurse’s desk without bumping into my date (who was surely busy peeing in a cup somewhere: that’s also part of romance!). I sat down while the nurse took my blood sample.

As a true queen of irony, I closed my eyes and said, “I hate needles,” while the nurse was busy pricking my arm just under one of my tattoos. She politely laughed at my 0% original joke before explaining the self-sampling procedure and handing me a tray with the necessary equipment: cotton swab, pipette, plastic cup, and tube.

I made my way to the washroom, where I did my own thing without having to have a semi-awkward conversation with a doctor twisting a Q-tip into my vagina. Success!

The nurse had explained to me what was going to happen next: in as little as a week, they’d be inviting me to make a telephone appointment with a doctor from the clinic to talk about my results. In the meantime, I had a date to go on.

I exited the clinic. My date was waiting for me on the sidewalk. We smiled. I came closer, casually, despite the dozen butterflies in my stomach. Before we set off for the rest of our date, my date unzipped their bag. I looked inside. I saw a bunch of flavoured dental dams. With a wink, they said, “While we’re waiting for our results, we could take the opportunity to test all the flavours.”

Clearly the love of my life.