Pain and Agony in Mexico...

Alternatively Titled: The STD Test I'll Never Forget

Post written by: @GringoGuerilla

Location:: Ensenada, Mexico 🇲🇽

I felt the condom snap a few minutes after entering. But I decided to keep going.

If she had something, I figured the damage was already done — a few more strokes wouldn't make the difference. Although, I am not a doctor.

Eventually, I confessed. After all, I wasn’t looking to be a father just yet.

“It broke,” I said.

“It’s fine. I have another one.”

Now, I already had the not-so-sneaking suspicion that this woman had seen more *ahem* traffic in her lifetime than the Tokyo Metro. And the fact that she came to a random bar on a Thursday evening pre-armed with prophylactics all but confirmed this suspicion.

Don’t get me wrong, good on her for being safe and prepared! But…

In any case, I put on the new condom, and we continued where we'd left off.

Fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m back in my Mexico City apartment and I start noticing…things. 

The ol' chap just didn't feel quite right! A burning sensation. Itching. Redness.

Relax, I told myself. You’re just paranoid.

I waited to see if the symptoms would go away. 

They didn't.

I knew it was time for a test.

Now, this wasn’t my first rodeo, friends. I'd had a couple STD tests done south of the border before, so I knew more or less what to expect. 

I was even familiar with the dreaded "swab test” — back then, still the preferred method for testing for certain diseases of this nature in Latin America.

---

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What’s the Swab Test, You Ask?

Well, it’s a procedure in which they insert a tiny swab ever-so-slightly up that little hole on the tip of your penis to collect a sample. 

Uncomfortable, but tolerable.

It looks something like this:

In more developed nations, a urine test for these sorts of things had long since been adopted.

But, alas, in a more developed nation I was not!

If that’s the way it had to be, then that’s the way it was.

The following day, I made an appointment at a nearby medical lab. 

Little did I know, I was in for a tremendously unpleasant surprise…

24 hours later, I’m at the lab. A quick five-minute wait and I’m directed to a private room where I’m greeted by a gentleman in a white coat.

Upon explaining the procedure in a way that could be described as anything but confident, the lab tech — I’d decided by now that he couldn't have been a doctor — showed me his preferred device.

It looked more like this:

OK, I’m exaggerating. Slightly.

It was this:

Nevertheless, it was considerably thicker and more…bristly than the ones I’d seen previously.

And I didn't much like the idea of it traveling up my dick.

"What is that?" I asked. "Isn't the...

(Damn, what was the word for 'swab' in Spanish?)

"Isn't…it usually smaller?"

"No," he said, curtly.

"It’s like a brush. It looks like you could use it to clean a toilet bowl," I said.

He did not laugh.

I took a deep breath and got comfortable on the examination couch. 

He then asked me to put on gloves, explaining to me that the gloves were necessary, as I'd be the one responsible for opening the hole at the end of my dick while he shoved his swab in.

The other times I had this done, it did not go down in this manner. I’d been a neutral player in the whole affair! 

"Hey, wait…have you done this before?" I asked.

The man paused, contemplatively turning his gaze to the corner of the room looking at nothing in particular, as if pondering a philosophical question.

"…this test isn't very common," he finally replied.

“So, you haven’t.”

The lab tech motioned at me to get into position. 

It was too late to back out. 

I did as he asked of me, and in it went.

The sensation was such that I couldn't help groaning in pain. I watched for as long as I could: right up to the moment I saw the final milometers of the bristles vanish into the abyss.

He maneuvered it around the walls of my urethra to get a…complete sample, I suppose?

All the while, I’m about to lose consciousness.

…and that was only the first swab.

You see, as this fine gentleman in the white coat proceeded to explain to me, since I had ordered tests for different STDs (I did so to cover my bases), I was looking down the barrel of another brand-new bristly swab.

The second one was considerably worse. Unsurprisingly, the first one had wreaked havoc on my urethra, so this one felt even more raw. 

This time, I couldn't bear to watch. 

I clenched my teeth, closed my eyes, and took it up the Jap's eye as best I could. When he finally pulled out, I opened them. Blurry vision. Lightheaded. Drenched in sweat.

Carved up.

I've never passed out before, but I believe I was close.

Then this man hands me a jar!

“Fill this with a urine sample,” he says, abruptly.

I pause.

“…WHY DIDN’T YOU ASK ME TO DO THE URINE TEST FIRST,”

He shrugs, a wry smile across his face.

Motherf*cker.

Through gritted teeth, I peed what felt like a pure molten lava flow into the plastic container, returned from the bathroom and handed him the jar.

“We will have your results within a few days, sir.”

I limped home, down Mexico City’s Avenida Insurgentes Norte, past rundown apartment buildings, taco stands, and assorted storefronts.

A broken man.

So, What's The Lesson Here?

You might think the lesson is heed the advice of your sixth-grade sexual education instructor and always practice safe intercourse.

Or perhaps the lesson is don’t buy cheap Mexican condoms that might be prone to breakage from rundown independent pharmacies. 

Nah, hermano.

Instead, my advice is this:

IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN LATIN AMERICA, JUST GO TO THE DOCTOR AND GET SOME PILLS.

P.S: This is NOT medical advice.

Because, unless you're casting your rod into intravenous drug users, you probably have a better chance of winning the lottery than catching HIV or one of the more sinister incurable diseases.

So, just go to the doctor, explain your symptoms, and whatever cocktail of drugs they give you will most likely cure whatever it is that ails you.

I've since learned that's what everyone here does anyway; Latin American doctors aren’t too cagey about giving out antibiotics.

Not to mention, it’s much preferable than the risk of going through this barbaric, medieval, evil laboratorial experiment.

Stay safe out there, gentlemen! 

P.S. The tests all came back negative.