Peeing into a cup and pricking her finger didn’t intimidate Louise Bruton initially, but several pricks later she was in a spot of bother…
My left ring finger was devoid of colour and with all of the kneading I’d inflicted upon it, it was so misshapen that it looked like an uncooked cocktail sausage. And for what? Under the premise of ease, experimentation and “taking one for feminism”, I ordered a home STI test and it did not go well.
I don’t mind getting tested for STIs. I’m okay with my blood being taken, as long as I take a deep breath, look away and think happy thoughts, and I’m okay with being vaginally prodded and poked in the name of good health and a good time.
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