Cappuccino at Podgorica

Back in her apartment, she left a message on Leroy's answering machine; he should come by that evening if he could. She dreaded the encounter, but felt an undeniable social responsibility. He showed up late, around 9:30 p.m., and greeted her with a kiss.

“Hi, Babe, what's up?”

“Leroy, sit down. I've got to talk to you.”

“You're lookin' real good tonight.”

“It's important.”

He took his usual place in the wooden chair.

“What's up?”

“Trouble. I've probably got syphilis and gonorrhea and genital herpes.”

Each word stuck to her lips like peanut butter.

“That's it?”

“You have to get treated. You have to go to the health unit. You've got to start wearing a condom.”

“I'll drop down to the health unit, Babe, but condoms are out for me.”

She looked at his gorgeous body. Did he give this to me? Does he even care? She felt vaginal tingling, not from joyous sexual anticipation, but from the herpes. She also felt the wet saturation of her panty liner.

“We're not doing it without a condom. I'm not going through that clinic thing again if I can help it. Besides, herpes has no cure, and if I didn't get it from you, I can certainly give it to you. Now, I'm going to the bathroom and when I come out, you can be here and agree to use condoms, or you can be gone. It's up to you.”

She turned and went into the bathroom where she dried her tears. Then she wiped away her vaginal secretions and replaced the soiled pad with a clean one. When she opened the bathroom door, Leroy was gone.