She had laughed, flipping her hair with her hand the way white chicks do. All I had said was, “Sexual history? I think what we’re really talking about is HIV, oui?” Then I raised my eyebrow in the way I had been practicing in the mirror and said, “Fuck sexual history. I mean, so what if I been celibate since the day I was motherfucking born and I got it, right? And so what if I been fucking sheep and sucking off at an AIDS hospice or some shit and I ain’t got it. I think you got, or have, as you would say, pretty good sense and you want to protect yourself. And I don’t know no way to do that except get the test, oohhh scary scary, that, and thee condumb. And hey, beautiful, I’m willing to go there for you, you know.” She turned all red, but boy, did she look relieved. I was relieved too, very. I can go somewhere and get some fucking test and sit up in fake, or maybe real, dread. Yeah, I can do that, but sexual history? Ah, I don’t think so. Yeah, red but relieved, very relieved.
