It was supposed to be a simple errand.

The new girl was two dates in, and thinking of hosting a sleepover after the third. The ex I could still talk to was on demon time and flirting with a throw-it-back throwback for old time's sake. My homie had Trey put in a good word with the pussy worship party folks over in Anaheim, and got me moved out of the wait list slush pile into the first timer "worshipper" pool.

I felt proud. Sex comes for me in waves. Either I'm fucking somebody every other week, or I go untouched for years. No sense in complaining, it just is what it is. But I couldn't wipe the smile from my face. I was hitting the right buttons, if only in this moment. I don't know if it was confidence, that I'd secretly lost ten pounds, or if I'd entertained angels unaware, but monsoon season was approaching.

Which meant the number one photo on my phone needed to be a clean bill of health.

The ghost of a Tindr match from a year ago still haunted me. All the effort I wasted hot-wiring Ms. Sports Car via text got thrown in the trash because I didn't have clean labs right there and then. She was respectful about it, but I wasn't going to get caught with my pants down again. Not with two certain, and if I moved right, several probable hook ups on the line.

Can you believe there are parties where women line up to get their pussies ate by half a dozen randos the host has put together? Neither do I. But while my homie Trey has started blood feuds (for real, a chick pulled a knife once) between women across Los Angeles, he has never lied.

So the game was set. I hit up my local Planned Parenthood. Got up at the crack of dawn a week later, pissed like a horse, then drove off to shoulder my way through a throng of protestors with a shit eating grin. The sun was shining, the nurses were cute. Everything was proceeding smoothly.

Except for one... Sharnette her name tag read. A Grace Jones face on top of a giant. She was maybe as tall as I was, three shades blacker, with arms like tree trunks. The orderly they probably called in to wrestle one of those sign carrying assholes to the ground if they decided to get bold. Speaking of assholes, I had a burning envy of the office chair she rose up from.

The only thing that held me back from trying to recruit another special guest to my month's festivities was that face. For all the beauty, it was a hard, un-resting bitch face that warned me that it was eight in the morning and she was done with this shit. A scowl that, once it led me out of the lobby, allowed the ambiguously brown receptionists to breathe. Assignment understood. I could tell her that she's prettier when she smiles if I needed an amputation. Since I had hands I'd need to spread open pussy lips later, I kept my mouth shut. In the room we went. She handed me a cup. I'd need to give a urine sample, she'd draw my blood, then the doctor on site would give the preliminary results. Full status in a week.

Pee in a cup. Right. Fuck. I had pissed everything out of me hours before. I didn't have a bottle of water to brute force the process either. I smiled and nodded as I took the cup to the bathroom. I stood over the toilet and watched the ripples of clean water in the bowl. I shook my cold shriveled prick over the cup. A few spurts, then nothing. There was maybe a little yellow if you squinted. Oh well. I'd not topped off the cup for other labs in the past. I was certain it would be fine.

I returned to the waiting room. Sharnette took my blood with all the gentleness of a cannon ball's kiss the forearm. Ten minutes of doom scrolling later, the doctor arrived. Nothing wrong yet, the rest to be revealed a week from now. Great. Now to get out of there--

"Hey? Excuse me. Excuse me!"

Sharnette. Right as I was almost home free.

"Yes?"

"You need to fill the cup. We can't do anything with this sample." Her voice was strained. Like there was a Blacker, more natural accent, but she was doing everything in her power to enunciate extra hard. It sounded... professional. Teeth-clenched. Robotic. White.

"I couldn't pee."

"Then we're throwing it out."

"Fine. I'll come back another time to do the urine test."

"That's not how this works."

"What do you mean? I did one test, I'll just do the other."

"No. We bill for both. Both need to be done at the same time."

The receptionists were watching now. Whatever fake smile had plastered my face was peeling off. It was a game of chicken. I could feel we were both ready to slip into a shouting match, yet neither of us wanted to be the one that who started shit in public.

"You can't just do one?"

"No."

"You can't just do one and have the doctor hand wave the other."

Her eyes flashed at that. "This is an STD test," she hissed.

"I am aware," I grumbled back.

Her accent started to slip. Jamaican. No one in my family was Jamaican. Yet instinctively, I felt like I was being lectured by my mother. "If you think I am going to put some poor woman at risk because--"

I felt my whole body catch fire. Smoke in my lungs. Loser, loser. No chicken dinner for me. "The fuck are you trying to say?!"

"Watch your tone."

I swore from the outside, my eyes must've looked ready to pop out of my skull. "There are two tests. It is clear that I cannot do one of them. All I am asking is to do the one I can do now, and save the other for later..."

"You were told it would be a blood and urine--"

"Don't interrupt me." She followed my request and hated every second of it. "I'm not asking you to lie. I'm not asking you to forge results. I'm asking you to be flexible and adapt to--"

"I am not giving you special treatment, rude boy. Piss in the cup or reschedule." The words slammed like a car door. I had to close my eyes and breathe.

"I will try one last time," I exhaled like steam out an engine. I took the cup and made my way back to the bathroom. It could've been all over right then and there. But I couldn't stop myself as I approached the bathroom. "Fucking bitch." I swore I'd tucked it under my breath.

The sudden stop of her footsteps walking away told me it wasn't.

I tried and failed to pee again. Frustrated, I set the cup on the counter, and turned to open the door. She was right there behind it, glaring down at me like time had stood frozen since "Fucking bitch."

"I'll need to reschedule." I said hastily.

There was a weird look on her face. As if the rage had boiled over and evaporated into a new gaseous form. Her expression was strained and unhinged, but I couldn't quite place it. Then that bowel-freezing smile. "I'll help."

Before I could react she had shoved me into the bathroom. It all happened at the speed of snapshots. Me trying to shove past her. Her spinning me around into a choke hold. The cup on the table gently placed in my hand. Her forearm slithering off my neck once I'd stopped struggling.

"Piss." she purred.

"I told you I can't."

"Take off your pants. I'll help."

I know why I didn't scream out. I don't know why I did as she said. I could feel her rummaging through her pockets. Or at least her arms fidgeting around her hips. There was a snap. A whip, my panicked brain screamed at first. But when I didn't feel any impact, reason returned. Latex gloves. All my deep fried brain could manage was to repeat myself. But my voice sounded so frail, so much weaker than it should for a man of my size.

"I can't."

I could feel her hot breath on my ear and neck. It smelled like cinnamon. "Relax." The strained, white voice was gone. Her patois as sweet and earthy as the air that surrounded it.

I felt her squeeze my left cheek. I winced. And as my legs and back slid back into place, her finger slid into me. I yelped into hand placed over my mouth. The latex was smooth, but I wasn't ready. I don't think I ever would be. Partners had offered but I avoided this kind of thing like the plague. I held a strange, fervent pride about being the one who penetrated others.

"That hurts." I whimpered.

"Mmm, tight raas punani, rude boy." I felt her nibble on my ear then whisper the sugar and spice words once again. "Relax."

My body said "Okay," while my brain shrieked like a scream queen. My dick hardened yet my ass stung. She pressed, slow, but firm and constant. Unclenching made it hurt a little less, so I unclenched. The more I unclenched, the deeper her finger slid. I don't know how long this went on before she touched something. The burning sensation faded, but now there was a fullness, and when she brushed past that sensitive spot, an airlessness. I think she'd found my prostate, and even just a graze made me ready to melt into the floor.

No longer content to dig, she started to pump in and out of my asshole. I could feel her panting on my ear. Her free gloved fingers cupping my ass cheek as fingered me. Her hips bucking against her arm that bucking against me. I started to pant to, gasping every time she hit the fleshy button she'd found inside of me.

I came without warning. In the middle of gasp same as all the ones before it. A whimper followed by white slime all over the toilet. The thought of how pathetic I sounded made my stomach churn. I hadn't even realized I was hard. I flinched as she grabbed my dick, terrified of what she was going to do next.

"Piss," she purred in the same gentle Jamaican tone as before. The words were no longer a vindictive command, or a lustful musing, but a spell. A full stream burst quickly flowed out of me. She grasped my dick gently with the softest hands I'd ever felt. Panicking, I flailed to position the cup at an angle to catch the flow. When I stopped, it was half full.

By the time I had the lid on, she was gone. There was confusion on the receptionists' faces. A little too collected to have heard everything, but a little too anxious to be apathetic. I think they were waiting on me to say something. I didn't. I couldn't. How could I admit to what had happened in that bathroom. How small she made me feel. How much my ass hurt and how good it felt moments ago. How I liked her breath on my ear, her hips dry humping mine, or how soft her hands were even behind latex. How her natural voice could make jumping off a bridge sound sexy.

How she forced herself on me, humiliated me, then made me cum buckets.

I couldn't cop to any of it. I smiled and walked out the door.

The test results came back negative, but they didn't matter. I dropped all my dates. Trey blew a gasket, claiming I nearly torched his relationship with the party hosts. I couldn't find the enthusiasm care, much less fuck other people. The only thing in my mind was Sharnette. Her taking all I thought I was and smashing it to pieces.

How scared I was to say I wanted her to do it again.