Oh hey there tiger! You went in for the kill pretty fast.

Am I supposed to look while you're fondling my balls? It's just that I've never done this before with a guy so I'm a little nervous.

I think I'm just going to settle on staring at the wall as you work your way up from my ball sack to the shaft.

Woo! What a relief. I'm ecstatic you didn't find warts. The blood and urine tests came back negative too? Nice.

(Hold on one minute. You didn't think I was writing about ... You did, didn't you? Well that sucks. You must be really disappointed.)

So why did I find myself getting tested at the Berkeley Free Clinic a couple of Sundays ago? Rushed butt sex.

We're not talking about the butter-the-girlfriend-up-take-her-out-for-fondue-bring-her-back-home-to-boatloads-of-KY kind.

Nope. Unfortunately this is the I-don't-have-a-condom-let's-figure-out-a-way-to-make-this-work kind.

Brace yourself. What we have here is a safe-sex column, but I have a good story on tap to drive the point home.

Let me paint the picture. I head into New York City with a couple of buddies for a house party on New Year's Eve. Meet a girl who really wants a midnight kiss. I oblige her, and we eventually make our way back to her place in Jersey City.

Clothes come off. She asks me if I have a condom. I ask her if she has one. Nada on both counts.

(I've discovered that whenever I pack a condom, I don't get lucky. Kind of like how when you bring an umbrella to class and it doesn't even drizzle.)

I inquire as to the prospects of a blow job. She feels uncomfortable. I inquire as to whether or not she would like me to pleasure her. She feels uncomfortable.

At this point, it's already seven in the morning, and I'm ready to pass out and put a halt to this extended make-out session that's headed nowhere.

But wait. Out of the blue she says, "Do you want to have other sex?"

(The last time I heard the word "other" in this connotation was over the summer-a dude asked me if I wanted to watch "other" porn with him. Oy vey.)

Since I had never stuck it in the caboose and almost instantaneously experienced a flashback to a time when a friend pleaded that I do an anal sex column, I jumped at the opportunity.

Fast-forward four hours. Let me take you inside my thoughts as I'm waiting for a train to take me home.

"Was it rude for me to laugh when she brought up the possibility of a long-term relationship after I mentioned that I go to school in California? ... My penis is so sore; I told her a near-empty bottle of lotion wouldn't cut it. ... I thought I asked for this bagel to be toasted. ... Was it rude for me to laugh at her when she asked, 'Can I get pregnant from ana'-Oh shit. God dammit. Fuck, I need to get tested."

(I wish I taped the expletive-laden tirade aimed at myself when it dawned on me that my first-time anal sex expose just became an expose about me being an idiot.)

I'm not exactly sure what was going through my mind in the heat of things, but somehow I experienced a monumental brain fart. If I had to put my brain fart in perspective, it would rank slightly above former Detroit Lions' coach Marty Mornhinweg's bonehead decision to kick off in sudden death overtime, but a notch below Joaquin Phoenix's decision to become a rapper.

Sticking it in her butt without a sheathe on my sword does nothing in terms of reducing the chance of me picking up some life-sucking ailment. In fact, because of how thin the anal membrane is, she was actually at a greater risk of catching something from me than if we had vaginal intercourse.

Here's the scary part: I've heard similar stories play out plenty of times at Berkeley, and I'm sure you have, too.

It goes something like, "Yea I had sex without a condom last night. It's chill though-she's on the pill." Just because the girl can't get pregnant, doesn't mean you're home free.

All it takes is one wrong person, and before you know it, your schlong looks like a nut-covered Drumstick. (Did I just ruin ice cream for you?)

And don't even get me started on girls or dudes that let guys go commando. You kids should have learned back in 6th grade sex-ed that folks on the receiving end of ejaculate are much more susceptible to being infected by sexually-transmitted diseases.

Trust me when I say: Don't trust men who say they are clean, and thus, have no need for a condom. Two reasons: 1) There's a substantial number of guys who will do almost anything to get their nut off, especially when inebriated and 2) The dude might not even know that he is infected.

Think of something like HPV. Men can carry it for their entire lives and never show symptoms.

Guess what, though? They can still pass it on to women, who may develop cervical cancer as a result. And for those men who enjoy rectal stimulation, can you say anal cancer?

Use your head prudently. Whether you're sticking your head into an orifice or letting a head into an orifice, wrap it up.

And in the event you're into going backside, definitely don't pull a Shaikh.

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