"It's Okay. It Happens to a Lot of Guys," Consoles COVID Spit Tester

The night started out like any other. UW student Mike Watson arrived ready for his routine quickie. He planned his day around it, even restricting what he ate and drank leading up to the encounter. He cleared his calendar for the hour in preparation.

“Have you done this before?” she asked.

Of course he had. He’d done it dozens of times. He even considered himself a pro. In fact, he was often complimented on his performance and the sheer volume of thick, hot, sticky DNA he could produce when he released. “Oh. My. God,” they would say with mouths agape, dumbfounded by the gargantuan size of his load.

But today was different. Today, Watson stared at the ground in shame as his cheeks grew red with embarrassment. He just couldn’t perform.

“I shouldn’t have smoked before this,” he said in a panic. “This never happens to me. Ever. I swear.”

“It’s okay,” consoled the COVID-19 tester as she rubbed his shoulders lovingly. “It happens to a lot of guys.” She tried to show empathy, but couldn’t hide the frustration in her voice as she watched Watson struggle to produce.

No matter what tricks he tried, or how hard he fought to concentrate, Watson simply couldn’t generate enough saliva to fill the vial in his hands to her satisfaction.

Sensing his distress, the testing volunteer at his side offered her help. She knew how emasculating it could be for a man to stand before her—vulnerable and ready—and yet unable to execute a basic bodily function.

“Try thinking of things to get yourself excited,” she said. “Close your eyes. Think of your wildest fantasy. A fat, voluptuous slice of cake. A massive, beautiful rack of ribs. An all-you-can eat buffet to gangbang your taste buds.”

Watson tried to use his imagination. When that failed, he resorted to looking at volumes upon volumes of food porn on his phone. He even resorted to burying his face in her box of to-go salad to try to create some kind of sensation, but it was no use. After trying for nearly half an hour it became clear: no drool would be pooled that day.