I don’t understand why he’d be opposed to getting a test. Granted, getting tested for garden variety crotch critters and the Big A can be nerve wracking. But, like, dude needs to screw his balls on. Yes, getting blood drawn can be scawwy. Tell him you’ll buy him an ice cream cone after, with big boy scoops.
Better to know if you’re dick is broke or not. And then there’s the added incentive that sex without a condom increases intimacy. Which is a polite way of saying, it feels so much better. There’s nothing like wrapping skin with skin. This prospect should motivate the lazy and the cowardly alike.
To be bluntly honest, this is the way all of my long term relationships have worked. Being a raving paranoid who doesn’t want a pubic plague or a tiny person who poos in a bag in his life, I always wear a condom. Once I commit, however, I usually continue using said rubber for at least six months, at which point, I have the “birth control” conversation. Being the consummate gentleman, I usually offer to split the cost of the pill, or offer to buy monthly dinners at places that don’t offer sporks. If we both decide that she should go on the pill, then it’s off to get tested. Done and done. Let me add: we BOTH get tested.
It’s worth it. For peace of mind. And because lovemaking is just so much more magical when it’s messy.