Protect Your Special Bits (In Defense of Sex & Safe Sex)
He kissed me by the taco truck and something stirred inside my underpants. The smell of sweat and tacos invaded my senses and I was rapt by the wetness of his mouth against mine. He pressed against me slightly and I felt his bits waking up too. When he asked if I wanted to get out of there I didn’t have to think twice. Not only was I in summer heat, it had been… a while, and I was feeling restless.
“Sure, but I’m not going to Park Slope,” I murmured, brushing my lips against his salty neck, “so you have to come to mine.”
I took his hand and pulled him through the crowd. We were by the exit when it struck me — I didn’t have any condoms at home. I saw the rest of the evening playing out in my head: we’d walk out the front, get in a cab, go to my room, there would be no condoms, we wouldn’t have sex and I’d have to give him a wristy instead. As inebriated as I was, I could see the stickiness of the impending situation.
A lightbulb flashed above my head. “Wait there, don’t move,” I said to him as I ducked back into the crowd.
Confused and drunk, I didn’t know what I was doing. Why wasn’t there a condom vending machine in the bathroom? Why wasn’t there a jar on the bar with complimentary condoms? They gave out free nuts — why not free protection?
I contemplated stopping at the shop on the way home but it felt… awkward. My roommates were taking the same cab home and I just didn’t feel like there would be a discreet moment to duck into a store. The inconvenience of going out of my way to a store at 2am prompted me to start asking people. I rushed back up to my friends “does anyone have a condom?”
They teased me a bit, but turned up little more than lint balls and chewing gum. Briefly contemplating making some sort of lint-gum sex contraption but resolving that would be horrible to get stuck in your pubes, I turned to the group of strangers next to me “please, does one of you have a condom?”
A girl laughed, “you go sister, and props to you for being safe!” But she still didn’t have what I was looking for.
I asked yet more people until one guy put his hand in his pocket, looking suspiciously over his shoulder and then back to me. “Yeah, I got one,” he drawled, slipping his hand back out of his pocket.
He outstretched his cupped hand to shake mine and I complied. The condom passed discreetly between us, from one hand to the other, like a bag of cocaine. Yes, safe sex was suddenly starting to feel very much like an illicit drug deal.
“Thanks,” I said, backing off, unsure as to why the whole process of obtaining a condom felt so shady.
“That’s OK,” he said, “but I should warn you, it’s a Magnum.”
So I went home and had drunk, safe sex. I felt great before, during and after. I felt no shame or remorse the following day, just a sense of relief and satisfaction (and maybe a little bit hung over). Mostly, though, I felt extremely grateful my man fit into a Magnum.
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Now, I am selfish and entitled and lazy. You have pushed me into the corner with the scraps, just as I entered into the adult realm where no one is better than the people they know.
Ok, some of these are from late 2012 but w/e they are still awesome and amazing.
But no one tells you that, no matter how much you tell yourself that you are beautiful, someone will always come around and try to shake you.
A school bans a Spanish-speaking student from speaking Spanish