Crying and Condoms

I recently found out that an acquaintance of mine (“Carol”) is in her mid-twenties and has only had one serious relationship, which only lasted a few months. Not that that’s bad, it is the way the relationship ended that was unfortunate. Carol and her boyfriend had been dating a month or so before they were ready to have sex. This I find to been perfectly reasonable, and, frankly, I wish I had a few more month-long chaste courtships under my belt. But they always seem to get under my belt (ha) the first night we meet, and the dating comes later… Anyway, Carol’s story continues in this way:

The special night has come, and the couple is ready to seal the deal. Then Carol’s boyfriend declares that he cannot and will not use condoms. What?! She explains that she feels quite the opposite way, and he tops off his ricockulous declaration by crying. Thus the relationship ended.

Here’s what my reaction was: what a fucking pansy asshole! I’m all for guys being able to express their emotions, and a guy who never cries is probably not to be trusted either. But to use crying as a form of manipulation to get a girl to go bareback on the first attempt? Despicable.

Here’s the brutal truth, Carol and all other readers: condoms suck. They really do. No one likes to use them, for a myriad of reasons. They provide less feeling for the guy and less lubrication for the girl, they smell weird, they taste bad, their use prevents a certain moment of spontaneity. And yet, we must all get over these things, because for most sexually active young people, they are a way of life. And a way of retaining the type of life you want to continue having (i.e. a life with less babies and STDs to spoil the fun).

Also, it is the responsibility of men and women alike to have condoms available. Being a woman, I may be biased, but having to deal with other sorts of birth control I sometimes feel like guys should deal with buying the rubbers. I’ve got ‘em in a box next to the bed, to be sure, but it is relieving when I don’t even have to go there cause my partner’s already got it handled.

Hilarious moment from my younger years: my first boyfriend, “Jeff,” was terrified of buying condoms. I usually did it, until one day I insisted it was his turn. I perused the nail polish at Walgreens while waiting for him, but a lot of time had passed and I was starting to wonder what was taking him so long. I find him awkwardly standing by the magazines, holding a pack of gum.

“WTF?” says I. (Actually, this was before the abbreviation was in wide circulation, so I probably said the whole words)

“You’re not going to believe this,” says Jeff, “ but there are NUNS in the condom aisle!”

He looked extremely distraught. I sighed, peeked around the corner at the “family planning” rack and saw two elderly nuns, wimples and all, discussing the band-aids next door to the Trojans. I walked confidently down the aisle, grabbed a box of For-Her-Pleasures, and stalked away. The nuns ceased talking when I walked by, but whatever.

21 December 5