I have a strange history with condoms.
During my nine-year marriage, it was the easiest way to have sex with no fuss, no muss. (I had a thing about bodily fluids and hated having semen touch me which sounds funny to me now.) I didn’t even want to have sex with my (now) ex-husband. The lubrication on the condom meant I didn’t have to be all that wet. Plus, he was the one responsible for clean up.
If I was “forced” to have sex with him – it was always my own choice, but it was easier to fuck once every couple of weeks than put up with his moods – it was going to be with a condom.
Except there was the time the condom broke (the one time we didn’t use Trojans), and now I have a sweet, endearing, goofy 10 year old as a result.
Once I became single, condoms were a source of protection – well, some protection – but I hated using them. The (few) men I chose to have sex with were people I had a connection with. I wanted to feel all of them, every cell, every stroke, yes, even their sticky fluids coating the inside of my body.
I admit it, stupid as it sounds, knowing what I know about sexual health and STDs (one of the better by-products of being a child of the 90s), I didn’t always use one. I’ve been really, really lucky that I never got anything.
Now, with John Brownstone, knowing we’re healthy and well, condoms are actually a treat, almost like a new thing to try. We have a few we’ve been sent (thank gawd for samples!). Flavored ones. Colored ones. Glow-in-the-dark ones. They’re either there for a “special occasion” when we’re feeling silly or if we’re ever in the position of inviting someone over. I don’t know which.
So yeah, I don’t really have a relationship with condoms anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing. The old memories of needing one, using them because it was better than any other alternative, have been wiped away. I don’t think of condoms much, but when I do, they’re for fun…which is probably what they were supposed to be for all along.
Welcome to Wicked Wednesday! This week’s prompt was all about condoms – not something I think of often, but with which I have some history.