What to Expect When You’re Trying Not To Be Expecting

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When I don’t have an “official” boyfriend, I don’t go on the Pill. I don’t really need to regulate my cycle, I don’t feel like shelling out $30-50 a month, or having my jeans thatmuch tighter from “mild” weight gain. And, when I’m on the couch in my ratty bathrobe and snuggling next to that bag of Guacachips (“The Dip’s On The Chip!”), sex seems to be a distant planet north of Uranus. But, as we all know, I’m still a horny bitch. And one of these days (or nights) I’m going to have answer the call of the wild. So what’s a single, still-fertile female to do? Condoms, of course.

Condoms are a cheap and easy form of birth control (not to mention STD prevention, duh). They’re the friendly cab driver just waiting outside to whisk you home when you got too drunk to drive. They’re the $5 you found in your jeans when you were strapped for cash. In short, it’s your go-to for the unexpected, but nevertheless welcomed fucking (that could happen ANYTIME, ANYWHERE). Yay, condoms!

Now here’s the part that sucks: condoms are not a perfect science. As my erudite beer-guzzling friend says, “condoms don’t break condoms, people break condoms.” Such wisdom! The times a condom has broken for me is usually when I’m drunk and therefore dumb-assed: due to 17 vodka tonics, I’ve become drier than the Sahara Desert but we keep drilling for oil, for HOURS and HOURS. Or worse–we have sex, neither of us come, we both pass out, he doesn’t take the condom OFF, and we re-instigate fornication-negotiations the next morning. There’s only so many times that rubber can hit the road before something’s gotta give.

One guy I “dated” (like the quotes?) was so paranoid about pregnancy and had so little faith in condoms that he would literally throw himself across the room when he came. That’s all well and good, I guess, except when we did it doggie style and I was pushed, squarely by the ass cheeks, through my bedroom window. Of course, Murphy’s Law eventually came a’ knockin’ and his worse nightmares came true — the condom broke. Thank God for  the Morning After pill! Yay, I live in a blue state!

On the flip side, I dated a biology major in college who insisted we could have unprotected sex (we had both been tested) prior to ejaculation, because there were no sperm present in pre-ejaculatory whooziewhatsit. Is that true? I have no idea – whenever I gave in to his lectures of the reproductive system I found it was that much more difficult to stop, have him pull out, put a condom back on, then continue. You’ve experienced Nirvana, and now you have to turn around and go back to, say, shopping at Walmart. Because, as much as condoms are our make-no-beybez-friends, aint nothing like the REAL thing. Unprotected sex is like going down a water slide for the first time – without clothes. Or Bungee-jumping from the Space Shuttle. It’s such an incredible, warm, slippery, smooth, wet n’ wild, delicious sensation. And that, my friends, is the most dangerous experience of all.

Man, safe sex is such a giant pain in the ass. Hey, speaking of ass,  there’s an idea…

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