Yeah, I know. I sound like a hip parent trying to encourage young people to get on the train to Coolsville and bag it up before they bang, or something equally cringeworthy. I’ve written before about condoms (badly, I hasten to add – this was early in my blogging days and I’d not write the same piece today), but in general I’m not a fan of the way they feel or the effect they have on dudes I fuck, so as a general rule I’d rather go without.
That doesn’t mean that I’d gleefully bareback with a brand-new fuck, but it does mean that when I’m in a committed relationship with someone, and we’re both free from STIs, and I’ve other methods of preventing pregnancy, I’m unlikely to crack out the Durex and ask for a latex fuck.
And it’s a big, bold ‘however’, because I don’t contradict old blog posts lightly – I want to tell you why, despite their cons, there are a fuck of a lot of pros to condoms which have nothing to do with their practical value. I want to talk about why condoms can be sexy. Ready? Let’s go.
Condoms represent casual fucking in a way that spunk-stains on the bedsheets never will. This is because of my aforementioned insistence on using them whenever I shag a new person. It sounds counter intuitive, but the sheer necessity of condoms spawns a kind of arousal about them: if you only use them when you need them, the sight of them will kick off nostalgic memories of all those times you went fumbling in the bedside drawer, as horny as you ever believed you could get, to pull one out in the heat of the moment.
Secondly, condoms emphasise one of the things that I find gut-wrenchingly brilliant: a guy touching his cock. The skill, dexterity, and ease with which someone can roll one on? Amazing. If they look me in the eye while they’re doing it, hands and fingers working almost automatically, with the kind of practiced ease of a sexual expert? Unngh. Yeah.
I’ve been known to fuck with condoms occasionally even if they’re not strictly necessary. The reason above? That’s why.
The other day I was clearing out my cupboards and I found an old box of condoms. They’re probably long past their fuck-by date, but I wanted to get one and use it for old times’ sake. Why? I associate these particular ones with a very specific period in my life: the time when I was getting to know a certain guy, and he was fucking me with the kind of desperate horniness that you do if you’re worried it’s the last time you might. He used a different brand to the ones I used with most people, and the fistful of johnnies that I found the other day gave me flashbacks to the moments when he’d pull out, sweating and knackered, and tie a knot in the end after a full and frantic fuck.
Final point, in a kind of ‘I’ve said this before but it bears repeating’ way – there are very few things that say ‘it’s happening’ more deliciously than the tearing of a condom wrapper. I’m almost certain this association comes from my youth, when condoms were the only conceivable option for me, and the brightly-coloured packets looked like sweeties, to be gleefully guzzled at any and every opportunity.
If you’re with someone new, and you’re both getting down to it, even if everything says ‘oh God yeah we’re totally going to shag now’, there’s still that one final thing to do before penetration actually happens. Up until that split second, we could just be fooling around. We could be making out, or frotting, or any of the other lovely things that horny couples do. As soon as either of us produces a condom, and tears carefully into the foil wrapping, that’s the moment I know that it’s definitely going to happen. It’s the capital letter at the start of a sentence, that ends with the full stop when we collapse in sated lust.
Condoms: there are pros and cons. But it’s not often that we talk about the pros.