Hand on heart, I am not a huge fan of condoms. I think they play a vital role in keeping me safe if I’m fucking around, of course, but if I’m in a long term monogamous relationship I’d prefer to rely on my trusty IUD, and let the spunk fall where it may. So I’m not their greatest fan, but if I’m in a situation where it’s sensible to use condoms I’ll always use them, and try to focus on what makes condoms sexy rather than listening to the greedy slag who lives in the back of my brain thirsting, constantly, for jizz. If you’re with someone who doesn’t like condoms and is reluctant to use them, I figured I can give you a little advice in the form of the one question you should ask them. Or if you have a dick and it’s you who doesn’t like them, a question to ponder for yourself: which different condoms have you tried?
Note that this post involves some graphic medical detail about injections and vaginal examinations during an IUD fitting.
The other day a woman put a big needle inside my vagina, and injected me three times in the cervix. I know you don’t like hearing this, my darling, but I really need you to know it. The other day, when getting an IUD fitted, I had three injections in my cervix.
I’m ridiculously excited to welcome anthropologist and queer activist Dr Jamie Lawson as today’s guest blogger. If you follow him on Twitter you might have noticed he’s been trying to get Sainsbury’s and Boots to make a really simple but important change to the way they sell condoms and lube. And you can help him…
Here goes: a round-up of some things you need to read. Which I’m switching to Friday because, hey, who wants to do work on Friday when you could instead be reading about feminism, censorship and condoms?
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.