Somewhere, last night, a young man stood in his apartment wearing nothing but a condom. He stretched his arms out, closed his eyes, and whispered “if I wear it, they will come. THEN COME AND COME AGAIN.”
The condom was one of dozens he keeps strategically hidden throughout his apartment. He keeps a pile in his nightstand drawer, another pile in the bathroom, another 20 or so are tucked in between couch cushions, books on the bookshelf, and in the cupboard, hidden behind jars of peanut butter.
He considered, briefly, wearing a long string of connected condoms like a bandolier.
I mean, the odds are good that this actually happened. I am just guessing this actually happened, because it’s plausible. Because condom manufacturers don’t sell their products based on their ability to prevent sexually transmitted genital critters or a case of the babies. That would not be sexy. No. Visit your local drugstore’s condom aisle, like I did this past weekend, and gaze upon a wall of glittering boxes of sexual opportunity.
Before the trolls jump off their perch, I would like to go on the record saying that unless you’re in a committed relationship where both parties have been tested for STDs, I advise wearing a condom. But, of course, I would advise wearing a condom. I was in high school during the heat of the tragic, and oftentimes forgotten, AIDS epidemic, a terrible plague that condemned millions to a terrible fate. I watched a beloved mentor die of that disease during the years that it was a certain death sentence. So even before I became sexually active, I was severely aware that unprotected sex could have dire consequences.
But, being me, I took a reasonable amount of knowledge, and turned caution into a wild neurotic fear, like Superman crushing a lump of coal with so much force it becomes a diamond. While in college, sex without a condom was tantamount to swimming with piranha while wearing a bacon speedo. I conducted sexual health seminars during those years, and warned my peers that you could have sex with a condom … or you could have sex without a condom and have a threesome with the Grim Reaper.
Then I had sex without a condom. Condoms are dependable, but not infallible, birth control. They can prevent all kinds of annoying, chronic or potentially life-threatening plagues. But having sex with a condom is like eating a meal with a mouthful of trash bag.
I was at the drugstore late, because I’ve been suffering from insomnia. Sometimes I like to stroll down to the brightly lit, 24-hour drugstore in my neighborhood in Queens and pick up some basic essentials. As I was walking around with a bag of Funyuns and a spatula, I noticed the condom aisle. I have condoms at home. A pack of regular lubricated condoms in the blue box, which in the new world of latex penis cozies, is the same as a pair of boring old granny panties. In my sleepy haze, I was mesmerized by the variety of condoms. There were brands that promised to be thin and ultra thin and “bare skin.” The words “ecstasy” and “intense” and “sensations” were emblazoned across the boxes, as if pioneering rubber scientists had found a way to improve on God’s basic design for the vagina. Some of them were so lurid with their promises, that I sort of wanted to take some of the condoms out to dinner.
Some were ribbed, but for the woman whose pleasure hinges on a spiny phallus, ultra-ribbed. There were XL condoms for dudes with horse cocks and self-esteem issues. Of course, many of them had “spermicide,” and one brand advertised “fire and ice,” because sexy is getting nailed by either Jack Frost or the Human Torch.
I guess it’s weird for a grown man to be reading condom boxes at 2 a.m., certainly weirder than a young dude storming over to the condom aisle and without looking, grabbing a box of his favorite condoms. A slightly drunk dude with a goatee who looked at me, smirked, and held up his favorite kind of condom. Word of mouth is the most powerful form of marketing.
“These are the best, man,” he said with a stoner’s drawl.
I stared at him like he was the most boring ghost in the world.
He let out a naughty giggle and hustled to the cashier. Was he going to get laid? There are men who treat condoms like mini-totems. They are investments in the future. The amount of condoms you have is directly equal to the amount of pussy you will get.
If you have them, and sometimes, if you’re bored and horny, wear them, then the ladies will follow.
Funyuns are disgusting, by the way, especially when you eat the entire bag.