My first experience with a condom was when I was raped. The whole experience, of course, was awful but the condom made it worse. We move on from rape. We accept that it was an act of power rather than a purely sexual act. We learn the difference from the men who love us, the ones who show passion and respect. The ones who don’t make us feel powerless and ashamed. We move on from that one awful experience by replacing it with many more wonderful experiences. In time the rape becomes something that happened to us once rather than the thing that defines us.
What I have had the hardest time moving on from was the condom. That simple little device that is supposed to protect us from various ill. It didn’t protect me from being raped. In fact, it became my nemesis. It became the rapist that taunted me. When I closed my eyes it wasn’t my rapist I saw, it was the condom. I would hear the rip of the package as he opened it, the sound of the condom as he “popped” the tip. I would smell it too. Ew! The smell was the worse. Like a balloon had been rubbed with oil that had gone rancid. Again, ew!
It took years for me to use a condom again. Maybe not the smartest move and I was lucky I never contracted a virus, or AIDS, or ended up pregnant. I was very lucky and thankful.
The next time I used a condom was with a lovely young man named Dave. He was great. He did all those things young girls want from a boyfriend. He held my hand and kissed me in public. He made me smile, and blush. He listened to me when I told him stuff. Minor insignificant things, but he listened and remembered. My parents liked him too. He was a nice guy.
We had booked a hotel for the evening with plans of using it well. Things were moving along when he stopped and said he had left the condoms in the car. I didn’t say anything but when he came back to the room he could tell something was wrong. I had actually considered walking out on him while he went to fetch the condoms. I stayed. I also told him about the rape and my aversion to condoms and we spent some time discussing it. Not the way one would like to spend an evening at a hotel with a handsome man.
We did eventually get to the reason for our stay and we used a condom. It wasn’t bad. I could say it was great, and the evening definitely was, but I’d be lying if I said the condom didn’t distract from it.
That was the night Vincent Price died. Funny the things we remember.
Fast forward to more recent years and using condoms during oral sex. If I didn’t already have an aversion to them, sucking on a delicious cock with a not so delicious wrapper would give me one. Guys, if you love the sound of your woman gagging on your ginormous cock all you need to do is wrap it in a lubricated condom. It is one of the very few things that makes me gag. Sure, there are various flavoured condoms out there that can help (banana isn’t so bad) but I am always transported back to that rancid balloon smell. I know it is just my mind playing a mean trick on me. Doesn’t make it any better though.
I have learned to accept condoms as part of a safe sexual landscape. I still don’t like them and may possibly have a panic attack when I have to use them, but I do use them because they work and they are always readily available. Sometimes a coat of armor or a rubber body suit just isn’t enough to protect you.
This post was based on this week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt. I didn’t make it in time to link up but that shouldn’t stop you from checking out all the other wonderful posts about condoms this week. Go ahead, click the button below and go read.