Condoms are sexy

“Number 1: he’s very handsome.
Number 2: he’s not wearing a wedding ring.
And number 3: he knows I carry a personal supply of ultra textured Trojans with a reservoir tip.”
This is Carrie Bradshaw’s voice-over when she drops her handbag on the sidewalk and a man, who we later get to know as Mr.Big, helps her pick up her things.
She just had a deliberate no strings attached sexual encounter to write about in her column. Which explains the condoms.
But Big doesn’t know that and he probably assumes she is a hooker because later in that same episode, he gives her a lift and asks:
“What do you do for a living?”
And when she answers she’s sort of a sexual anthropologist, he answers:
“What? Like a hooker?”
“No, I write a column.”
I grew up in the eighties and for me carrying condoms had nothing to do with sex work. It was the aids crisis and I saw messages everywhere that anyone, boy or girl, gay or straight, virgin or going steady, simply anybody over the age of fourteen, unwed, and in the possession of a penis or a vagina was completely irresponsible unless you were carrying condoms just in case.
Our sexuality was presented to us as something that could come over us in the blink of an eye, and turn us into dripping wet or rock hard sexual predators that would not rest until they had come deep inside of you.
Or until they had all their holes filled IMMEDIATELY.
You never know!
Could happen!
Yeah right, in porno that’s where that stuff can happen.
That type of sexual zest is definitely rarer than any of the diseases or teenage pregnancies the condoms were supposed to prevent. So although we were never programmed to think that condoms had anything to do with being loose in a negative way, we did get an unrealistic image of what our clumsy, insecure sex lives were supposed to look like.
Feeling clumsy and insecure, both physically and emotionally, and then try using condoms.  I don’t blame my peers for coming up with excuses why they didn’t need them. But I was really scared of aids. Sex education and everything government organizations taught us had gotten a hold on me. Making me the only consistent condom user of my generation. It took me decades to even give head without a condom, without relapsing into a panic attack. And even in recent years, the only time I let a man come in my mouth was because it was an accident. Or because he was a jerk. I also had one lover to whom I agreed he could come in my mouth. But in retrospect he was a jerk too, so the story still stands.
I use condoms when I fuck.
I give condomized blowjobs.
And if I trust you and your medical status, I will give the blowjobs without a condom but you can’t come in my mouth unless you’re a virgin or a jerk.
This is how I ve been doing it for the last five years, and that’s me at my “loosest”. My most irresponsible behavior, ever.
But there’s also good news. Aside from me not getting myself infected or pregnant, this strict, fearful attitude towards the dangers of sex turned out to be a one hundred percent match to my sexuality.
And I never saw this powerful dark side of myself until recently, so I never realized that having so much fear attached to sex was serving me well.
Very well.
Because my sexuality in terms of needing powerplay, needing really intense mental stimuli in order to get aroused, has been with me all my life. Even as a child. I have masturbated from when I was five years old or even younger, and those fantasies have always been a part of it.
The reason the fearful sex education of the eighties shoot root with me, and not with my peers, is that I had the foundation already in place. I had been building my dark, delicious dungeon of sex for ten years, by the time I got the official version of it. Which belched at me:
“YOU COULD DIE HAVING SEX!”
And my subconscious yelped: “Wicked!”
I didn’t know that of course. I was suffering from anxiety attacks, and tried to keep sex as safe as I could. But the older I get, the easier it is for me to fully own my sexuality.
And one of the aspects of it is that I need safe sex, protected with a condom. I am no longer ashamed of the fact that I ve always used condoms. In my long term relationships as well. It wasn’t until a condom broke with my current lover, that I had a man come inside of me.
And after that we just kept on using them, nothing changed. I got a morning-after pill and we both got tested to ease my anxiety, but otherwise things stayed as they were. For multiple reasons but one of them is:
I need condoms.
The thought of sex with a partner who you trust completely, a partner who’s clean and checked, and you could completely melt together as one, and have that natural feeling, of penis in vagina with nothing in between?
I can’t tell you how unappealing that is to me.
I need the tension, the possibility, that he might have been screwing around and that I don’t know what he’s been up to. That he could infect me with something. I’m still fertile, so for me it’s super practical to use condoms from that perspective as well. But it’s way more the safe sex aspect of it that turns me on.
I am with someone I don’t trust.
That thought is the corner stone of my entire sexuality. And that thought is wiped out the moment we’re not using condoms.
I told a friend I was no longer writing in Dutch. I have chosen English, and I’ve selected the topic too: The return of the mistress.
I will be concentrating on the British market.
“I m going to do for mistresses, what JK Rowling did for wizards,” I explained.
He replied:
“Oh, that could work. I once read something about British men not wanting to have sex with their own wife.”
Trust me.
I know exactly how they feel.

{ written in ninety minutes, plus half an hour of Sex and the City research and half an hour of editing. }

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“Getergd door een rits onduidelijke medische klachten, besluit Lauren geen suiker meer te eten, geen Chardonnay meer te nemen, en geen latte macchiato’s meer te drinken. Na een paar weken is ze zo apathisch dat ze zelfs vergeet te masturberen. Tot een jonge Marokkaanse god op tv verschijnt die tegen Lauren zegt; “LauRRRen! WakkeRRR woRRRden! Ik ben ook schRRRijveRRR en ik heb ook een leuk leven!” Dat is zo. Sam doet de vier s’en. Hij schrijft, hij sport, hij sekst en hij slaapt. Ineens weet Lauren nog steeds niet waar het naartoe moet met haar leven, maar ze is wel klaarwakker. Zeker als ze erachter komt, dat Sam binnen een week een optreden geeft bij haar om de hoek. Sam doet haar denken aan een verboden relatie met haar leerling, iets waar ze gemengde gevoelens over heeft. Sam wil die best met haar onderzoeken, maar hij vraag een prijs…”
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