How am I supposed to enjoy a piece of toffee when it is still wrapped in rubber?
That was the first thing that kicked in every time the conversation of condoms came up. In the many open tabs in my mind, these things are like the cling film of the bedroom designed to steer the flavor clear off you.
Like many men, perhaps women too, I was so sold into the idea that anything latex was a sworn enemy of pleasure. If it must be done, should it not be done generously and adequately? Skin- on- skin, with a side of liberation and a kick of freedom?
Why anyone, of sound mind, would be willing to trade such a feeling off for something that looks like expanding a balloon over a flat surface never quite sat well with me.
So yes, I perfectly understood why men would always opt to pass through the project in all of its rawness. I was all for the if we are exclusive and I trust you, skip the whole latex part and let’s get down and dirty.
And just before COVID, he happened.
It started off in the guise of an office romance. While we didn’t engage in any sort of intimacy when we worked together, the sexual tension between us was almost palpable, and everyone saw through it. We would flirt and engage in all sorts of banter, but behind it all, we both knew what we wanted to see and enjoy what was in between our respective thighs.
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One time, in the middle of our usual shenanigans, I realized that he had gotten a boner because we were all over each other. It was embarrassing but, that boner signaled the green light for me, and I took advantage of that. I invited him over.
See, I mince no words when I say I wanted to taste him, but you know how the first time is always like. The awkward silences, the clingy pauses, the intense breathing coupled with the unnecessary laughter and how to initiate the whole thing do not always come easy. I mean, stripping down to nothing in front of a stranger takes a good dose of grit, but eventually, we got comfortable.
Things started knocking things, smooth and steady, heated and sizzling with grains of sweat and fluids everywhere they needed to be. I could feel his joystick pulsating, ready for the triumphant entry, only for him to roll over, pull his side bag to feed my eyes to his stash of condoms. It was a whole collection, types and texture, taste and fragrance.
This boy! Did he have to do this? I mean, one condom is okay. Even two is acceptable, but an entire store? That is something, but you know what? We didn’t get that far just to sacrifice the big O, so we dug in, and was I blown away?
It was good. Surprisingly good.
Here is the thing, the truth that is shrouded in the noise about condoms taking away the spice of away and all that gibberish talk. Condoms do not even have the potential to ruin intimacy— the wrong partner does.
Boy didn’t just put this helmet on like a safety measure, he brought sensuality and turned it into a whole show that I even forgot he was wearing a protective shield. The entire moment was so unhurried, so intentional, it felt… safe. Sexy safe. Like he was saying, I want you, but I want you protected too. And trust me, nothing feels better than being wanted and respected at the same time.
It changed something in me. Suddenly, condoms weren’t a passion killer—they were a sign of someone’s maturity, their ability to prioritize both our pleasure and our well-being. The pandemic taught us about masks; he changed my long standing perception about latex. Funny how both are about protection, but one comes with far better memories.
Now when the conversation of how condoms have the propensity to ruin intimacy comes up, I cannot relate. I always looked forward to our next bout. The experience was simply one of a kind. Unfortunately, it was short-lived.
Condoms don’t make the whole affair different. The person wearing them does. And if they know what they’re doing? Well, let’s just say latex has never felt so luxurious.
