It’s always a fascinating experience, having sex with someone new. There may be things you’ve done with others that they don’t like at all. Or approaches you’ve never even considered that they can’t live without. Then of course there’s all those things that make them laugh out loud and ask if you’ve done this before. That happens to you guys too, right? But probably the most important lesson I’ve ever learned during sex is that the person I’m sleeping with is totally fucking insane.
Of course, me being me, this has happened a fair amount of times. You’ve heard of people putting notches in their bedpost? Well I put mine on the side of a bottle of antidepressants. That’s how nuts they are. Usually you have an inkling before you hit the bedroom that you’re with someone who’s a little crackers, but you let that pass because they have boobs and there is the outside chance that they will let you see them. This however was not the case with young Maggie Sanger. Maggie was a very cool girl, and had that rarest of very cool girl traits: she was a huge football fan. Shoulda known it was too good to be true.
The sex life with Maggie was surprisingly good, considering the large role I played in it. We slept with each after only a few dates – something I have since learned is a great way to never sleep with someone again, but in this case it worked out. Pretty soon we fell into a nice routine, hanging out a few times a week, sleeping together, not pointing out the obvious flaws in my approach…it was like a dream come true. Honestly, it was the most productive sexual relationship I’d had to that point that didn’t involve the letters h-t-t-p. Until she uttered that one dangerous little phrase:
Maggie: Maybe…um, do you not wanna use a condom this time?
My usual reaction to such a suggestion can be summed up thusly…
As long as there’s established monogamy, clean bills of health, and a whole hell of a lot of birth control pills, yes, I can be interested in maybe not using a condom this time. There was, however, a slight hitch in that holy trinity: birth control. Maggie, you see didn’t take The Pill, because it made her feel bloated. Whenever she said that, I liked to remind her that nothing makes a person feel bloated faster than a baby growing in their stomach, but she didn’t listen. Or laugh. Or refrain from looking at me like I’m anything other than an asshole, which I suppose was fair. But no pills meant plenty of condoms, 24-7. Even when we were just kissing. Can’t be too careful.
Maggie though, had decided to take a new approach. We had been talking about her getting birth control for a little while, and unbeknownst to me, she acquired The Pill a couple of weeks previous. She felt ready to go unprotected, and now with the trinity complete, so did I. Cue the Kool and The Gang…
We woke up the next morning happy as two clams who liked having clam sex with each other. I looked over at Maggie and smiled and gave her a big hug. A nice, trusting relationship with a great girl. Thanks, Internet. “Good morning,” I said. “You know I haven’t actually started taking the pill yet,” she replied. What? WHAT?! My reaction to this development?
Maggie insisted that this was all a perfectly innocent misunderstanding. All she said last night was that she had gotten the birth control pills, she never said anything about actually taking them. I pointed out, in my most controlled and understanding yelling voice, that if you say you’ve got birth control pills right before you suggest unprotected sex, I’m not gonna think you’ve only got them IN YOUR POCKET. Luckily, thankfully, sweet God in heavenly, we were too tired the night before to get into any particularly dangerous activity. (What can I say, I get sleepy early.) But when I asked what was her plan if we had, that was when she dropped the biggest doozy of all. “I don’t know, I mean, I don’t believe in abortion.”
I am going to beat the living shit out of Kool and his Gang.
This is what I get for dating a girl who liked football. Maggie loved football, you see, because she was from Texas. Everybody in Texas loves football. They also happen to love Catholicism, and might not be as into a panicked “what the fuck do you mean you didn’t actually TAKE the birth control pills” abortion as us yanks from up north.
When I suggested, again, in a totally level-headed yell, that young Margaret Sanger might have mentioned her views on pregnancy retention before she tried to lure me into unprotected sex, she looked at me again like an asshole. Which at that point was perfectly fine with me, as long as I was just an asshole and not an asshole FATHER. When I added that I can’t sleep with someone I don’t trust, her expression did not change. We yelled at each other a bunch, she made it clear she didn’t care for my allegations, and I ran out of her apartment before she had a chance to get at any more of my reproductive organs.
I find it can be tough to come back from allegations of semen stealing and forced parenthood. I mean, Proflowers.com doesn’t really have a bouquet picked out for that. And if they did, I certainly wouldn’t have been the one buying. We treaded water for another week or two, but it was clear that Maggie and I now kinda hated each other. Which is supposed to happen after you have the kid, not before.
Oh well, just another notch in the Lexapro bottle.
Next time a chick tells your BC makes her feel bloated – run for the fucking hills. That’s a flat out lie. BC may make her crazy (like eating weird shit like chocolate and pickles simultaneously or crying when someone drops a pencil), but of all the possible things BC can do to a girl, a bloated feeling isn’t one of them.
She wantsed your sperm, dude. To make babies like Octomom.
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J, you’re stupid and wrong. Very wrong.
If I were guy, I would double wrap my dong!!! And keep it wrapped day in and day out! And I’m sorry to say this ladies, but the majority of us CAN”T be trusted on this point. And that’s true.