Even when It’s bad, it’s still pretty good. This is supposedly true about both pizza and sex. Mr. Sensitive and I have tested that theory to its very last limit.
It’s not his feelings that are sensitive, certainly not; Mr Sensitive has sensitive skin, and he thinks it’s a perfectly good reason to avoid condoms.
So “trust” is what Mr. Sensitive has to offer instead: “walaw babe, don’t you trust me?” He is asking me, quite literally, to trust him with my life, trust him not to give me AIDS, herpes, not to get me pregnant. Actually, Mr. Sensitive never felt the need to get tested before, because fuck logic, so I’m supposed to trust him, AND his previous sexual partner, and HER previous sexual partner, and who knows who else.
The thing is, rubber is absolutely nonnegotiable for me. I know he’s silently cursing me for this, but my pre-teen years were marked by 1990’s French teen pop magazines, an the French are big on STD awareness and prevention, specially in the 1990’s, when AIDS was relatively new.
Here’s a secret: I’m on the pill, just in case the condom breaks. If I tell Mr. Sensitive, he’ll take it as a cue to stop using condoms and the argument will never end.
Another secret: I’m getting rubber burns too, because last month we ran out of things to say, and instead we have sex 4 times a day. Sometimes it burns like hell because its taking us both a lot of time to orgasm, well let’s face it, the sex is bad. He used to give me volcanoes 4, 5 times, every time. Now I fake it if nothing happens after 40 minutes.
We didn’t break up yet, because we’re both working hard at the moment and in between reading sessions, it’s nice to have each other’s warmth. It’s also still nice to have leftover pizza at midnight together. The pizza’s cold but it’s still pretty good; even if we have nothing to say to each other, there’s a new box of condoms on his bedside table.