Why I Prefer Sex With Condoms

...and miss them now that I’m trying to get pregnant.

By Sarah Lerare

When you're single and sexually active, condoms are an obvious necessity. They prevent STDs and pregnancies, and cover most of the risks of sleeping with randos. 

But despite these perks, there are a lot of people who still hate condoms. They’re painful and too tight, they ruin the moment, they’re expensive, they’re annoying to put on — the list of reasons to dislike condoms is a long one. There’s even a trend that has developed called “stealthing” where men slip off their condom during intercourse without telling their partner because they hate how they feel that much. 

On the other hand, there’s my husband and I: We love sex with condoms. It’s not just because they make the whole process of doing “it” a lot cleaner, although that is nice. It’s great not having to sit on the toilet afterwards waiting for the jizz to plop out of me. And it’s better than having to mop up the sludge on the sheets, or worse yet, having to strip the entire bed. 

To me, condoms are like the perfect pair of gloves: tight and with an economical, minimal aesthetic. Unrolling the latex tube down my husband’s shaft makes my mouth water like a kid eating fruit roll-ups. I love how condoms wordlessly signal “Let’s do it” and how they let sex be inarticulable, talk-free. I don’t have to say, “I’m ready now” or “Put it in.” I just roll it on and it silently signals that I want him to come inside. 

The first time my husband and I had sex, I was still a virgin, and it was on our honeymoon. (Traditional, I know, but I’m from the South and I was raised in a very Christian household.) That first night, he didn’t properly get inside of me, but on the second night, we reached full penetration.

Read: Beware of these common condom mistakes

I climbed on top and even though I had no idea what I was doing, I tried to grind, imitating the rhythm of gentle waves lapping at low tide. There was no swivel or bounce, but concentric rings of pain and pleasure swept through my body, and I was lucky enough to orgasm multiple times — in between bouts of crying, whimpering, and some sincere gasping. 

After we both finished, we checked the condom and, sure enough, it was splattered with bright red flecks of blood. It looked like a crime scene, but thanks to the condom, the only thing we stained was a towel.

I remember being relieved, thinking how sex would be much cleaner the next time around, and I wondered in horror what condom-less sex would be like. I found out later that week on a hotel bed in Montreal. It was a lot quicker and resulted in more gunk — on the duvet, curling in his pubes, and drying on my torso from when he tried to pull out. 

With condoms, we not only lasted longer, but we clearly had a lot less cleaning to do afterwards. 

It’s now been five years and we still haven’t retired from using condoms, except for when I give him blow jobs or hand jobs. The lubrication lasts longer when we use them, and we’ve found them to be particularly useful for the more irregular angles we try, when being slippery is key. Unless you’re pumping juice like an orange crusher, a condom can keep each thrust smooth no matter how adventurous the position. 

I don’t have to use lubrication, but even if I was dry down there, it’s not like I’d need to go buy a bottle of K-Y Jelly or coconut oil. Condoms nowadays come in so many varieties that you can solve multiple problems with just one glove. Whether you’re trying to mask a stench or improve the taste, add a little stimulation or make the whole process a bit more slippery, condoms, in my opinion, can do it all.

In recent months, we’ve ditched the condoms because we’re trying to get pregnant. The 40-box of Trojans we bought from Costco is now tucked away under the bathroom sink. The other day I knocked the box over as I pulled my blow dryer out, and the blue and white packets spilled all over the bathroom floor. I know I can’t use them at this point if I really want to get pregnant, but for a minute, I considered sneaking one into the bedside table. That’s how much I miss them.

 

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