By Molly
Believe it or not, I dig condoms. It wasn’t always this way, but a few very cool boyfriends showed me how to love latex and the women at the pharmacy.
The first time I had sex, Eric pulled out a 12-pack of drugstore condoms. It had three different kinds, and he let me choose which one I wanted to use. I went for your basic, lubricated latex condom with a reservoir tip. Frankly, I was so absorbed in just figuring out what I was doing that I didn’t notice what the condom felt like.
A few months later, I went on the Pill. It was so easy…no cares, right?
But I was missing something: The Pill is your friend when you don’t want to get pregnant, but it does nothing for STIs like chlamydia, gonorrhea, or HIV. It took meeting a gorgeous Dutch exchange student and falling head over heels in love to really discover the wonder of latex condoms.
The Condom Adventure
Stefan (the gorgeous boy) had eyes that gave me butterflies in my stomach. At first, I thought he was too cool for me, but it turned out he was shy and really liked me. We’d been going out for a while and decided we were ready to make love for the first time. My parents were gone, so we had the house to ourselves. There was only one catch — Stefan hadn’t bought condoms, and I didn’t have any.
Stefan looked at me directly. “It would be better if we used a condom, I think.”
“Yeah, but I’m on the Pill.”
“Sure, you’re safe against pregnancy,” he said. “But neither of us is a virgin.”
What, was this some kind of judgment? Not a virgin. Like I’m unclean or something. Like he’s going to get a disease from me, yeah right. My throat tightened and I tried not to get defensive.
“Do you think I’m unsafe?” I asked, trying not to be angry or sad.
He laughed. “No, of course not! It’s just that I want us both to be safe.”
Okay, that sounded reasonable. I stopped being ticked off at him for bringing it up. “Well, I guess I understand,” I said. “But you don’t have a condom.”
“Neither do you. So, should we go find some?”
A scene played in my head of gas station condom machines, getting dirty looks from the people at the store – like something out of an after-school special. I’d never had to get them myself – it was always the guy who bought them, not me.
“Um, I’ve never bought condoms before,” I admitted. “I feel kind of shy.”
Stefan kissed me. “Trust me on this one,” he said. “We’re used to buying condoms where I’m from. Let’s go to the drugstore.”
He pulled on his sweater and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the door. I couldn’t quite look at him-I felt a little sheepish about it. We walked three blocks to the big chain drugstore. I don’t remember the conversation, probably because we were talking about silly stuff so that I didn’t have to think about anything.
We walked into the drugstore and looked around for the aisle with condoms.
“There it is!” he pointed.
“Shh!” I whispered. “They’re going to know why we’re here!”
“That, my friend, is exactly the idea,” he smiled, leading me to the condom display.
Look Them in the Eye
All the different condoms never fail to surprise me. Lubricated, ribbed, large-sized, natural skin, unlubricated, and so many different brands. We stood silently before them.
“So, do you know anything about these?” I asked him. “I’ve used those ones before.” I pointed at a blue box with some shadowy people on it.
“A little,” Stefan said. “They’re different than the European ones. But we should probably get the lubricated kind.” He reached for a box. “And they sell lubricant too, so we should buy some of that.”
In our hands, we held a dozen condoms and a tube of lube. My stomach got jittery.
“You ready to go?” Stefan asked.
“Sure, I guess.”
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “When we get to the register, we’ll split this 50-50. You’ve got to look the lady at the cash register in the eye. And then we’ll run out holding hands. Got it?”
“Oh geez. I guess so.”
Before I could think, Stefan threw his arm around me. I’d never seen him pull himself up to such height as he walked proudly to the cash register.
“We’d like these, please,” he said, tossing our goods onto the counter.
The drugstore lady looked at us like we were off our rockers and rang up our purchase. “That’s $9.47,” she droned.
We each reached into our pockets, digging for change. “What’s half of $9.47?” I asked, getting into the spirit and feeling giddy.
“It’s $4.73 and a half-penny,” he said. “What do we do about the half-penny?”
Stefan and I counted out $4.75 each, dropping it on the counter like kids at a candy store. “Here you go,” I said.
The drugstore lady dropped three cents into our hands.
“Ready?” Stefan whispered?
“Totally!” I announced.
We ran to the door, giggling and laughing. As soon as we got outside, he gave me a huge kiss under the streetlight. And the rest of that night? It’s my business and not yours (but let’s just say that it was the beginning of a wonderful relationship).
It’s been a few years since Stefan taught me about the drugstore ladies. We made it our ritual when we were going out — we’d go to the store together, split the cost exactly and hold our heads high when we walked out of the store. Though he moved back to Europe and we split up, I still love the drugstore ladies. For as goofy as we are, I figure that they know they’re doing a good thing, being there for kids like us.