Going Bare

Going Bare

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Details

Status: In Progress

Genre: Erotica

Summary

A personal memoir from my college days

Summary

A personal memoir from my college days

Prolog (v.1) - A New Lifestyle

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 04, 2017

Reads: 739

Comments: 3

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: August 04, 2017

A A A

A A A

I’d been a condom girl for years.  

At first, it was a very practical matter.After I lost my virginity as a teen in high school, I didn’t have the guts to tell my parents that I'd "done it".  I certainly didn't have the guts to ask for a doctor’s appointment so I could get on the pill. 

I mean, can you even imagine the conversation: “Hey dad ... I ... um ... I need to get a prescription.  Can you make me an appointment?”  “A prescription for what?”  “Well ... you see ... last Friday when I was out on a date ... I kinda ...”

Yeah ... no!

So my boyfriend and I did the next best thing.  We hoarded quarters and stocked up on rubbers whenever we went into a public restroom.

There were some mistakes along the way, of course, condoms breaking or slipping.  But I always received my monthly good news and managed to make it through high school graduation without ever ending up in a family way.  Can't say the same for some of my friends.

College followed highschool.  Boyfriends were changed over a few times.  Some one night stands occurred along the way; and by Thanksgiving break of my Freshman year, the total number of guys I’d fucked had risen from three to seventeen in less than six months.

And yet after leaving home as a starry eyed Freshman, I didn’t go to student health and get a prescription for the pill.  Instead, I was still carrying around a stash of condoms in my purse.  Force of habit, I suppose.

Then late one Tuesday night between the Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, I was at the gym making eyes with some serious man candy.  The guy eventually came over to chat me up, and long story short, we ended up back in my dorm room, making out hot and heavy in my side of the loft.

He got hard and it felt HUGE, like ten inches huge!  And when his hand went inside my waist band to finger me, my only thought was “Hell YES!”

I broke our kiss, grinned impishly and started to strip.  He joined me eagerly, fumbling to get his own clothes off and when we were ready I reached automatically for my purse, dangling in easy reach off the bed frame.

The guy paused then and watched as I pulled out a condom and tube of Astroglide.  Then he leveled big brown eyes at me and whispered, “You’re uh ... not gonna make me ... wear a condom ... are you?”

If I’d had a dime for every time I’d heard that question from a guy, including actual boyfriends, I would have had nearly forty-two bucks! 

My standard response was a sweet, “Uh ... yeaaah!”  But on this particular occasion, as I glanced down at the thick, extra large, beautifully veined, throbbing piece of heaven that was waiting to slide itself into me, my breath caught and I did a quick mental calculation:  Period, period, when the fuck was my last period?  Like ... like ... a whole twenty days ago!  Yeah, I’m totally past ovulating.

Then I looked back up at his beautiful brown eyes, smiled and tossed the unopened rubber to the floor.  He grinned, snickered and rolled me to my back.  Our lips locked together, my legs flew wide, ankles hooked the back if his shins, and a few moments later he became number 18.

I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I do not remember number 18's name.

I remember his brown eyes, that he made me cum twice and the second was a mutual.  I remember his beefy cock.  I remember that he spent the night in my bed and that we screwed again in the morning.  I remember that we were both dating other people at the time, so the whole thing was destined to be a one off.  I remember that I did know his name at the actual time of copulation.  But right now, today, I haven’t got clue what his name was.  Is that bad?

Ah well, whatever his name was, he has an important place in my life, because our sex changed my whole outlook towards fornication in general.  And I guess that’s because of something else I remember; namely, the sensation of his muff marauder pumping and spurting deep in my loins, followed by the delightful feeling of excess man goo seeping out after he dismounted and running down my crack.  It freakin’ gave me shivers.

Now those are not things that I notice with every guy, which is a testimony to both number 18's endowment and the size of his load; and as I said, they made me reevaluate my previous lifestyle and habits.  So from that day forward, much to my actual boyfriend at the time’s delight - he was number 9 - I began a series of experiments noting the various pros and cons regarding condoms.

The cons were as follows:

Chafing, the damn chafing,
Dryness and the need for a lot more lube,
A very unromantic chemical smell,
The cold squishy texture
as opposed to skin, veins, shape, an the hot coronal ridge of a man,
Lack of spontaneity,
An annoying break in foreplay,
Interrupted afterglow
because he needs to pull out quickly, instead of just basking,
Losing that hot psychological feeling of raw unhindered coupling,
An overall loss intimacy, and
An overall dulling of sensation, which often impacted my ability to reach climax.

The pros were:

Less anxiety in the aftermath, and
Not getting pregnant.

After a couple months of thought, well past Christmas break, I wasn’t entirely sure that the pros, few as they were, didn’t still outweigh all the damn cons of condoms.  But I did decide that it was high time for me to get off the rubber train and onto the pill.  So, I made an appointment at student health for that very purpose.

Two months after that ... I hated the pill - the evil little thing, fooling my body into thinking it was pregnant.  I was dry as hell, even after several minutes of foreplay.  Worst of all, I hadn’t had a single bloomin’ orgasm since I’d popped the first one in my mouth!  No, not one, not even while masturbating!

The situation was intolerable.

I went back to the doctor.  As soon as he walked into the examining room I held up the little pink case and said, “These are wrong.  These are so ... very ... wrong!”

He looked at me an laughed. 

I scowled at him and stared at his nametag.  It said “Thomas.”  Why the hell can I remember his name and not the name of the guy with the huge cock that I picked up at the gym on a Tuesday night?  Anyway, I explained what was wrong and he said that these kinds of problems are often associated with the pill and that we should simply try a different prescription.  “We can do that,” he said, “Or ...” and he left it hanging.

“Or what?” I demanded.

“Or, we could fit you for a diaphragm.  The problem is, you have to use it properly and consistently.”

I frowned at him.  “Doc, the whole reason I came in here in the first place is because condoms suck.  Now you’re offering me more latex?”

“A diaphragm is much different,” he said.  “You won’t even know it’s there.  Let me show you what it looks like.”

He showed me, and at that point the nurse chimed in helpfully, “My husband and I have used a diaphragm for years, because I had a bad reaction to birth control.  I don’t notice it at all.  He, every once in a while, talks about a stinging sensation from the spermicide.  But it doesn’t happen very frequently.  It's a very good option for women who don't like the pill.”

I stared at the thing and bit my bottom lip.  Finally, I said, “Alright, let’s try it, size me doc.”

I figured it was either that, stick with condoms, give up sex, or take the pill and condemn my body to an orgasmless hell. - Though, I guess I could have converted to Catholicism, practiced the rhythm method and ended up with twelve babies.  Let's not forget that option.

The various options were quickly weighed and before I knew it my feet in the stirrups and the speculum was out.  Doc Thomas carefully measured me for my new birth control option. - Totally off the subject, the Doc was pretty cute.  I almost wish the nurse hadn’t been there.  He could have been blessed with a number.

On his way out, he said it would take a week or so before my diaphragm came in, and that I should either stay on the pill another month or go back to condoms till the pharmacy called. 

I threw the pills in the trash can by the door.


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