“Fuck babe, I don’t have a condom,” he says.
Are you fucking kidding me? This always confuses me. At any given time, I always have condoms in my bedside drawer, and I don’t even fuck in my own bed. Ever. When a guy tells me he doesn’t have a condom all I can think about is that this guy has so little faith in himself and his game that he didn’t even think he had a remote possibility of getting laid that night. That then transitions into me thinking that I’m about to fuck a loser who can’t get laid which through way of the transitive property, makes me a loser.
Wait, oh my god, am I actually a loser?
Being a top-tier psycho who regularly experiences self-doubt is always a fun time, isn’t it?
Allow me to set the stage; you are both in various stages of undress, the guy’s dick is in his hand and with puppy dog eyes, he looks at you and asks if you can do it without a condom. Normally, we’re good girls. We tell the guy that no condom means no sex. God forbid he commits the cardinal sin and asks us just to blow him instead, well then you can just punch him in the balls before you see yourself out.
But sometimes we slip up. We’re drunk, we’re horny, and we really just want to get ours. Nine times out of ten, it’s fine. You’ll sexily (read: drunkenly) remind the guy to pull out when he’s close. He will, and depending on your relationship, he’ll come on any number of places on your body. Hopefully you got an orgasm and cleaning up a little splooge is always preferable to a baby. Congratulations on turning a negative to a positive.
But there is always that one mother fucker. You remind him to pull out and he acknowledges your request. “I got this babe, don’t worry,” he says to you. At some point he goes full speed ahead, jackhammering away at your poor vagina (seriously guys, stop doing this) and then the worst happens.
He. Fucking. Comes. Inside. You.
There are not enough curse words in the English language to properly articulate the level of anger we feel toward this asshole. Not only did you not want to have unprotected sex, but when you agreed, you repeatedly reminded him to pull out, even after you could tell he was getting close. Maybe you’re on birth control, maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re like me and take your pill with the consistency and reliability of a toddler suffering from ADD. Whatever the case, it’s time for Plan B, literally and figuratively.
Flash forward to the next morning; you both are on your way to the nearest pharmacy in hopes of avoiding a life-altering mistake. He looks at you and utters six simple words that prompt you to go 0 to 100 real mother fucking quick, “Soooooo, you want to go halfsies?”
I don’t know whether I should laugh or scream when a guy asks me this .Halfsies? Is this some kind of sick joke? I’m all for taking responsibility for your actions and yes, you did agree to unprotected sex, blah blah blah. But here’s the thing, just like it will always be the burden of the woman to carry the child, it will always be the responsibility of the man to pull out to prevent that. This isn’t about equality, we physically can’t pull out. It’s anatomy. So when a guy royally shits the bed and accidentally comes inside of you, have some self-respect, hold your ground, and don’t fucking go halfsies. You reminded him multiple times and he promised to pull out, but he didn’t. That’s on him. As such, so should the cost of Plan B..