Condom

It’s Wednesday, and I’m fresh out of the drive to write anything deeper than a backyard kiddie pool.  So on this fine, sunny morning (at least, it’s sunny where I am), you shall be treated to my random musings on writing.  Warning: I’m going to talk about smut a little.*

Last night, I was on Facebook chat with two authors with whom I’m privileged to work as a proofreader–let’s call them Author A and Author B.  They’re writing a novel together, and they’ve asked me to do the proofreading on this one, too.  I’m honored.  As I’ve gotten to know these fine women and their writing styles, I’ve grown to enjoy our working relationship immensely.  One of the perks of that is being able to laugh together.  And one of the things we like to laugh about is their merciless teasing about my . . . what should I call it? I think “condom kink” will do.

I’m not entirely sure how it started, actually.  (My kink, not the teasing.)  I think possibly sometime last fall when I was working on my NaNoWriMo novel.  I popped in at the erotica message board to ask about writing effectively when it comes to condom use.  (Before you all ask, no, I don’t typically write erotica; I just figured those people were the “experts” on the subject, and I was writing a sex scene.)  Not surprisingly, I got a couple dozen replies, and they were all over the map.  The vast majority (almost exclusively women) said they prefer just a passing mention; many felt it to be irresponsible not to talk about it at least briefly.  Several women said they dislike condoms in real life and in fiction.  The men (yes, people, men write erotica too) nearly all supported the idea of condom use as appealing and said, “Heck, yeah, you can make it sexy.”  (Weird, right?  How often are we told that men hate those damn things?)

Fast-forward to my present life as a proofreader.  I jokingly made a comment in the margin of Author B’s Word document praising her for mentioning a condom.  That one little comment has sparked a running gag–and I couldn’t be more delighted.  I mean, what better way to talk about this stuff?

See, here’s the thing.  I keep hearing from my sister feminists that we’re all in charge of our vaginas and what goes in them or comes out of them.  We’re supposed to be responsible for our desire to have or not have the children we want.  I absolutely agree, and I support legislation that will help us to do that.  But my big question is, who’s responsible for the penis?  Because it sure as heck ain’t me.

As a long-time married woman who trusts that I’m the only person with whom my husband is having sex, I don’t worry about these things.  I’ve got my uterus under control, thanks.  But what if we weren’t monogamous?  You had better believe that 1) we would NOT be having condom-free sex and 2) I would do everything in my power to make that condom damn sexy.  That right there is me being in charge of what goes in my vagina.  Any man who’s worth having sex with would be ready and willing to keep both himself and his partner from getting sick.

So you know what?  I’m happy to take the teasing–I know it’s all in fun.  I’m also willing (though slightly more reluctant) to admit my kink.  But I stand by what I write, and unless it’s an intentional part of the plot, you won’t ever find me writing a non-monogamous couple sans condom.  (Actually, you probably won’t find anything terribly graphic, either, but that’s a story for another day.)

Happy Wednesday, y’all.  Don’t forget your raincoats. *wink*

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*Cue my more conservative friends: “But…but…you’re a Christian!  How can you write smut?!”  Me: *huge eye roll*