textfiles/sex/lambskin.txt

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[lambskin.txt]
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WARNING: Boys may not read this. If you are a boy and are reading this, stop
immediately. The following article is chock-full of highly intimate girl
secrets that will be 10 times more embarrassing than any TV commercial for
feminine-hygiene products you've ever seen. So quit it. I mean it. You'll
be sorry.
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A GIRL'S GUIDE TO CONDOMS
by Mimi Coucher
[originally appeared in Whole Earth Review, Spring 1989]
-=Condoms Demystified=-
There are basically three kinds of condoms: unlubricated latex, lubricated
latex, and lambskin. The lambskins are no good because they haven't been
proven to be a barrier to infection. Anyways they're really made of lambies
and that makes us sad, especially around Easter time. (The real reason we
don't like them is that they actually smell like lamb. One is tempted to
lubricate them with mint jelly.)
There are variations on the basic latex condoms. Some condoms are
prelubricated, with spermicidal jelly, even. Others are not. Strictly BYOKY.
The strangest condom by far is the ribbed latex condom. Why are these condoms
ribbed? This is supposed to be stimulating? Should one attempt to play
washboard tunes on it? This is just part of a big problem with condoms.
Condoms were, and are, designed by men.
-=If Girls Designed Condoms...=-
What a wonderful world it would be. Skip the ribbing, skip the lube. If
women designed condoms there is no question they would be padded.
"But size doesn't matter!" comes a chorus of voices. (The loudest comes from
boys who are peeking. Stop that right now. Turn to the sports page
immediately.) Sure, _length_ doesn't matter. But give any girl a small dose
of truth serum and ask her about width.
Admit it. If padded condoms were placed on the market, hordes of screaming
women would storm their local druggists and dash out with tote bags full.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't work. After all, there is that ticklish issue of
boy sensitivity, which we can't overlook, even if we occasionally want to.
Padded condoms would rob boys of the skin-to-skin sensation that they
already claim condoms rob them of. And we can't have that.
Now we modern women, being kind and sensitive lovers, would design
whisper-soft, completely transparent and microscopically thin. The paisley,
rainbow, and floral-print condoms we designed would be strictly novelty
items, kept for special occasions only. Ditto the condoms with cute sayings:
"Hang in there baby, Friday's coming"; "My girlfriend went to Florida and all
I got was this lousy condom"; and the classic "I'm with stupid" (arrow
pointing back toward the boy). Other specialty items would include the
male-ego condoms, which, like black olives, come in three sizes: jumbo,
colossal, and humongous. Naughty subversives would enjoy the Karen Finley
assortment, colorful, decorative condoms that turn ordinary penises into
bananas, hotdogs, yams, and more.
But I digress. The best place to buy condoms is your local massive drugstore
that has them on display, self-serve, just like corn pads or athlete's
foot spray.
So go shopping. Dress cool, hold your head high, read labels, make your
selection. Be assured that most popular brands come with little instruction
booklets much like the ones found in boxes of Tampax (uh-oh...don't mix them
up!). While at the drugstore, be sure to purchase at least one of the
following items: Tickle antiperspirant, Ban roll-on, or any of the Calvin
Klein line of men's grooming aids. You'll need them for those important
condom experiments at home.
At home, be alone. Light candles. Play inspiring music; any record by Rick
James will do. Remove one of the condoms from its packet. Examine it
carefully. Then put it to work. Experiment with your slippery new friends;
whip those sons-of-gummi-worms into shape. Recruit those deodorant bottles
and practice, practice, practice.
And how about some new nicknames for the old standbys? Love skins. Slicks.
Wet Suits. Silk Stockings. Eight-By-Two Glossies.
Soon enough, you'll be happy and relaxed, perfectly in control of those
silly little slips o' skin. But wait. Something's missing. Oh, yes, the hard
part. I mean the good part. I mean, both.