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