Charlie J Forrest

It’s a topic that comes up semi-frequently in erotica circles. condoms, yes or no? I have a very definite answer, but it’s only the answer for me and I don’t want anyone to think that I’m trying to say anyone else is wrong for not thinking the same way I do.

Let me preface this with the simple fact that barrier methods are the best all-rounder when having sex, especially with someone new or unknown. They prevent pregnancy but also act as protection against pretty much all the sexually transmitted infections, including the really nasty ones. In real life, when you’re not in (for example) a long-term relationship where all parties have been tested for infections (and are either using other contraceptives or are trying to have kids) then condoms are a no brainer. Seriously, the cost benefit analysis is pretty simple, and still means you get to have sex with people (yay!).

That said, I do not include condoms in my fiction.

Why?

Well there are copious other commentators who have rightly expressed the distinction between fantasy and reality and the fact that most readers will not take something depicted in fiction as a green flag to neglect their own responsibilities when it comes to taking care of their health and the health of their partners. I agree with these points whole-heartedly, I’m just saying they’ve been made very well elsewhere by others. What I don’t feel they address is the elephant in the room, i.e. why this is an issue in the first place.

I feel like I’m breaking ranks by saying this, but the fact of the matter is I really don’t like the way condoms feel.

I mean, let me be clear, I’m not a seventeen year old boy trying to pressure a naive teenage girl into shagging bareback with some promise like “you can’t get pregnant on your first time,” or “I swear I’ll pull out before I cum!”, it really does make a difference!

Let me do some myth busting here.

I saw an interview with a sex worker (years ago, probably on Channel 5) in which she said words to the effect of “I don’t believe it makes any difference, all the pressures you feel are the same”

Speaking as a cis male and (sort of) scientist, let me just say that that’s wrong, very wrong. Your skin is one of the most fascinating parts of your body. It’s waterproof yet porous, it has an elasticity that is frankly terrifying and every square inch of it is equipped with a mind-boggling array of sensors. The penis does not just respond to pressure the way every other bit of your skin doesn’t. I really don’t feel it should be necessary to say this but other things like temperature, texture, friction, thermal conductivity, are all tied up in that huge lump of a sense we call ‘touch’, and wrapping a thin coating of latex over your most sensitive parts makes a big difference to how things feel.

Not so much that sex is then not fun, but it isn’t as much fun as it could be. I’d say it’s the difference between swigging cheap lager and sipping a glass of Tignanello. They have the same ultimate effect, but the latter is much more fun.

But that’s not the end of it, and the rest of this post gets very subjective because I’m going to talk about what turns me on. So, y’know, park your judgment at the door because I aint gonna apologise for what the little critter in my head likes.

OK? Here goes.

I love coming inside someone. The thought of it, the sensation of it is a massive turn on for me. Letting go in a physical full body way, without having to worry about socks or tissues or getting a damp cloth to stop the sheets from crisping.

Coming into a condom, not so much. Why? Well I think part of it is that coming into a condom is sort of allowed. It’s the safe no-mess way of taking my filthy boy genitals and stopping them from getting too close to you because, you know, se is something to be done with a grimace. Whereas coming inside someone is different, it’s in the moment, it’s wanton.

One of my oldest and most powerful fantasies is of looking down at someone, eyes closed, lips wrapped around my cock, and knowing that, whilst they may not want me to, if I tell them to keep my cock in their mouth as I come, then they will. It makes the critter in my brain so very very happy.

By the head-critter lives on fantasies, he doesn’t have to deal with the real world where there’re STIs and unwanted pregnancies. And that’s why he’s not the one in charge. Though sometimes I’ll put his lead on, and take him out to the woods or the fields and let him run free for a little bit, barking at hay bales, peeing on everything and rolling in cow poo.