I am covered in condoms. My hair is gone and I am sweaty ocean without the water or waves. Just salt. I am salt.
They want to know all about my obsession with condoms. I have more than one human should own. And I am told I misuse them.
I press hot glue to the backs of each one, push onto fabric and wear it unopened.
I feel safer this way, I answer.
A long time ago, in a faraway land called New Jersey/Connecticut/Colorado/New York……lived a redhead with a body unhinged from doors, windows or welcome mats.
And in this land, condoms could not be used due to horrific allergy/ lack of access/ it just doesn’t feel as good and don’t you want it to feel good?
Years passed, and suddenly this redhead got sick. She began to understand the importance of condoms and hand washing. She decided allergies and inconvenience were no longer an excuse to risk her body’s health.
A collection began.
It was small at first. From bathrooms or baskets at parties or gay pride. Then came the hoarding and the need to not just place into pockets, but cover them.
We don’t always ask.
We don’t always inquire about histories or health scares.
We don’t insist upon formalities such as safe sexual practice.
It ruins the mood……….
so does genital warts.