Safer Safer Sex

Anyone who finds a frank discussion of gay sex — unencumbered by polite words and descriptions — in any way offensive should probably give this entry a pass. No, really. You’ll thank me later. I mean it, Mom.

Oh, if you’ve also got a problem with overly long, rambling and anecdotal information — or if you object to the noninclusion of nearly-identical heterosex acts — please, go to Wikipedia. In just 4 minutes we can save the world, but it’ll take longer than that to read the rest of this entry.

You know me as a pretty easygoing kinda guy, but I must confess: nothing drives me crazier than the phrase “condom fatigue”, especially when it’s used to rationalize the stupid risks gay men take when it comes to their health and the health of their community and those for whom they claim love. Do you hear about “seatbelt fatigue”? How about “not-drinking-gasoline fatigue”? Come on, grow the fuck up.

So, as I mentioned a couple of days ago, as I left my doctor’s office, after receiving the results of my 30th (or so) HIV test, my doc pressed a fistful of female condoms into my hand. “Now, more than ever,” he said. I replied with a “thanks, but… what are you talking about, the continuing — and very depressing — seroconversion rates among gay men?”

He said: “Well, there is that, but I’m talking about increasing stories from bottom guys who report that the condoms they thought were tightly rolled down their penetrators mysteriously disappear at some point in the action.”

The fuck? No, really. THE FUCK?!?

If you’re an HIV-negative gay man who wants to stay HIV-negative — and if you also like buttfucking — you have exactly two options:

1. Find yourself an HIV-negative partner with whom you trust your life and make a strict, no-exceptions monogamy pact — for the life of your relationship. Both of you get tested, both of you get tested again three months later, both of you get tested again three months after that and lose the condoms with the proviso that neither of you ever, ever strays, not even once. Ever.
   Good luck on that, by the way. I suppose it’s possible, in the same way that there are some truly extraordinary things possible in this world, but I’m realist enough to not bet my life on it. Whether you do or not is your choice. I’ve been around the block. I know how this gay monogamy thing usually works and, man, would it ever suck to find out your totally-monogamous boyfriend’s been messing around on you by finding out you just seroconverted.
2. Barrier protection, always following the proper usage guidelines to ensure maximum effectiveness.

I sincerely do wish there was a less blunt way to illustrate the situation and I totally wish there were more options to offer you, but there simply aren’t at this time, so make your choice now.

Actually, hold on, there’s more to Option #2 than you might be thus far aware. And, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why that is.

But first… I get it. Traditional condoms are a pain. They can tear, they’re constrictive, you’re limited to water-based lubricants, you’re allergic to latex. I know, I’ve heard it all. And my response is: replace the torn condom immediately, buy a bigger condom, buy a better water-based lube and use a polypropylene condom.

“I really want the intimacy of sex without condoms.” Good for you! I really want to win the lottery, pal, but the chance of doing that (without risking far more than I’m willing to risk) approaches zero. Besides, you’re side-tracking this discussion in 2008 with your unrealistic dreams. Wake the fuck up.

And now you’re thinking “okay, b, I know your drill, what are you getting at? It’s not like I didn’t see the mock ad at the top of the post, anyway, so spill.”

So, yeah, what you probably haven’t heard, or what you might’ve heard and haven’t yet seriously considered, is that there’s another form of barrier protection for Men Who Like To Stick Their Wieners In Other Men’s Buns, and that form of protection is…

Female Condoms.

Huh? Female condoms? Simply (and, again, bluntly) stated, they’re bags you stick in your butt so the guy porking you doesn’t need to wear one. And the receptive partner has more control than with regular condoms. They’re made of polypropylene, they’re stronger than latex and they transmit body heat better than latex. When used properly — more on that in a mo’ — they’re as safe as traditional condoms. Provided you’re using traditional condoms properly, too, that is.

Now, what I’ve just told you is my opinion. If you’re interested in seriously investigating these dealios, you absolutely must arm yourself with as much information as possible and you absolutely must consult with your health care practitioner. I’ll get to the conflicting information is a moment. But you need to talk to your doctor if you’re at all skeptical about my Professor Harold Hill-ish enthusiasm for this product. I mean, you should be talking to your health care practitioner on a regular basis about safer sex anyway, right? Right?

So, yeah. Female condoms are marketed in North America under the brand name Reality™. Made for a woman but strong enough for a man. They’re made of polypropylene, approximately as thick as latex condoms but about three times as wide and a little longer. There’s a flexible rubber ring around the open end — that’ll stay on the outside of your butthole — and there’s another flexible rubber ring, loose, in the bottom of the bag. You squeeze that ring to insert it in your bum. You push the whole contraption inside with your finger or, I dunno, can you think of anything longer than it is thick? Use one of those.

Imagine the left hand, below, is your butthole and the demonstrator is your Dream Hunk (or Dreamsicle, if you will):

The Reality™ condom is lubricated to make insertion easier. The lube on the outside also means it might slip out, so whatever you stick inside the condom, if you know what I mean (and I think you do), do make sure it has tons of lube — tons — on it. You can leave the insertion ring inside or you can take it out; there are two schools of thought on that, and I’ll get to them in a minute.

Let’s talk about pros and cons. First, the bad news.

1. They’re a bitch to insert. Well, no they’re not. They’re tricky to insert, if you’re a n00b. That’s only because they’re slippery. But you’ll get used to it, the same way you got used to something going into your butt: Practice, practice, practice.
2. They can pull out. Yes, they will. They will pull out if you didn’t pay attention to what I said about that ton of lube you need to put on whatever you’re sticking inside. Stick it back in or put a new one in.
3. They’re way more expensive than regular condoms. You’ve got me there. They are. Anywhere from three to five bucks each, unless you purchase them in bulk on the Intertubes for half that cost. I suggest you contact your local HIV-prevention organization to see if they have free samples. If they don’t, they need to get some, stat. Tell them bstewart23 said so.
4. That “female” in the name is a turn-off. You seriously need to grow the fuck up. I’d just like to point out — for those who haven’t already come to this conclusion — that self-professed “total tops” are probably the nelliest of all the gays and if they have a problem stickin’ it into a product with “female” in the name, well, that just blows my mind. Geez, think up another name for them. PigBags™ comes to mind, but it’s your call.
5. Ouch. Yes, sometimes they can irritate the lining of your colon. There’s a seam along the side of the polypropylene which some say can scrape your interior, and if you don’t remove the rubber insertion ring, whatever might be thrusting against the ring will in turn be thrusting against your interior. That can cause irritation and even some bleeding. You should always worry about blood, of course. But if you’ve been around the block, you know there can be irritation and bleeding using regular condoms, too. Move on to other activities. Cripes, do I need to tell you everything?
6. But I can feel the outer ring! Waaaaaaahhhhh! Let me get this straight: you have a big wiener pounding inside you and you’re worried about the feel of a rubber ring tickling your bumhole?
7. But I can see the outer ring! Yes, yes you can. You’re supposed to see it. That’s how you know it’s still in place. Sort of like the way you can see a regular condom on your dick, so you know it is still in place. Duh. Think of it this way: “I can see the ring encasing my turgid member, ergo I need not stop.” Anyway, shouldn’t you be making eye contact with your partner at this point, or is he just some hole for you to use?
8. Taking them out can be… interesting. Yes, if you left the insertion ring inside, it’s… unwieldy. Sometimes you really have to pull. The ring that’s causing so much resistance is the same ring which kept the contraption inside, where it belongs. And you can’t flush them down the toilet, or you shouldn’t. Saint Bono and Al Gore would get mad. And you’ve already gotten Laura Bush mad by what you’ve just done, you pervert.
9. Taking them out can be… messy. Yes, I suppose, if you weren’t spotlessly clean inside in the first place. (This is actually a benefit; more on this in a bit). But look at it this way: would you rather deal with a surprise mess when you pull the condom out in the privacy of your bathroom, or when your regular-condom-wearing partner pulls his tool out on your Ralph Lauren duvet cover? I rest my case.
10. Like regular condoms, female condoms do have a failure rate. Yes, and that rate goes way down if they’re used properly. But, y’know what? If you’re going to cite condom failure rates as a rationale for not using this condom or that condom, just lose them entirely and throw caution and safety — and your life — to the wind. That was sarcasm, people. Wrap it up, every time.
11. Where the hell can I get them? Well, you should be able to get them at a drugstore, and in any large urban drugstore you can. Curiously, not in Canada; at least, not in downtown Toronto, the largest, urbanest center in the country. You can order them online from a variety of places. And many public health organizations hand them out, too. You’ll need to ask. That can be a bit embarrassing, though not as embarrassing as going to your doctor or the clinic for an HIV test six weeks after some asshole stuck it in you without protection.

Now the good news:

1. They’re durable. Polypropylene is strong.
2. They’re thin. They transmit body heat better than latex, though be honest, now — is it the body heat you’re really interested in?
3. It’s like you’re barebacking! No, it’s not. It’s ensuring safer, hot sex with barrier protection for the receptive, not insertive, partner. Gay men really, honestly, seriously need to stop this trend toward normalizing barebacking as the ultimate in intimacy and edgy, renegade sex. It’s the ultimate in STUPID AND RECKLESS AND NOTHING GOOD WILL COME OF IT. What could be hotter than doing everything to ensure you and your partner(s) will be having lots of really hot sex for many years to, er, come?
4. You’re not confined to water-based lube. They’re not made of latex, so the prohibitions against oil-based lube don’t apply. Break out the olive oil — extra virgin! — for some kitchen-floor action! Apply a shmear of Vaseline™ for some standing-under-the-shower-spray buddy fun!
5. Is exploring new and fun (and safe!) ways of pleasuring your partner(s) hot? Well, duh.
6. They afford additional protection not available with regular condoms. It could be argued that the outer ring and the bag accompanying it protect to some small degree the buttlips — no laughing, you guys! — from STIs like anal warts. Not a lot, but a bit, nonetheless.
7. Fewer embarrassing surprises. I hate to belabour this point but, really, an occasional ew! comes with the territory. Accidents do happen, and aren’t they better happening in the bathroom during removal than upon withdrawal, on your bestest linens? Don’t you want to shnuggle afterwards, rather than run for a hot, soapy shower right away?
8. They’re flipperific. If you like to swap places — and, really, all the cool gays are doing it these days — you’ll find no better protection than both of you wearing female condoms. Pull out, and all that’s on your pole is lube and, possibly, manjuice. Yes, it can go in your partner’s mouth, if you’ve established that unprotected, pre-ejaculatory oral sex is within your realm of safety.
   But, if you’re like certain greedy, homosexual bloggers and don’t want the other guy to have all the fun, it’s just a matter of the penetrator pulling out, lubing up his partner, switching positions and climbing aboard. Sweet.

So, yeah. That’s quite a lot to digest, I know. But you totally can’t limit your investigation to the above. You really must talk to your health care practitioner. Ask as many questions as possible. Get his or her advice. If they don’t know about using female condoms for anal sex, they seriously must find out. It’s their job.

Here’s a source of information for you: AIDS (The Official Journal of the International AIDS Society. And AIDSmap is another. Both of these sources give helpful information. The State of New York’s Department of Health does not recommend female condoms for anal sex, but I would caution that their reason for frowning on them is “because use of the female condom during anal sex requires removal of the inner ring, the female condom is unlikely to stay in place during anal intercourse.” I believe I’ve dealt with this concern, above.

And, for the record? I’ve been using them — and enthusiastically promoting them to, um, friends — for over a decade. I’m almost evangelical about them, hence my doctor’s donation to the cause.

So there. If you didn’t know about female condoms, you know a lot more now. Talk to your health care practitioner or HIV/AIDS resource counselor. As I stated a couple of days ago, safer sex is hot sex. The hottest sex. Ensuring you’ll be able to have hot, safe sex, over and over — lots and lots of really fuckin’ hot sex, for many, many years! — with minimal fear and no regret at all is an integral part of hot sex.

Note: the author eagerly requests additional information from readers, dissenting or affirming, and will incorporate such material in the text of this post.