These three flash stories play with the ideas of condoms being erotic.

Condom Love

“Hey, Kristi, shopping for condoms?”

“Hey, Jen. Yeah, I’m a safety girl.”

“I dunno, I don’t find them very erotic.”

“Hey, it’s real life, not some fantasy story. I don’t want to catch a disease or get pregnant.”

“You?ve got a lot there in your basket.”

“Well, I have to decide what brand and style I like best. That requires comparing them side by side, or in this case, one right after another.”

“Ribbed? tickler? flavored? Wait, both extra large and small?”

“Well, Damien’s extra large and Brett’s kinda small.”

“Huh?”

“I told you. I have to compare them one right after another.”

“But that’s a lot of condoms!”

“I’ll only need ten or twelve guys. Speaking of which, would you and your boyfriend like to come to a party Saturday night?”

Imagination

“Sorry, Babe. Condoms just aren’t sexy.”

“Mmm, I think that’s a failure of imagination.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Well, imagine that we had one right now, that I was slowly ripping the wrapper open, sliding the condom out, smiling at you the whole time?”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm hmmm. Then I’d have to unroll it a bit. you know, make it all stretchy, before rolling it down your big, hard cock.”

“You’d put it on?”

“Well, of course! I wouldn’t use my mouth, like some women can, but you’d love my hands just the same. Stroking you slowly. making sure the ring rolled all the way to the bottom, keeping you stiff the entire time? I might just have to play with you a bit, admiring how big you look in that sheer wrapper.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm hmmm. Of course, you know that once your dick’s in a condom, what else it’s gonna be in, right?”

“Your pussy?”

“Yeah, that’s right. My hot… tight… pussy, just aching for you. Just dying to feel you slowly… fuck me… hard.”

“Oh, God.”

“So? want me to get a condom?”

“Hell, yeah!”

That Moment

A True Story

We’re making out on her couch. It’s the third date and nerves and adrenaline race through every ounce of my body. I want her, and I think she wants me, but I’m not quite sure. It’s the rush of maybe/maybe-not balanced on the knife edge of desire.

My hands glide over her curves, burrowing under clothes, caressing where I can. She moans and presses against me. Her wetness betrays her own desire as my finger strokes and slides.

But yet… fingers to full sex is a big step. Especially for such near strangers as us. Does she want me to be the brute, seizing her in my grip, yanking her clothes off in my relentless desire? Or will such a Heathcliff move leave me slapped and scorned?

Yet, in this dance, she avoids the lead. No fingers of her own on my cock. No trailing kisses across my neck. She receives and groans and squirms, but at my pace, my insistence.

So what to do?

I meet her eyes and smile warmly. “Should I get a condom?”

“God, yes!”

I kiss her again, hard. Then I take her hand and pull her toward the bedroom.

Author’s Notes