I could drive the extra 30 minutes to a Target, grab a box of contraceptives, and take my ass through the self-check-out lane. Then no one would have to see what I’m buying.
Or hell, I bet they sell condoms on Amazon. I could open the app now, order a jumbo box, have them delivered before the end of the week, and never have to buy them again in my life.
But I didn’t do that? No. No, I decided to torture myself.
Slowing my steps, I glance around to be sure I’m alone in the aisle.
After triple checking, I stop in front of the condom display.
And it’s a whole freaking display.
Why are there so many?
My palms feel sweaty already, so I rub them against my hips.
This is it. This is my punishment for being a bad person. Having to stand here, with the fear of being caught by someone I know, and have my sexual inexperience rubbed in my face.
I start to reach out, then I let my hand fall back to my side.
For real, why are there so many? How do I know which one to get?
Forcing my anxiety to calm, I focus on reading the labels. Trying to figure out which one to get.
Ultra-thin. Her pleasure. Lubricated. Bareskin. Mixed Pleasure. Magnum. Slim. XL. Barely there. Extra Sensitive. Tropical flavor.
Flavor?
Is that a thing now? Are you supposed to suck a dick through a condom?
My heartrate kicks up.
Is that what people do?
I can’t overthink this.
Reaching for the Her Pleasure box, I pause. Is that selfish? Should I get one forhispleasure?
But looking once more through the selection I don’t see one for him.
Or are they all for him?
Thinking of Axel and how big he is, I start to reach for the XL box. I bet he’d need big condoms.
Then I pause, my arm outstretched.
I’m not buying these for Axel. He’s not the one I’m going to sleep with. He left. No number. No note. No way to reach him.
I need to put him out of my thoughts.
Plus, if I ever do see him again, I owe him an apology, not a condom blowjob.
I move my hand towards the lubricated box but quickly divert. I don’t think that’s an issue for me. Sure, it’s been… just that once… but I know my body. I can’t do much right but slipperiness isn’t one of my many problems.
I’m still deciding what to do when I hear footsteps.
Holding my breath, I listen and determine they’re nearing my aisle.
Panicking, I grab the closest box within reach, and, hugging it to my chest, I hurry away for the approaching steps.