Tuesday, May 13, 2008

I'm forshizz up the spout: The condom broke part 2.

I thought I was suffering from seasickness. I was on a houseboat at Lake Powell afterall, on vacation with my parents and the family next door. Being motion sick would have been par for the course.

By the time the vacation was over, my period was late.

I had just graduated from highschool mere weeks before. I looped tape on the inside of my mortarboard to keep it on my head because I didn't have enough hair to bobby pin the cap onto and they refused to let me order a better fitting male cap. My little sister's future sister in law walked in the ceremony with her pregnant belly obvious under her gown, newly married. Shameful.

There was a lot of talk about which girls in my class were leaving their highschool careers a little bit preggers. Today it's accepted (or at least tolerated) that there will be pregnant girls, but fifteen years ago, graduating from one of the Utah-iest highschools in Utah? Yeah...it was still very naughty.

In my senior psychology class an anonymous poll the teacher gave asked, among other social questions of interest to teens, if you had lost your virginity. What the hell, it's anonymous right? I ticked off that I had ridden the baloney pony. I had done a little Adam and Eve'n. I had crashed the custard truck. I had fornicated.

Out of 45 kids in that class it was revealed that three of us admitted to having once had sex. We all looked about the room, studying the faces we had grown up with, guessing at who, and how, and with whom. Some looked right at me. Some scanned right over my desk in the front row not even considering me capable. After all, I was brainy, nerdy even, unfeminine with short hair, and flatchested. I didn't fit into the typical loose date mold. Beyond that, anyone that was considered not a good follower of Utah's dominant religion was suspect. The church guidelines are specific on that point...keep your clothing on and your body parts covered, until marriage, after you've served your missions. I wasn't much of a partier.

Though the loss of my virginity to someone else was as irresponsible and impulsive and stupid as it gets, when I became intimate with my now husband we had discussed the what ifs. Not just putting on a condom and engaging in blind spermcide coated latex faith, but realistically looking at what our horny little butts were really doing and what that might lead to if we weren't careful. I suppose we could have done more, but there really wasn't anyplace to get the pill without the desk receptionist calling a parent and clearing it with them, even at age 18. Remember, this is still the Utah-iest location in Utah, Planned Parenthood had trouble setting up housekeeping at the time. Justin and I loved each other and we bought condoms. We used them. I remember one of them was blue.

It wasn't obvious to either of us that the condom had failed. Our condom never burst like a balloon. It didn't slip. It hadn't fallen off. As far as we knew everything was intact when it came to excitement, plateau, orgasm and resolution.

However, Houston, the eagle had landed.

I'm a condom failure rate statistic.

I called Justin when we got home from houseboating. We hadn't seen each other for three weeks, in between my seasickness and his summer obligation to the National Guard, so the phone call was supposed to be a happy event. We missed each other. Being told your girlfriend suspects she's pregnant wasn't on the agenda. Ring ring...Hello...My period's late.

I took a test later that evening. It was as subtle as our condom...that is, you couldn't look at it and tell one way or the other...which I took as a good sign. What I took as a bad sign was the continued nausea, the absence of any sort of menses, and the clearly positive test I took three days later.

You can't fool Mother Nature.

Stay tuned: Tommorrow presents, "The right person will still think the sun shines out your ass: The condom broke part 3."

1 comment:

  1. I love this series, Becky. You've got a gift for story-telling.


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