So here’s a question that came up (ha!) while Candy and I were discussing Harlequins with boss/employee relationships. One of my guilty-pleasure stories is a Jude Deveraux wherein the CEO tricks a woman from the typing pool into spending the weekend with him at a friend’s Christmas wedding (why? Because she could tell him apart from his twin brother, duh!).
At one point, they have sex without protection, and she’s wigging out, while he’s totally calm about it. Turns out, of course, he’s never gone without a condom when gettin’ it on, which is a sign that she is The One. One ride on the bareback pony and you’re practically married? Oh. Come. On.
The whole “twin without a condom” true love scenario is just peculiar -almost as peculiar as that one Linda Howard where he rolled on the condom about an hour before they got it on, and just wore it under his pants. It wasn’t hot, it was creepy!
Condom-as-luuuurve-device? Ugh. It’s so not sexy. I mean, there’s no way to make a condom sexy! It’s an obligatory element but it’s not sexy or fun. I mean, it’s a rubber sheath that smacks you with reality. Putting it on with your teeth is interesting, and from what I’ve read there’s lots that can be done with it, some lube, and a hot washcloth, but still, condoms are not romantic.
Then I thought, “Hm! I should ask the Bitchery, for surely they know.” So I ask: can a condom in a sex scene be sexy? Can it be introduced in a manner that carries all the appropriate weight of its use, indicating that the characters aren’t complete idiots about STDs, but also not halt the hot n’heavy chemistry in its tracks? Got any examples of “Hot Hot Condom, Baby, Yeah?”
Latex + Taste buds = dry heave.
And as a corollary to that: Latex + spermicidal lubricant + taste buds = dry heave + numb mouth
Not that I’d know ANYTHING about that, since I’m still a virgin and all. *koff*
If the heroine doesn’t want sex because she’s conscious about the health hazards, is she really going to put it in her MOUTH?
Most people don’t view oral sex as being as dangerous as vaginal or anal sex, and while it’s true that the risks of getting something fatal are slightly lower, some STDs that can be transmitted via the ole giney can be transmitted via the oral cavity, too—gonorrhea, for example.
When in doubt, I say a good old-fashioned handjob is the answer. Awww, doesn’t that sound like it could be an inspiring, soul-lifting song? “Handjob is the answer…” “Give handjobs a chance…”
Reading these posts enmasse produced a underlying theme (at least to me).
Once again, (or perhaps the truth has always been) that sex is dirty. Bad. Dangerous.
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I don’t know that the underlying theme is that sex is bad, but it cannot be denied that casual and/or unprotected sex in the current health scenario is dangerous.
I’d disagree with the dirty and bad parts—but sex can be dangerous. Because let’s face it: we’re swapping a lot of intimate fluids, here. And although diseases like syphilis are now rarely fatal, we instead have HIV to worry about—not to mention viral hepatitis.
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Agreed, through and through. A sentence or three giving a nod to prudence is worth it to me. People watching out for themselves and each other is hot, too.
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Not to mention the fact that not all condoms are thick, yellowish and packaged in those dingy tan wrappers à la Trojan. They come in varying colors and textures, some so thin they barely feel like they’re there. Hey, since it’s a necessary measure, partners may as well enjoy the fun in being able to choose between ribbed and studded, or whether tonight’s love glove will be green or purple.
I don’t look or not for them, but I dont’ read a lot of contemporaries. I do think they can be hot (mention the sound of tearing foil or whatever) if mentioned discretly. Usually not sexy if it takes more than half a sentence to discuss.
A follow-up question of sorts:
If the first encounter establishes that our heroine and hero are practicing safe sex, is it just assumed from then on that they are? I’ve seen a few cases of condoms being handled well (erm, text wise. Though I suppose the other way too) the first time and then not mentioned again. I usually assume we’re just not getting that much detail the rest of the time.
As crass as it may sound ladies, when you’re talking about six or seven inches of rock-hard enthusiasm that’s all for you, who cares what it’s wearing?
I care. Now, I suppose if I knew that those six or seven inches had never stood up and saluted anyone else I might be a bit more lenient. But all the enthusiasm in the world is not going to suddenly turn my brain to mush and encourage me to risk my long-term health (cervical cancer, anyone??).
I definitely go with the “if you’ve demonstrated once that they’re careful, I’ll happily assume they’re careful every time so you can get on with the jiggly bits uninterrupted” school of thought 🙂
Personally, I only find condoms sexy in novels when they’re used in a humorous way or illuminate the character(s) somehow. I once read a scene in a mainstream novel where the hero had bought condoms before visiting a woman, then when it came time to do the deed, he worried that she would think him presumptuous for bringing them, but then it turned out she had a whole variety pack in her nightstand. (He chooses extra strength because he’s been celibate for an ungodly amount of time.)
But if it’s not contributing to character development, just a brief mention is all I need. I do NOT need details about the wrapper tearing or the thing sliding on (unless, again, it’s funny). Eww. But then I’m not really fond of having every moment of foreplay and sex documented. I’ve got an imagination—let me use it.
My favorite appearance by a condom in a fictional romantic situation is in Evanovich’s Stepghanie Plum series. I know the books aren’t straight Romance, but they’re close enough, IMO. From the time when Joe chooses to watch sports on tv rather than risk a run to the drugstsore, to the debate over the status of the relationship based on how many condoms Joe is planning on buying, to the tally Stephanie ultimately keeps the first weekend they finally “do it,” Evanovich used them as more than just an inconvenience or a necessity. She worked them into the plot, into the relationship, and into the consciousness of the reader in really funny and even natural ways.
I am definitely in the camp of being distracted if H&H do NOT use a condom in contemporary Romance and erotica, primarily because the reality of STD’s is just too much for me to forget, even for the sake of “fantasy”—and beyond all the diseases Candy mentioned, now there’s HPV, which parks itself in the body and sets up camp with anything from warts to cervical cancer, and they’ve only started testing for that routinely.
I wonder if the preference for or against condoms relates to whether a reader has been with only one sexual partner in her life or more than that, but I would rather an awkward reference to such protection than none at all. Although one reference is usually enough to convince me that the H&H are always dressed for success thereafter.
Oh, and thanks to LFL for explaining the whole Italics thing!
I totally agree with the Stephanie Plum reference, Robin. IMO, the use of the condoms serves to make the scene even funnier.
I thought of another funny condom scene: Linda Howard’s OPEN SEASON where “Miss Daisy”, the librarian, is buying condoms in the small town Southern pharmacy where faster than a New York minute everyone’s going to know she bought the PartyPak.
When they finally get around to using the PartyPak, there’s a great scene where they’re all hot and heavy until Jack realizes the condoms are purple, blue, green and bubble gum flavored, which kind of puts him off his stride.
It was amusing and sexy.
Dammit, I wanted to mention the Stephanie Plum bit. When Morelli tells her he has a gigantic crate of them? Funny. As. Hell.
May I also nominate Chris Tanglen’s ‘A Third Party’ and ‘A Third (And Fourth) Party’ where the married couple don’t bother with condoms, but their invited… er… friends do. This does find the heroine wishing she’d thought to bring a receptacle to hold all the part-used condoms, or she’ll tread on them and go A over T.
More often than not, I find the mention of condoms to be an intrusion (although as demonstrated, it can be bloody funny). But then, as a modern gal, I tend to simply assume that the characters I’m led to believe are intelligent individuals, are bright enough to use protection anyway. After all, you’re silly not to. So I don’t need to be told.
Okay, let me offer a view of my previous assertions through a fictional lens. Try this on for size, SB’s:
“Pardon me, darling,” he said, “but do you mind holding off for one moment while I slip this on?”
“Aw, sugar,” she replied, rolling off of him, “when I got six inches of rock hard enthusiasm smilin’ up at me, I don’t care what it’s wearin’.”
(ps: ironically, the verification word for this post is “services12”
Exactly ,cat.
Do we really need to be told in a self- conscious, sex educational,must-be- socially-responsible kind of way?
Perhaps we should be informed that the heroine always wipes to the back and not to the front as well. Snorts.
I like BC to be addressed, if only so I don’t dread the -oops!- baby coming up in the plot.
Susan Johnson’s historicals do contraception in interesting ways.
I don’t know if I think of condoms as particularly sexy, but I definitely notice when I read a scene where the couple doesn’t use them.