gullybogan

Flickr photo by Gullybogan.

Dear Reader,

There’s something unmistakable, isn’t there, about a discarded condom wrapper that you happen upon in the wild?

You’re not going to see one and think, gee, maybe that’s a mint wrapper?

Like, frinstance.

I got out of my car in the carpark of Mister Widget’s Universal Widget Manufactory on Thursday, and there, practically under my feet, was a silver foil square that i immediately knew was a condom wrapper.

Prurient

I must admit i have a morbid fascination with discarded condom wrappers.

They’re like little postcards from the male-female interface.

Dear Passerby,

A moment ago i was having some excellent foreplay with a very lovely naked lady, and now things have taken a turn for the penetrative, so i thought i’d drop you a line. Seconds after i sent this postcard out into the world, i would have rolled onto my erect phallus the rubber tube that had been in this postcard seconds before i sent it out into the world. I have sent the postcard to you, dear Passerby, by throwing it out of the window of my car, prior to inserting my erect, rubber-sheathed phallus into the slotted labial region of my aforementioned naked lady friend. Hope you are well. Don’t particularly wish you were here.

Lots of indifference,
The Dude Who Intercoursed the Naked Lady

It’s a prurient interest on my behalf, i suspect. It’s a little like asking a couple if they mind if i watch while they have a covert root in their car, and i’ve stumbled upon them by chance.

Or, perhaps, watching without asking permission.

But i am intrigued, nonetheless. However wrong-headed it may be.

So i’m standing there in the carpark, looking down at this condom wrapper. My curiosity gets the better of me, and i have to flip it over, since it’s batch number side up, so i can see what brand it is. I’m wondering, of course, if it’s the same brand i use.

I flip it over with the edge of my shoe, like it was a jelly fish caught amongst some littoral wrack. Later, my OCD senses tingling, i will have to perform a gymnastic feat in the men’s toilets, in order to wash the contamination off of my shoe.

It’s a different brand.

The Contempo Rough Rider, by Ansell

The plot thickens at the words “Rough Rider”. To me, reading between the lines, that means that there was possibly some anal, and not labial, action involved in the posting of this little missive.

If you hit the Ansell website, you’ll find that the Contempo pack has a chick on the cover, sure, but she’s wearing leather and riding a motorcycle.

Which sounds like cross-market appeal to me.

The Rough Rider is fitted with little rubber bumps, for

When you want extra stimulation, Rough Rider is the one. Raised studs on Rough Rider provide extra sensation and excitement. Rough Rider… for those seeking to shed inhibitions and maximize performance.

Maybe i’m wrong. In any event, it doesn’t really matter one way or the other.

Except that i am now considering the possibility that this was not some dude and a naked lady, but perhaps some dude and another dude.

Which i have no problem with.

Except that i realise now that there is a definite vicariousness in this interest i have.

I find myself not repulsed, dear Reader, since i have been raised by television to accept all kinds of ways of being, but i do find myself less interested in decoding the scene, now that it may have been two dudes involved, and not a dude and a lovely lady.

Yes, thinking about sex is a sexual thing for me.

A Sexual thing

They say the test for whether or not something is sexual is to imagine someone of the opposite gender doing it, and seeing if you feel the same way. Like, there was this guy just finishing at the hardware store checkout, and his hands were full of manly do-it-yourself items, so when the cute teenage girl behind the counter handed him the docket, he indicated that she should just put it in his mouth.

Would he have done that if the Point-of-Sale Assistant had been a dude? I think not.

So, sexual thing.

Me pondering about the circumstances of a condom wrapper having arrived in our carpark, so long as it’s a dude and a chick, but not interested if it’s two dudes?

Sexual thing.

Mea culpa.

Environmental condoms

I’m not all that sure that i want ppl intercoursing in our carpark. Regardless of the genitular equipment being used by the participants. Especially not if they’re going to be doing it right where i park.

If the carpark of Mister Widget’s Universal Widget Manufactory is to become a haunt of young folks out and about in pursuit of a little random furtive intercoursery, then, well, i’d rather it didn’t.

It doesn’t really matter that the participants are male-male or male-female. It’s the status of “haunt” that concerns me.

If i’m stepping out of my car every morning into a sea of discarded condom wrappers and – quite possibly – discarded condoms, then my quality of life will have been diminished.

Starting the day with all these postcards from ppl having sex in my carparking spot is a little like opening up my email and being told that my penis is too small, but that i can get this pill/surgery that will make me a sex god.

It makes one feel ineffectual, all those constant emails. It’s like if you tell a child that they’re an idiot often enough, they’ll start to believe it.

So i can do without being made to feel sexually inadequate as i walk from my car to my desk, as well as when i open my Outlook.

Sex out of doors

And besides, i thought nobody did sex out of doors anymore. I thought most young folk complete their sexual transactions in the comfort of their own bedrooms, in these heady and enlightened final days of western civilisation. They just move the teddybears over and get on with it, while mum and dad sit in the next room watching Gordon Ramsay giving some poor-bastard wannabe chef the f-stick over some soggy asparagus.

Although, there is a certain carpark at a certain retarding basin where one can happen upon all manner of discarded sexual liaison-related equipment, even today. I remember taking Princess there one day to feed the ducks (not a metaphor, we were really feeding ducks) and as we alighted from our vehicle, we were greeted by a pile of condom wrappers, three actual dried-up condoms, and – the finishing touch – a brassiere hanging from a wattle bush.

So maybe ppl are still having sex out in the open, away from their Playstations.

I just hope that they don’t make a habit of having that sex in my carparking spot.

Yours,
Gullybogan