Free I'm Having More Fun Than You by Aaron Karo Page B

always paramount, however. For instance, if I take a girl home from the bar, even if we go back to her place, it’s expected that I’ll have a condom. What respectable single guy wouldn’t? But it’s best not to reveal how respectable you are too soon. I was once at a cocktail party, hitting on the chick sitting next to me on the sofa. When I went to grab my phone out of my pocket, a condom fell out too. The girl looked at me with such disdain as the condom just sat between us for a moment, taunting me. I had little use for it that night.
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    SHOPPING GUIDE
     
    Purchasing condoms is embarrassing enough without having to stand there reading each label. For years, I’ve tried to find a type that actually felt somewhat enjoyable, which inevitably means experimenting with ones that are less effective. First I tried extra strength, but I didn’t like those, so then I tried extra sensitive, then ultra comfort, ultimate feeling, enhanced pleasure, high sensation, extra thin, ultra thin, and finally ones that I’m pretty sure came with a warning on the package that read: “Not for use with vagina.”
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    I was going through security at LAX once and a TSA worker was reminding travelers to remove all coins, keys, and credit cards from their pockets. When it was my turn, the guy repeated his mantra, only this time he said, “Please remove all coins, keys, credit cards, and condoms from your pockets.” I did a double take. First of all, can condoms actually set off the metal detector? Second of all—and more importantly—do I just look like the kind of dude who carries condoms onto an airplane? Granted, that was the look I was going for, but I didn’t think I could pull it off. It was like being put on a watch list for the mile-high club.
    Despite the bother of choosing, buying, and carrying condoms, I always practice safe sex. But I still hate it. I lose all sensation. I put a condom on and all of a sudden I’m in that Gatorade commercial. I’m like, “Is it in you?” And there’s nothing worse than thinking I’m fucking, only to look down to see that I’m actually penetrating the space between the girl’s ass and the mattress. Sometimes it just happens. I can’t tell, especially if they’re nice sheets. When I hook up with a girl and the next day my friend asks me how the sex was, I brag, “The thread count was fantastic.”
    CLOTHES ENCOUNTERS
     
    My buddy went home with this girl once, and when he tried to take her pants off, she said, “No, wait, you can’t. It’s a long story.” Ladies, if you don’t want us to take your pants off, don’t say “long story.” Believe me, you don’t want to let guys’ imaginations run wild. When my buddy told me what happened, I said to him, matter-of-factly, “Well, obviously she has a cock.” He started freaking out. I was like, “What other explanation could there be? Long story short, she has a penis.”
    I’ve always hated getting naked with a girl. I love being naked with a girl, just not the effort it takes to get there. First of all, I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve never taken off a bra with one hand. Sorry, can’t do it. I’ve actually watched several YouTube videos on the subject. I still have no idea. If that wasn’t bad enough, these skinny jeans are now all the rage. They are the bane of my existence. They are impossible to get off without one, if not both participants breaking a sweat. What I’d like to see next season is girls’ jeans that rip off like basketball warm-ups. But I’ll settle for boot cut.
    Nothing is more disappointing to me than seeing a girl’s thong on the floor. It’s just so insubstantial—I feel like I worked so hard to get that sucker off and what does it do as soon as it hits the floor? Curl up in a little ball like it’s frightened. It looks like one of those Shrinky Dinks we used to put in the oven when we were kids. A thong on the floor blends in and disappears like camouflage. The girl asks me