*WARNING* this post contains language and behaviour that may be too immature for some readers. Do not replicate at home, or, if you do, don't blame me when your kitchen is soaked in condom water.
The night before Peter and I got hitched I was temporarily homeless; I had just moved out of my shared apartment and therefore got to spend the night with my parents and sister who were visiting for the wedding. We ate dinner, toasted to the bride a mixed array of fancy-type glasses filled with fancy-type juice, and tried to finish a Ted's Bakery pie, but failed miserably.
Somewhere in that series of events my parents decided to talk to me a little about sex. I know and understand the facts of life, of course, and have for quite some time. However, in my faith we believe that sex is a precious gift of God and thus should be saved until marriage to bring the most joy and happiness to husband and wife. As such, I knew a lot more about the mechanisms of sex than the reality, and my parents wanted to prepare me for what was ahead.
Being a mature, responsible, and almost married adult I took their advice and wisdom, and then began to realize how little I knew about condoms, which is actually kind of funny, seeing as my parents didn't mention condoms at all.
When my curiosity and wondering could no longer my suppressed, I went to my luggage and opened the box of condoms Peter had purchased earlier that week. The next logical step, after poking and prodding at it, was to blow the condom up to see how large I could make it. My sister, who was wilfully helping me with this investigation of science, and I blew it up until it reached about the size of a human head - a lightbulb shaped, squishy, human head.
As we experimented, my father, who had so cheerfully been discussing such a sacred and wonderful topic as sex with his grown up and adult daughter a mere hour before, wandered past our room and asked, "are you blowing up a condom?" Never before have I heard such a strong pleading sub-context ("WHY are you blowing up a condom like you are 12 year old boys??") from such a simple question.
It was at this point that I recalled that someone once told me that soldiers keep condoms in their packs as emergency water bottles because the latter can hold gallons of water. With this fun fact at our fingertips we went to the kitchen with our latex balloon and began filling it up with water to see how far it would fill.
I think we got to about 2 gallons before I decided that I wanted to actually play with the water condom, rather than just fill it up. Although this particular breed of condom was not lubricated, I found that it was still incredibly difficult to hold, and thus laid it on the floor to roll it back and forth and watch it jiggle. The more I explored, the more hilarity I found in the situation, and when my sister returned from a trip to the bathroom, she found me poking at my condom balloon and giggling heartily. Not wanting to hog all the fun, I hopped up and offered the toy to her (by pointing, picking it up out of the sink had proved difficult enough) and went to go retrieve my phone to take a picture. When I returned I found Sharah gingerly attempting to pick up the condom. I had just enough time to open the camera on my phone and yell "Wooooaaaahhh" (picture it in slow motion), before the condom had fallen from Sharah's arms, and exploded on the floor, smattering every inch of the kitchen in warm condom water.
My parents who were in their bedroom at the time, just adjacent to the kitchen, didn't move at all from where they sat/laid, but about 3 minutes after the initial burst and our shrieks, my father turned down the podcast they were listening to and said, "please clean up whatever mess you have made," before resuming the volume once more.
So that's how I came to send my sleeping fiancé this text at 1:30am the morning of our wedding:
"Fun fact: you can fill a condom up with about a gallon of water; when you do it's like a water snake and is super hard to hold. Also, if you drop it, it will explode and soak your kitchen. Just FYI"
The night before Peter and I got hitched I was temporarily homeless; I had just moved out of my shared apartment and therefore got to spend the night with my parents and sister who were visiting for the wedding. We ate dinner, toasted to the bride a mixed array of fancy-type glasses filled with fancy-type juice, and tried to finish a Ted's Bakery pie, but failed miserably.
Somewhere in that series of events my parents decided to talk to me a little about sex. I know and understand the facts of life, of course, and have for quite some time. However, in my faith we believe that sex is a precious gift of God and thus should be saved until marriage to bring the most joy and happiness to husband and wife. As such, I knew a lot more about the mechanisms of sex than the reality, and my parents wanted to prepare me for what was ahead.
Being a mature, responsible, and almost married adult I took their advice and wisdom, and then began to realize how little I knew about condoms, which is actually kind of funny, seeing as my parents didn't mention condoms at all.
When my curiosity and wondering could no longer my suppressed, I went to my luggage and opened the box of condoms Peter had purchased earlier that week. The next logical step, after poking and prodding at it, was to blow the condom up to see how large I could make it. My sister, who was wilfully helping me with this investigation of science, and I blew it up until it reached about the size of a human head - a lightbulb shaped, squishy, human head.
As we experimented, my father, who had so cheerfully been discussing such a sacred and wonderful topic as sex with his grown up and adult daughter a mere hour before, wandered past our room and asked, "are you blowing up a condom?" Never before have I heard such a strong pleading sub-context ("WHY are you blowing up a condom like you are 12 year old boys??") from such a simple question.
It was at this point that I recalled that someone once told me that soldiers keep condoms in their packs as emergency water bottles because the latter can hold gallons of water. With this fun fact at our fingertips we went to the kitchen with our latex balloon and began filling it up with water to see how far it would fill.
I think we got to about 2 gallons before I decided that I wanted to actually play with the water condom, rather than just fill it up. Although this particular breed of condom was not lubricated, I found that it was still incredibly difficult to hold, and thus laid it on the floor to roll it back and forth and watch it jiggle. The more I explored, the more hilarity I found in the situation, and when my sister returned from a trip to the bathroom, she found me poking at my condom balloon and giggling heartily. Not wanting to hog all the fun, I hopped up and offered the toy to her (by pointing, picking it up out of the sink had proved difficult enough) and went to go retrieve my phone to take a picture. When I returned I found Sharah gingerly attempting to pick up the condom. I had just enough time to open the camera on my phone and yell "Wooooaaaahhh" (picture it in slow motion), before the condom had fallen from Sharah's arms, and exploded on the floor, smattering every inch of the kitchen in warm condom water.
My parents who were in their bedroom at the time, just adjacent to the kitchen, didn't move at all from where they sat/laid, but about 3 minutes after the initial burst and our shrieks, my father turned down the podcast they were listening to and said, "please clean up whatever mess you have made," before resuming the volume once more.
So that's how I came to send my sleeping fiancé this text at 1:30am the morning of our wedding:
"Fun fact: you can fill a condom up with about a gallon of water; when you do it's like a water snake and is super hard to hold. Also, if you drop it, it will explode and soak your kitchen. Just FYI"
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