Late Easter Sunday night my phone rang. It was my sister. “Hello sis. So…Bitchboy came over tonight,” she said. Bitchboy is her new plaything. He’s a 28-year-old self-absorbed redneck who is quite possibly bisexual. He’s cute though, and therefore fun to play with. So he went over to her house last night and they had a little play time. Evidently half way through the condom came off. Of course my first question was if the condom was too big for him. She swears that wasn’t the problem. Since they were half way
in through they didn’t bother looking for the condom right then. He put another one on and kept right on going.
After they finished they started looking for the missing condom. It was nowhere to be found. They checked the bed, under the bed, under the pillows, and still couldn’t find it. Then it dawned on my sister, and Bitchboy, that the condom might still be inside her. Not knowing what to do, Bitchboy pulled out his phone and started Googling it. He found out that if the condom is not removed rather quickly, it can cause an infection. So she went to the bathroom to go on a condom hunt.
She couldn’t feel it or find it. The condom must have been deep inside, and she assumed it was because he was hitting the “back wall” if you get my meaning. He must have pushed it so far in that she couldn’t reach it on her own. The only other thing to do was either to wait and see if it came out on its own, or go to a doctor to have it removed.
Well, once Bitchboy left my sister called me and told me what had happened. At first I tried to be supportive and helpful, even doing my own Google search. I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was a little worried and even more embarrassed, but we were still able to laugh about it. Especially when I asked, “How in the hell do these kinds of things happen to us?”
I really didn’t know what to tell her or what advice to give her. The only thing I could suggest was for her to do jumping jacks to try to jog it loose. Unfortunately, she said Bitchboy had already suggested that. After some more research I found a page that suggested propping one leg up high on a counter or something so that the condom can more easily be retrieved. So it seemed that yoga may be the answer…or not.
Since neither of us had any good ideas about how to retrieve the missing condom, we decided it would probably be best if she just had a drink and then went to the doctor the next day, if it hadn’t made an appearance before then. I said goodnight and good luck.
Seven minutes later she sent me a text that said, “Got it!!!” I guess the jumping jacks worked.
Happy humping! (Never stop searching.)