A single girl’s guide to navigating through the bounty of men and rubbers
By Laura Collins
We all have a condom collection. It lives in our bedside drawer, or maybe in the bathroom, hidden behind the tampons. It comes in the form of a clear glass jar (if you’re bold), an old empty tea container or a random box that used to house anything other than what’s in there now.
Living in Vancouver as a mid-twenties singleton can mean that you’ve had your fair share of people flit in and out of your life. In my case, these people are men who I’ve dated here and there. You could call me a serial dater. I’m not much of a one-night-stand kind of woman, so the men that come into my life are usually there for enough time to add to my little collection. After my first sexual encounter with them, they’ll bring over a few condoms from their preferred brand, leaving them with me for the next time we hook up.
Sometimes this little delivery will happen a few times, depending on the length of their stay in my life, but when the relations end, I’ll inevitably be left with two or three condoms in my collection from that guy I dated that one time.
It started a couple years back when my first, and long-term, boyfriend and I broke up. He had been the supplier of the condoms in the past, and I figured now that I was single, it was time I took over that responsibility. So I bought a box of the only brand I knew and could trust at the time. The brand my ex used, of course.
I eased into the whole sleeping-with-other-people thing, beginning with the tried and true friends with benefits. This situation worked for me, because it allowed me to explore my sexuality without the pressure of a relationship. I wasn’t ready to have a boyfriend yet, but that didn’t mean that I didn’t want to see what else was out there.
I wanted to see what other men liked, what techniques they used, and just generally what it felt to be intimate with someone else. I was single and sexually-driven. It was go time.
Then entered the guy from the bar. This was my first relationship-y thing post-ex, and the condom collection grew extensively. Not long after we declared ourselves boyfriend and girlfriend, he brought over at least 10 to 15 condoms, all varying styles from the same brand. When I ended things with him a week or so later, realizing I wasn’t actually ready to be committed to someone, I woke up to a text from him the next day asking for his condoms back. You can imagine my surprise at his request. Really? You want to meet up to do that exchange?
And so it went from there. The additions happen quite naturally, and the collection is constantly changing. There are no more of bar-guy’s condoms left, but app-guy’s are still present. My fascination stems from the fact that I can look at the collection and remember every one of the men they came from. It’s like a little reminder of all the experiences I’ve had, lessons I’ve learned, and moments I’ve shared with those individuals.
It’s a token of an adventure that’s taken place, in and out of the bedroom. Although, let’s be real, the bedroom ones certainly stick out.
Of course, as intriguing as I find my condom collection, I do have a wish, one that I’m sure many single women do. That one day this collection will be full of one singular brand. The brand my boyfriend-turned-fiancé-turned-husband uses.
The brand that holds the experiences, lessons, and moments shared with one singular man, who’ll be kick-ass in bed.
Laura Collins likes people watching from coffee shop windows, drinking wine when she’s forced to cook, and is sure to be caught skipping from meeting to meeting while at work.