Some of you may remember my little condom story a few months back. If it doesn't ring a bell, well, that's too bad. I'm not reposting it, and I'm not linking to it. Suckers.

Anyhow, I was perusing the pages of my new Men's Fitness magazine(it's the least gay of all the so-called "men's mags") when I came across a contest asking for good condom anecdotes, and in return, the winner will be showered with free condoms. Not that I need anymore condoms, as I already have enough to last me until my dick shrivels up and falls off--so, at least until next week--but I'd be stupid to pass up an opportunity like this.

Hey, I can do this. I can write stupid stuff about condoms and we all know how I like free stuff. I was born to make shit up and be given crap for free. See how I used both "shit" and "crap" in the same sentence? Not just any dumbass could pull that off. Nope, just a rare breed of dumbass like myself.

I thought about submitting my previous condom story, but that's too easy, and many people just didn't understand that the post was a joke. But there's another condom story that needs to be told; a better condom story. A condom story for the ages.

I was a lanky college sophomore with a not-so lanky freshman girlfriend. Like many couples our age, our sex life was slightly akin to that of rabbits on speed, pumped full of Cialis. If there was a free moment between classes, we were doin' it. Yes, it.

On the couch, on the floor, on my bed, on my roommates bed; we were all about the having of the sex. I'd rather you not tell me old roommate about that last locale, though. He still owes me money, and I'd like to get it back someday. And because of all this sex we were having, we went through a lot of condoms. A lot.

To this day, I'm not really sure what we thought we were trying to accomplish by using said condoms. She was on Depo, and we were both eachothers "firsts"(there's no way anyone else would ever have given it to me at 19 years old, and she wasn't experienced enough to turn whorish), so those two worries weren't a priority. Must've been the college naivety--that I miss ever so much--that caused us to use condoms when we technically didn't have to. No matter, we still used them.

After a particularly delicious meal at the restuarant that would become the staple of our college-aged affair(Buffalo Wild Wings),we decided to head back to my dorm room for a little pants-unbuckling relaxation. Think, Hot Wings meets a female Al Bundy, and you have my then girlfriend. My roommate was gone for the weekend--my roommate was always gone for the weekend--and since we shared a three person dorm room, that meant so many more spots to defile with our teenage hump tactics. I know that sounds thoroughly disgusting, what with the buffalo wings and such, but I was 19, damn it. How many times did you turn down sex at that age? I rest my case.

We had a problem, though; no condoms. My constant begging for barebacking was met with her insistance that we absolutely needed condoms, and her insistance is what ultimately forced me down to the dorm lobby bathroom to face the coin-operated machine on the wall, the machine that dispensed generic brand condoms. I put three quarters in my pocket and walked slowly to show my displeasure in her decision, because if she was going to make me take the elevator while sportin' a boner, I was going to make her wait for sex. I sure showed her!

I walked into the bathroom, took the quarters out of my pocket, and immediately turned the sink faucet on high. This served two purposes; one, it caused a buffer between the bathroom and the main hallway right outside the door. If anyone was walking by, they couldn't hear me plunking quarters in the machine. And two, if anyone should happen to walk in the bathroom while I was standing near the condom machine, I could quickly zip over to sink and make like I was washing my hands. Why yes, I was a little shy. Why do you ask?

This machine never had the good condoms. There were no Trojans, it didn't come stocked with Lifestyles even. No, I had two choices; Ruff Rider, and Chocolate Flavored. Nice.

I always considered myself a ripe, sexual virtuouso, so of course I opted for the Ruff Rider. I was going to hump my girlfriend, and damn it, she was going to feel all nine seconds of the experience. All about stamina, I was not.

I packed the quarters together, put them in the machine, and pulled the knob for Ruff Rider and...nothing.

Nothing happened.

I pulled the knob again, and this time my three quarters came shooting out of the slot where the condom was supposed to slide gently out of, the condom that was supposed to fall ever so delicately into my cupped hands. But no, I had quarters spewed about all over the dirty bathroom floor.

After spending the next minute frantically looking for, and collecting, my loose change, I packed the quarters together, and decided to try for my namesake one last time. Quarters in and...pull. Nothing.

I wisely placed my hand in front of the slot and pulled again, and the quarters bouced off my lifeline before coming to rest against the bottom of my palm, sans condom. Dejected, I decided to try my luck at the Chocolate Flavored brother to the Ruff Rider. I didn't want a Chocolate Flavored condom, and I'm pretty sure that my girlfriend didn't want a Chocolate Flavored condom, but sometimes you've just got to make do, and synthetic food additives be damned.

I inserted the quarters, placed my hand in front of the slot, and pulled. This time a condom came out...along with my three quarters. Figuring it for a fluke, I tried again. Quarters in, hand over slot, and pull.

Another Choco-Condom.

Damn it, this machine is paying out, and I was the grand prize winner!

I repeated the process 10 or 15 more times, until my pockets were full of condoms, and at that time, I turned off the water buffer, slowly stuck my head out into the hallway to make sure nobody had been listening from outside, and ran to the right, to the bank of elevators that would take me up to my room. I entered the room with a smirk, walked over to where my girlfriend was sitting on the floor, fully clothed, and emptied the contents of my pockets all over her head. She wasn't too pleased to be bonked by the quarters, but she did laugh at all the black condoms. In fact, she was so enthused that she made me--yes, made me--go back downstairs and get more. And being the obedient, sex-driven male that I was(I've grown up so much since then, I tells ya), I complied without even hearing the end of her sentence.

After three condom runs, we ended up with a pile of close to 60 ChocoCondoms in the middle of my dorm room floor. After a few taste tests(by her, not me. I'm not that sick), we decided that we now had 60 unusable condoms because the flavor was "like dirt, but dirt that's not of this earth". Not only that, the stink they produced was other-worldy as well.

Come to think of it, that night ended like many that would follow in the year to come; with me unsexed, cursing my girlfriend while she slept.

The next day, after my girlfriend had finally made her back over to her own room, I decided to make use of at least one of the condoms by trying it on. Oh come on, all men have done it at least once since reaching the sex-having age. Well just last week I...uh, nevermind.

Anyhow, after trying on the condom, I laughed and was finally thankful that we didn't try to hump through the taste and bad smell. The sight of my black penis was just too much, and it couldn't have been more humorous to look at had I wrapped it in blue duct tape.



Just like stupid me that night, this story has no climax