She’s nowhere near naked in any of the images I call up, but I’ve got an excellent imagination. It’s the only thing I’ve had to go on for the past six months. Her Facebook account has a few pictures of her wearing something tighter or more revealing, but it’s not as good as the memories. It doesn’t matter what she’s wearing—the real thing is always better than a captured memory of something I didn’t get to experience.
Lydia crawls across the bed, now bare from head to toe, and swings a leg over my hips. If she slides up, I’m going to be inside of her. Very slowly, she moves forward, inching closer to welcoming me into her body. We’ve done this so many times that I know her moves like they are second nature to my own. I place my hand on her lower belly to stop her.
“Condom,” I grunt out and reach into the half-open top drawer of the nightstand. She bites her lip and rocks against my hand. I fish a square foil packet out of the drawer and place it between my teeth. If I move my other hand, she’s going to slide right onto me.
The foil is smooth against my top lip, but there’s a roughness along my bottom lip that surprises me. Pausing, I pull the wrapper out of my mouth and eyeball it for anything I should be aware of. Near the sealed edge is a small tear in the packaging. It happens once in a while, so I toss it on the floor and reach for another one. This time, I inspect the package a little better and don’t rely on a random perforation. Everything looks good. I’m about to put it in my mouth when something compels me to squeeze the package to check that it’s air sealed.
It’s not.
“Hang on,” I say and try to pull Lydia off of me. But she refuses to move, instead leaning forward and creates a trail of kisses up and down my neck. One of her hands wraps around my dick as she strokes me, effectively keeping me hard and clouding my mind while I try to figure out if I’m just being paranoid or if—
No.
The condom stash can’t be compromised. It’s the only thing we’ve been using for the past few months. It was Lydia’s idea to start using condoms because she was worried about not being as diligent with her birth control as she should be. After that pregnancy scare last summer, she eventually admitted she’d been a few days behind, and she’d promptly freaked out, spiraling into tears and getting me to tell her it would be okay. She was so worried about slipping up, so she bought the condoms when we had the talk about how kids and marriage aren’t an option. She took it as right now, but I meant it as in never. She just wouldn’t listen.
I check two more, and neither hold the air in their packaging when squeezed. I’m on the fifth condom, nearing the end of the stash, when I feel Lydia moving slowly onto my bare dick.
“Hey, get up,” I say firmly and force her off me while pulling myself into a sitting position.
“What’s wrong?” There’s a shaky edge to her voice that makes me go perfectly still.
“The condoms have been fucked with.” With deep breaths and an unhealthy dose of denial, I try to push away the nagging feeling that she knows what I’m talking about. We have our problems, but fucking with the condoms isn’t like leaving the toilet seat up or even falling out of love. It’s unforgivable.
I grab as many of the unopened condoms as I can and take them into the bathroom. I plug up the sink and fill it with water, then toss them in. An untampered, air-sealed package won’t fill with water. But every single one of them ends up with water in it. Leaning forward, I place my hands on the rim of the pedestal sink and take a deep breath. I like denial. It’s a comfortable place to be, especially when faced with the possibility than your longtime girlfriend has been fucking with your birth control. My stomach rolls with the devastating possibilities of what she’s been up to and the very real possibility that breaking up in a month could be complicated by something I don’t want with her.
“Advantage to knowing you so well, Lyd?” I’m partially talking to myself. I don’t really want to open a dialogue with her about this shit, but I don’t have much of a choice. “I know your tells.”
Pushing away from the sink, I stalk back into the bedroom. She’s got her legs tucked beneath her and she’s still as can be. There’s a vacant look on her face. I think I’m going to be sick. Everything I need to know is right in front of me. This woman doesn’t take the blame for something she hasn’t done. She’s never been so quiet before in her life, I bet.
I stand there just watching her do nothing for the longest time. I want to say something, to scream, flip out. I want to shake her and ask her why the fuck she would do something like this. I mean, who does shit like this?
Lydia does.