At the start of this year, I was coming onto the tail end of what had been a fairly long term relationship with a girl we’ll call “The Yorkie” for reference sake. She had been on birth control for the entire time that we were together, but was somewhat flaky and forgetful when it came to actually remembering to take a pill every day. To combat this, her gynecologist suggested an up and coming product on the “I don’t want kids but still want to have fun” market called “Nuva-Ring” for her, which is literally a hollow rubber circle that kind of looks like a condom when it first comes out of the wrapper, but without anything in the middle.
Now, for any guys out there who have had a girlfriend or sexual partner on this product, I’m pretty sure you can back me up on the fact that it is just terrible. For any girls out there who are on it, go back to your old brand immediately, as not only does it suck, but it screws with your hormones. Seriously, it sucks. We would go to change positions, I’d pull out and, shortly after my exit, sure enough, there would be the ring lying on the bed, creating unnecessary wet spots and mocking me as if to say, “Hi, I’m making you lose your will to do this. See what I’m doing right now? I’m making you think, therefore causing blood to rush back to your brain, sucka. Taste it.”
I hated this thing so much. I’m not sure why it bugged me, but it did. What bugged me more was that I knew it was safe to take it out during sex, but she’d insist on leaving it in. Fine.
So, one day, we got down to business as usual. I was going crazy because it had been a week since the last time we’d been able to do this, and she had been torturing me throughout that entire time. So, I got into the door of her place knowing her roommate was not home, ripped her clothes off, threw her on the bed, and we began to have some of the hottest sex we’d had in months. I was having a blast, she was making noises I’d never heard her make, and I felt like a rock star.
About two minutes into it, missionary style, I pushed a bit harder and felt a sudden tightness that I couldn’t quite identify. This was an abnormal tightness, one that quickly became painful. I stopped, wondering what had happened, but couldn’t figure it out. It was as if… Oh, God.
I had hooked the Nuva-Ring.
I stopped for a second, horrified, and screamed, “Wait! Stop!” as she looked up at me, confused as to why I had stopped the action I had been so forceful with. Part of me felt like Flick from “A Christmas Story” when he realized that he was now attached at the tongue to a metal pole in the dead of winter. I wanted to scream, “Stuck! Stuck! Stuck! Stuck! STUCKKKK!” and start crying like a little girl, but instead I pulled out, jumped off the bed and started running around the room like a lunatic trying to get it off. Upon multiple attempts, I couldn’t, and now all of the movement of the rubber was beginning to really hurt and cause burning of the skin.
The Yorkie remained on the bed, uncontrollably laughing as I toiled around hysterically, a grown man reduced to the emotional capacity of a toddler over a small contraceptive. It was like being wrapped up by an Anaconda.
After I finally went to the bathroom and got it off, needless to say, I was in no shape to continue. It was a few days before I felt comfortable enough to have sex again and, from there on out, I didn’t fuck around. That damn piece of devil’s rubber went on the bedside every single time after that.
Screw you, Nuva-Ring.