46 - The Men Asked About Everything Except...

46 - The Men Asked About Everything Except...

Over the past nine months, quite a few men have asked me indiscreet and unexpected questions. But there’s one question—one I’d actually consider essential from a male perspective—that not a single one of them has ever asked: “So… how do you actually handle contraception?”

I find that astonishing, especially since almost all of them have children. Yes, I always use condoms—but those can burst too. Like a balloon in a rose hedge: loud, abrupt, and guaranteed to happen at the worst possible moment. And then you’ve got a mess. With extra dressing.

I sometimes wonder whether each of them simply assumes that I would automatically not have such a child—after all, I’m married. And as we all know, a marriage certificate is a highly reliable shield against biological accidents. Okay, yes—it would be difficult to explain why my second child looks nothing like the first. Still, the decision would be mine. And he would suddenly discover a level of involvement he hadn't planned for. But since a baby doesn’t fit into my wet dreams, I take precautions.

When I asked the mister  how Chloé and Nele handle contraception, even he initially just shrugged and replied—completely serious—that the question was too personal. I was genuinely surprised by the idea that fucking someone in the ass is apparently less intimate than asking a perfectly legitimate question about birth control.

While sorting out contraception, I found myself at my gynecologist’s office. After the examination, he casually ran through his standard questions—only to be surprised by my decidedly non-standard answers.

Do you have sexual contacts? Yes.

Always with the same partner? No.

Do you have “normal” sex?  Yes: vaginal, oral, and anal—if that qualifies as “normal.”

With men or women? Both.

Separately or together?  Both.

What initially sounded like a medically necessary questionnaire gradually drifted… sideways.

The first moment I thought, "Excuse me?"  was when he asked whether my partners were Black. I can live with curiosity. I cannot live with racism. My eyebrow went up. He backpedaled. Something about Africa and additional blood tests.

Right.

From that moment on, I wasn’t quite sure whether I was still talking to a gynecologist—or a Tinder bot disguised as a doctor. He already had some eccentric traits, like putting on a headlamp before embarking on what he apparently considers a “cave expedition.” 

Then came questions such as:

Do you orgasm vaginally or clitorally? 

Can you orgasm anally?

 Do you film yourselves during sex? 

Do you practice double penetration? 

Do you watch porn? 

Do you masturbate?

I kept waiting for the moment when he would show me his Tinder profile and ask whether we should match—or whether I happened to have an OnlyFans account. Fortunately, he did neither. So I took his questions as a genuine interest in the concept of polyamory. He seemed completely astonished by the fact that I actually love the people I have sex with. Apparently, this was a revolutionary concept to him. "I've never heard of that before," he said. Congratulations to his wife. 

After the gynecologist had asked countless questions about anal orgasms, porn, masturbation, double penetration, and my love life, it began to seem as though he was far more interested in my sex life than in my contraception strategy.

Just like the other gentlemen, his focus appeared to be on the expedition rather than the prevention.