They can come in all sizes, colours and flavours (in theory). Funded versions ($5 on a prescription from a doctor) include coloured, flavoured and gradations of sizes — whether they fulfil the extra promises their packaging suggests is another question — apparently the chocolate-flavoured ones don’t taste like Cadbury’s.
There is no limit on the number of condoms that can be given on a single prescription, although 144 is the generally accepted quantity. The prescription must only cover three months supply, so if you can justify 288 (that’s 3.2 bangs every 24 hours for three months; flavoured ones don’t count), then it’s all legit.
Pulling rubber over your most cherished appendage is never a pleasant option. So it’s not surprising when excuses are made, including some, dramatically, comparing it to wearing a gumboot. When a man makes the excuse that a condom is too small, Google can direct you to images that show how they can fit over a person’s foot. If you have an allergy to rubber, there is a variant of condom that is latex-free and claims to be “the closest thing to wearing nothing”.
Lubricants are useful in reducing friction and preventing condom breakage. But be careful about raiding the flat supplies for quick-fix solutions. Non-water-based lubricants such as butter and vaseline will destroy the relatively fragile condom very quickly, leaving a sticky situation.
And here’s a tip: condoms are meant to go on erect penises. I once spent an agonising 15 minutes explaining to a super-cautious couple that rolling a condom onto a flaccid member was never going to be a good way to go (or come).
On the positive side, when it comes to negative results, condoms are an effective barrier against sexually transmitted diseases, or STDs … and, well, babies too.