Moaningful Confessions: The Rubber Raxxer

Moaningful Confessions: The Rubber Raxxer

I had been talking to Latin (easiest decoded code name ever) for maybe a month before my return to the glorious city of Auckland, but nothing had come of it – at least not yet. Upon landing, I promptly received a text from a high school friend inviting me to go with her to town. Lo and behold, Latin was celebrating his birthday by club hopping. 

Doing what we all do best, he realised I was back and out on the town by stalking my Snap maps. I get the usually dreaded, “What club are you in?” snap and the wild goose chase begins! Drunk and sloppy, we continued to miss each other all night and then my friend told me it’s time to go home. 

With little to no recollection of the events that lead to this, I get into bed alone – but not for long. Latin snaps me and tells me he’s coming over if I still want to see him. The drinks had turned me from young and turnt, to deprived and horny. I say yes. He Ubers to my family home (sorry Mum) and we have a little kōrero about nothing in particular, interrupted by a “oh my God, you made me miss Love Island!” We begin to watch the most recent episode of what is the greatest dating show of all time, his head on my chest.

Now we all know the look a guy gives you when he wants to make his move, and this was it. Every time I speak, he lifts his head up to look up at me as if he was hard of hearing and needed to lip read. I guess he’s blind too, because he’s reading my lips as if they’re written in braille. We start making out, sort of aggressively – so much so that my laptop falls off the bed, but we still enjoy the sensual sounds of chavvy British accents gracing our ears with phrases such as “that was quite muggy,” “my type on paper,” and “I’m not going to put all my eggs in one basket.’’

His hands head south, and honestly props to him, he’s pretty good at DJing, especially for a man. After rejecting his multiple offers of cunnilingus, the romance is turned up a notch with the question of, “You wanna?” He wraps it before he taps it, we are in missionary (again, romantic) for maybe a minute before he begrudgingly alerts me he has concluded his journey inside me.

He frantically explains the reason for this is he hasn’t had sex in two years. I reply with giggles and that I’m flattered. We make small talk over my shared water bottle and cuddles. We say goodnight, and he falls asleep quite easily while I toss and turn whilst listening to his snoring.

Several sleepless hours pass by (for me) before he wakes up to phone calls wishing him a happy birthday, with his sister berating him for having a one-night stand. He says his goodbyes, but not before forcing the awkward post-hook-up hug upon me.

I decide that now is as good a time as any to begin to tidy my bedroom and unpack. I toss an empty vape pod in my empty rubbish bin… why the fuck is it empty? I search my room, high and low for the used condom. If it is not correctly disposed of, there’s a chance of my mother finding it, and I’d rather have a (treatable) STI. I spend half an hour searching before I swallow my pride and break the rule of no contact I gave myself.

“Hey, this might be a silly question, but do you know what happened to the condom?” I ask him, then throw my phone across the room and put my head in my hands until I hear that all too familiar notification sound. I slowly get up and check his reply, “Yeah! I took it with me, I hope to see you again while you’re in town.” Needless to say, just like the infamous rubber, I’ll never see him again.

This article first appeared in Issue 9, 2024.
Posted 9:19pm Friday 26th April 2024 by Critic.