Just yesterday I found myself looking into the eyes of a really cute girl. So we got naked. Problem was: we were in Tercentenary Theatre. You have to put in a nickel in one of those 1930’s condom dispensers if you want a prophylactic. I wasn’t going to do that.
Listen, I barely do 10% of my fucking in the laundry room. I split most of my fucking between the Adams Pool Theatre and the Quincy Sex Room. Hell, I even do more fucking in Annenberg than the laundry room. You can imagine how hard it is to convince John I’m a freshman when he can see my old, wrinkly penis getting sucked off on the Economics advising table.
Even when I’m fucking in the laundry room, the container is so high up and at such a weird angle that I don’t use them. Instead, what I do is–well, ok, it’s not actually pulling out, it’s–what I do is it’s more that I just hope the girl doesn’t get pregnant. So far it works like none of the time. Don’t worry, no kids. Just HIV. And a kid.