A broken condom is like a broken promise. From the moment we learn what sex is, we’re urged not to have it. But then immediately warned “but if you do have sex, USE A CONDOM!”

Like taking vitamins, using a condom is one of those things we don’t do because we like to, but because we’re told over and over again that it will keep our bodies safe and healthy. We don’t all agree that doing charity will get us into heaven, or that recycling will save us from global warming, but we all hold the belief that using a condom ensures safe sex. This is why I was in absolute denial the other night when the condom broke during sexy time. I’d felt like I was doing something self-charitable by using protection, but I ended up getting screwed in a different sense of the word than I’d hoped for. Though the breakage happened during the middle of sex and not the grand finale, premature ejaculation is one of my greatest fears — so I decided I’d go to CVS the next day to pick up some Plan B.

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Question? Answer: TuffyLuv@collegecandy.com

Dear Tuffy Luv,
Me and my partner had sex with a condom and by mistake condom broke and I didn’t realize. So later I bought Yasmine contraceptive pills, which contains 21 pills, and my partner took it. Are there any chances of getting pregnant?

Regards,
JM

Dear JM,

Tuffy’s. Bloodpressure. Slowly. Rising.

JM, I was going to rip you a new one, but I have decided instead to use your unbridled ignorance as, like, you know–a cautionary tale.

Why the hell would you write to an advice columnist about an emergency that is time sensitive?! Boy, this letter is from WEEKS ago and I am just now seeing it–it is now WAY too late for me to actually give you advice. I hope for everyone’s sake that nothing terrible happened to you and your ladyfriend. May you be safe and happy and baby-free. Read More »

If you think it’s awkward to go dutch on a meal, then you clearly haven’t gone dutch on Plan B. I’m all for gender equality but when a friend of mine relayed the following tale, I threw my split-the-bill philosophy out the window.

Here was her not-so-hypothetical scenario: Guy meets Girl. Guy buys Girl many, many rounds of drinks. “Where are your condoms?” Drunk Guy asks. Drunk Girl thinks. Drunk Girl thinks some more. Meanwhile, Drunk Guy performs a couple warning thrusts. Several thrusts later, Drunk Guy’s endurance reverts to that of a 12-year-old boy. Girl, no longer drunk, is not pleased.

Come morning, both parties agree that emergency contraception (better known by its brand name, Plan B) is in order, but when the guy realizes that this anti-baby antidote is a whopping $50 at the local CVS, he asks to share the cost. My friend is slightly mortified, and I’m nothing short of outraged when she asks my opinion on the matter. It’s not her fault, after all, if he has neither the patience to look for condoms nor the foresight to pull out. Besides, he has a job and she doesn’t. I’m sure Karl Marx would agree that this is a situation that perfectly illustrates, “From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs.” In this case, my friend’s ability to pay was next-to-nothing and her need to not get pregnant was quite significant. Communism has never made more sense. Read More »

I’ve sought out emergency contraception three times since 2002. In the first part of this article, I shared the situations that got me into trouble. In this part, I’ll share how I got out, and my experiences with the pill itself.

TAKE I:

So, I find myself in trouble, due to two factors: first, the drunk and condom-free attentions of my (newly ex) boyfriend, and second, his unwillingness to deal in any way with the consequences. I solve this problem as I solve all others: by turning to lady friends and Google.

My roommate Kristin and I look up the “morning after” pill, and discover that there’s only one clinic within driving distance that prescribes it. We also discover that EC is only effective if it’s taken seventy-two hours after sex; thanks to my post-breakup moping, I have about twelve hours left. It will take two hours to reach the clinic. We scramble to the car.

When we arrive at the clinic, I am escorted into an exam room, where I meet a blonde woman in a lab coat. I explain my situation, and ask for the EC.

She shakes her head at me. I see pity in her eyes.

“I can’t prescribe those pills to you, honey,” she says. “I’m a Christian.”

This is the precise moment when I start crying. Read More »

I’ve gone to a doctor for emergency contraception three times. Every experience has been different. The first two instances occurred years apart; the second and third happened within months of each other. I’ve gone whilst in monogamous relationships, and after casual sex. I’ve gone to a doctor’s office, an emergency room, and Planned Parenthood. Only one thing remained the same: I was never ready to get pregnant.

EC, for those not in the know, is a blanket term for a variety of medications that change your body’s chemistry to reduce your chances of getting pregnant. Plan B is the most popular, and it’s wonderful for many reasons. Yet, with the exception of the occasions on which various looney-pantsed individuals have pitched a fit about its legality (because we all know that unwed mothers are sacred to the right wing), very few people talk about it.

Because I think this is lame, and because I enjoy sharing a bit too much about my body, I’ve decided to give a run-down of my EC experiences. I’ve split it into two parts: The Problem, in which I almost get pregnant, and The Cure, in which I don’t.

Read away. Read More »