He brings the tip of the square to his mouth, clamping perfect, billboard-worthy teeth down on its foil edge. I grit my own teeth hard as I watch him tear the foil open, trying desperately not to let myself panic even as I feel my breathing become more and more erratic.

I feel my mouth go dry as a desert when he holds the rubber circle between his thumb and index finger, rubbing it slightly between his fingers. And, although I understand the implications of a man—and a seemingly very sexual one at that—essentially displaying an unused condom in such a manner, I can’t seem to look away from the action.

Weirdly enough, in spite of my obvious anxiety, a small but considerable part of me is also…I don’t know…intrigued? Maybe even curious?

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