Hecho en Mexico

I am a total enthusiast for anything hispanic. I enjoy the literature, the music (Mana totally rocks!), the food, the men....God do I love hispanic men. In fact, it's my preference for latinos that led me to this post.

Not having been much of a social butterfly, I greeted the new millenium with the resolution to start meeting people and find someone to date. I had a guy friend help me write a fabulous internet ad, lend me an email address that couldn't be traced back to me, and sort through the replies, weeding out the obvious jerks, such as "What size are your melons?". He forwarded to my real email those replies he found genuine. Still being single, I'm not sure I can call this venture a success, but I did meet a lot of people I never would have met otherwise. One of them I'll call Speakerman in reference to his love of his surround sound system.

Speakerman is a hispanic guy, about 6 years older than me, owns a house, did a stint in the navy and was the drummer for a band once upon a time. I had to meet him! We saw each other for a month or so and I was devestated when he decided to call things off, humiliating me and sending me home in front of his teenage cousin.

A few months later, I decided I wanted to retrieve some belongings I left at his house, got myself all dolled up and went over. We pretty much picked up where we left off and ended up in the bedroom.

"Let me get a condom," I told him, because as a modern woman I do carry my own whenever I go out.

"Oh no, I've got some," he tells me.

"How long have you had them?"

"I got them in Mexico."

"No. Let's use mine. I don't know about those ones from Mexico." This caused an argument, and I caved, agreeing to use his condom mexicanos.

So we've done the deed, and he jumps out of bed and starts patting down the carpet in front of the bedroom door. "What are you looking for?" I asked him.

"It came off."

"What came off?" I said as I was overcome with a very bad feeling.

"The condom."

So I lay in bed afraid to move, trying to figure out the logistics that would take the condom in question from the end of his penis and my approximate location in the bed to where he was on his knees about 3 feet to my left and a good 5 feet in front of me. Is it possible that the condom flew off, unnoticed by either of us, did a somersault over his right shoulder, and landed on the floor? Not likely.

"Maybe it's here in the bed," I told him, as I started shaking out the sheets. But I didn't find it.

"Could it have come off inside?" I asked him. He continued to crawl around the bedroom ignoring my question.

I tried again. "Could it be inside?!"

"I dunno."

"Well, look for it!" I started the descent into full blown panic.

Ever the concerned, responsible partner (he was the owner of the lost condom after all), he looked at me in horror and said, "I'm not sticking my hand up there!"

"You just had your dick up there; why can't you look for the condom? You lost it!"

I went to the bathroom, to go treasure hunting, and he tells me, "Just jump up and down; it'll be okay."

I got in the shower, crying as quietly as possible, praying to God for all it was worth. "Please God don't let me get pregnant by this idiot!" "Please God don't let me catch a disease from this idiot." "Please God don't let me help this idiot reproduce!!"

After my successful search and recovery mission, I dressed, got my shit from him (some pics and a cd) and left, since Speakerman had nothing comforting to say.

The moral of this story ladies is: always take precautions into your own hands; keep your own supply of Trojans or Lifestyles, whatever you prefer. And whatever you do, stay away from condoms that say Hecho en Mexico and the irresponsible, unfeeling pricks that use them.