“Do You Have A Condom?”

It was a typical night in the Downtown Eastside.  I’d just left the bar early (if you can call 1am early – I can) since a pedestrian, probably homeless, getting struck by a car and an ambulance took him away bleeding heavily from his head had put somewhat of a damper on the evening.  I walked home, only about 10 blocks away – 10 blocks right through the poorest neighbourhood in the city.

Drunk people of all ages and backgrounds milled through the streets on their way home or to another party.  People shouted back and forth down the block to their friends as they passed by homeless people, many of them drunk or high as well, one after another, "Sorry, no change" if they even said anything to them at all.

As I crossed Main St, the halfway point and the marker between liquor-licensed and residential, a girl cat-called me from the passenger side of a car.  Maybe a dyke I’d be interested in, but more likely one of those "Can my boyfriend watch?" types.  I only realized it was me she was cat-calling once I’d crossed the street so I didn’t get a look – sorry Miss "Woo. you’re hot!" because now I’ll never know what the love of my life looked like.  I didn’t worry about the cat-calling – I had half a journey to focus on.  If the bar-zoned side of Main was a war zone, the other side was a jungle.  Whether it’s your territory or theirs depends on how well you carry yourself and what they throw at you.

A block and a half in I noticed a tranny or large woman prostitute standing across the street and the man quickly approaching her.  They exchanged words briefly, quickly, and he barely even slowed down – I don’t know what transpired, but he walked on.  I processed this quickly before realizing I was staring and turning my head to face forward again.  My eyes had barely adjusted to my side of the street when I realized I was about to pass an Asian man in his 40’s standing at the edge of the sidewalk.  It wasn’t until I walked right behind him that I realized he was pissing off the curb.

I felt an alertness come over me as I tuned in to the vibe in the neighbourhood around me.  "Something’s about to happen," I practically heard somone tell me.  Suddenly a car passed me and slowed down just ahead of me.

"Hey girl!  Hey, baby girl!"  I thought it might be the cat-caller and tensed up.  But this call was followed urgently with "Do you have a condom?"  An arm reached out the passenger side window and a face peeked out.

I did a quick inventory check and realized that I didn’t.  Just as I started to feel some of the woman’s desperation and urgency I remembered the play party I’d attended earlier that evening.  I’d gone in order to play out a bdsm scene with a new female lover and as I was exiting the play space I stopped to snatch two pairs of black non-latex gloves.  My new lover smiled and cocked an eyebrow at me as I grabbed them.  I smiled demurely and said "I’m going to the bar – you never know what’ll happen."

I didn’t expect to run into anyone I’d have sex with, but somehow I felt better carryijng protection on me.  I usually do carry it – condom, gloves, lube.  In most of my jacket pockets, consistently.

"I don’t have a condom – but I have a glove – "

"No honey, a condom!"

"- A latex glove!"  I grabbed a black glove out of my hoodie pocket and thrust it into her outstretched hand.

"That’ll do, thanks!"  The hand pulled back into the car as the car screeched off.

I walked home, my heart pounding.  I went to my room, threw down my things, and grabbed another one of the gloves out of my pocket.  Sitting down on the bed, I wrapped the thumb of the glove over my big purple dildo and tried it out for myself – if either the client or the sex worker was determined to use protection it was entirely possible, because I could both suck off and jerk off my dildo with one of those gloves on it.  I didn’t get as far as the full test run.