The only thing my wife and I enjoy more than having sex with each other is not creating children. Here’s how we developed our fool-proof baby prevention method:
During our lovemaking sessions, I wore at least two Lifestyles Skyn Large Non-Latex condoms. My wife was on the pill, and she also wore a Mirena I.U.D. We used the rhythm method too, and to take that step further, we only allowed ourselves sex during the first week of her cycle, then only the first day of her cycle, and then only the first hour of her cycle.
Flattering clothing arouses us, so we made some fashion adjustments. We took to wearing looser-fitting clothing like robes, moo-moos and hazmat suits. We tried hospital scrubs, but quickly discovered that we had a medical kink. Fortunately, our basic precautions saved us. We also tried wearing large opera costumes, revolutionary war uniforms and snow suits, sometimes all at once.
The whole point of getting each other’s clothes off was to see each other’s naked bodies – so we thought: if our naked bodies were hideous, we wouldn’t want to have sex with each other at all, and then we wouldn’t need our other precautions. So we studied the most effective diets and then did the opposite of what they suggested. We did all-carb, no vegetable, high sodium all-fat cooking. We eliminated proteins and water. We drank only beer, red wine, white wine, gin, vodka, rum and also every other alcoholic drink. We stopped exercising. We binge-watched Netflix while snacking on pork rinds. We called it ‘Netflix and Chewing.’
Don’t Light My Fire
We adjusted our lighting. Dim lighting or total darkness would prompt imagination. Not to brag, but in my wife’s imagination, I’m a total stud. Under our new fluorescent lights, we can see every wrinkle, every blemish, every bump of cellulite, every fold of fat, every unidentified rash, every regretful tattoo, every stitched-up gunshot wound. (Bonus tip: leave the lights on.)
If Music Be The Food Of Love, Play Something Awful
Music used to be an issue. Throw on a little Barry White, some old Smiths, any Sade, and we tore each other’s clothes off like teenagers on ecstasy. Not a problem when you play only a continuous loop of “Baby Shark”.
Take The Fun Out Of Furniture
We un-sexified our bedroom by trading in our King-sized bed for a child’s bunk bed, which was both difficult to climb into and uncomfortable to have sex in. We covered the sheets with burlap and sprinkled broken glass around the room. Let me tell you: when your feet are bleeding, no way do you want to climb into a child’s bunk bed to have sex with your well-lit spouse.
New Love Language
We came into some money because all of our parents died in a horrific wine cellar incident, so we had the genius idea to live in separate apartments. That worked like a charm. If my wife hadn’t texted me all the time, I’d have forgotten she even existed. When our text messages got too suggestive, we stopped using innuendo. Then we just got rid of our phones. When our video chats got too sexual, we got rid of our computers. Our love language became no language.
Location, Location, Location
I moved to Vermont and she moved to Wisconsin. Then we moved to other countries. My wife lives in Kaikoura, New Zealand, while I’m in Orekhovo-Zuyevo, a few clicks outside Moscow. The threat of making a baby has plummeted to negative zero.
All we want to do now is help other couples who also want to not have children. Neither of us could be happier or more not-children-having. We’re hideously unattractive, we have no physical or digital contact with anyone, and we pass our days masturbating to distant memories. It’s heaven.
Christopher Shelley is a Wedding Celebrant and writer whose work has appeared in Slackjaw, Points In Case, and Little Old Lady Comedy. He marries people through his company Illuminating Ceremonies.