We were having sex in Barcelona when the condom broke.
"I was wondering why it suddenly felt so amazing," I told him, crying.
We walked onto the sun-drenched street, found a payphone, and called a friend. "Go to the hospital for emergency pills," she advised.
He bought me an apple tart for the bus ride. "You're eating for two now," he laughed.
At the hospital, a nurse lectured me on safe sex. "Always use protection," she said in Spanish.
"Your boyfriend is guapo," he said somberly, pretending to translate.
Afterward, we went out for tapas, and he stroked my hair.
Return to the Summer Fiction index.
