Irresponsible nocturnal sexual adventures require meticulous sunup mitigation techniques.  Many gentlemen utilize a significantly less complex approach to the “morning after problem”, but not many gentlemen tend to my quantity of women. It’s taken years of awkward conversations, paranoia, and feminine tears to develop a methodology for handling this situation affably.  I really care for these sluts, so it’s difficult to maximize their emotional comfort while minimizing fetus creation.  The basic strategy is cum, cuddle, converse, convince, collect, control, and confirm.  Take the following incident, as an example:

CUM

            Her supple naked body is still asleep beside me.  What a perfectly executed mission; effortless conversation at Sake Club, a tightly fitting booth for two at Aroma, a sexually charged basement dance session at Heaven and Hell.  There was consistent yet gentle encouragement of alcohol consumption throughout the evening; a carefully measured mixture of sake, martinis, and tequila shots to ensure the night’s climactic conclusion.  The result?  Raw Dog of course.  Now I’ll need to tie up the loose ends, first things first: is this bitch on the pill?
            The moments before penetration are of little use in answering this question.  When you are on top and all genitalia is in the proper alignment, a woman NOT on birth control may show reluctance by mildly shifting her hips out of danger or she may ask, “Do you have a condom?”  However, she might also carelessly allow you unprotected penetration; perhaps desire for penis has overwhelmed her logic.  With regards to the female currently lying in my bed, I believe my ease of entry was nothing more than irresponsibility through intoxication.

CUDDLE

            She is awake.  I enjoy one hour of gratuitous cuddling and typical post coital chit chat, but all the while I’m hoping for a suitable moment to broach a contraceptive inquiry.  Her eyes lock with mine, I pounce at the opportunity.

CONVERSE

            “Sweetheart, I really enjoyed last night…” our lips are mere inches from each other, and her face is cradled softly between my hands.  I gaze upon her as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.  I caress her cheek with my thumb; she smiles happily and closes her eyes.
            “… but, we weren’t exactly safe.  I’m already a little nervous about this.  It was kind of uncharacteristic of me.” I continue anxiously, attempting to hide my cold calculations with an innocent grin. 
            She takes the bait and offers her own sympathetic smile.  Hopefully she is naively buying in to my raw dog inexperience.  She says she is worried too.  She follows up with some nonsense about not sleeping well and pitifully asks whether I think “we’ll be okay?”
            “Err… does that…ummm… mean you are… not on… the pill?” I dribble out, again playing up my own unfamiliarity with this situation. 
            “No, I’m not.” she responds.
            Wrong answer; not only is it improbable I’ll organize a second rendezvous, but she has virtually guaranteed I’ll never attempt a repeat bang (since she’ll insist on a condom).  I nonchalantly ask a series of questions regarding her last menstrual cycle.  Utilizing my knowledge of the rhythm method and the below chart (which I have memorized), I compute that she is currently fertile.  Shit.

CONVINCE

            At this point, I really wish I could make her a breakfast heavily laced with an emergency contraceptive; perhaps a tablespoon of “Morning After Powder” sprinkled in her eggs and washed down with a “Morning After Smoothie”.  Instead I’m forced to reason with her on why the Morning After Pill is essential.  I explain to her how edgy we’ll both be all month, and how you can be pregnant yet still get your period so we’ll really be uneasy for two months.  She is in her early 20s and I’m not teaching her anything she hasn’t already learned - it doesn’t take much convincing.  I mention that I’ve “heard” you can buy it at any pharmacy now, apologize to her, give her a big kiss, and drop the subject.  Little does she know, but this isn’t over yet.

COLLECT

            I mentally switch gears into robotic observation mode.  I must ascertain the following:

1. Does she have psycho potential?
2. Is she responsible enough to follow through on our Morning After Pill agreement?
3. Should the worst happen, do her genetics disqualify her as the mother of my child?

I suggest we have brunch, she concurs.  On the way to Bus Boys and Poets I formulate an interrogation strategy.  Last night’s line of questioning revolved around her amusement, today’s goal is a robust personality evaluation in the guise of a whimsical “getting to know each other” conversation. 
            Mid way through our meal and my assessment is complete.

1. Given the last 12 hours of intel, I don’t believe she has been raped, suffered through an eating disorder, or had a drug problem.  Furthermore, she responded sanely to all my attempts at inciting red flag behavior.  Zero pings on my CRADAR (Crazy RADAR).  PSYCHO TEST PASSED
2. She holds a steady 9 to 5 job, takes care of a puppy, frequently visits her family, and successfully graduated from a mid tier 4 year institution.  She also has a decent credit rating and is paying off her student loans.  RESPONSIBILITY TEST PASSED
3. She isn’t “triple-double” stupid (Sub 1000 SAT, sub 100 IQ), but she isn’t intelligent either.  Her parents work unremarkable jobs with seemingly unimpressive resumes.  I’ve been unable to determine if she possesses genetic predispositions to any mental disorders.  I’m entirely unsatisfied with the tone of her skin and, although she has no visible moles, I judge she is at above average risk for skin cancer.  I’m satisfied with her height, but I’m entirely unsatisfied with the length of her legs in proportion to her torso.  I also don’t like the shape of her fingers or the distance between the eyes on her face.  GENETIC TEST FAILED!!!

CONTROL

Now that I’m certain she is unsuitable for child production, I must take a considerably more aggressive approach to verifying her emergency contraceptive intake.  This calls for a procedure first employed by the mischievous profit Gideon Slu.
            “Sweetie, before I drop you off, do you mind if we stop by CVS so I can buy some stamps?” I ask indifferently.  She hesitantly agrees, although I sense a twinge of uncertainty in her reply.
            We finish our meal and I make sure to hold her hand as we stroll through the parking lot - effective use of PDAs can quickly manipulate a woman’s perspective, in this case calming her suspicions. 
            We pull into the CVS parking lot and she follows me into the store.
            I pause at the entrance and act as though I’ve had some startling revelation.  After a moment, I turn to her and whisper, “Hey… they have a pharmacy here… do you think… we should… you know… buy it.”   What fortuitous circumstance!! 
            She has seen through my ruse, but she grudgingly mopes toward the pharmacy anyway.  I happily buy some unnecessary stamps and a Gatorade while pondering the conversation she is engaged in (I once had a Russian beauty that barely spoke English and asked the pharmacist, “Please I can have emergency medication for unprotected sex”).

CONFIRM

             I make light hearted conversation on the way to the car.  Once we are inside, I kindly offer her some of my Gatorade in case she needs assistance swallowing the first pill (”Plan B” is two pills taken 12 hours a part).  I remind her that it’s a good thing we ate food since she isn’t supposed to take the pill on an empty stomach; the brunch was, of course, preparation for this very reason.   Approximately 12 hours from now I’ll send her a text message inquiring how she is feeling since “Plan B” can have side effects.  The unstated purpose of this message, however, is to remind her to take the second pill.
                   
ADDENDUM 2/7/08 1:20pm:  After reading this post, Gideon Slu was kind enough to point out my mistakes with his CVS method.  The profit’s words:
            First you offer them a ride home with the express purpose of stopping by CVS.  Next, throw them 20 bucks as you would any filthy stage dancer.  Watch them get out the car with their head hung low.  A nice touch is to yell from the driver’s seat, “Do you want me to come with you?” 
            I laugh to myself at how stupid they look in their slut gear walking into a CVS the morning after.  I imagine how great an entire day of throwing up and psychological stress will be for them - especially knowing they just killed what could have been their first, and since it was with me, best born.  HAHA.

            The following simple diagram illustrates my thought process from above (click to enlarge):