The scene: Alex (or maybe his name is Andrew or Jesse)
brought you back to his place and things are totally on. His arms?
Beefy. His make-out skills? Clutch. His hair? Like Zeus himself
blow-dried it. Clothes are coming off and then, right at the crucial
moment, he looks at you with eyes a color you’ve only
ever seen before on tropical postcards and whispers slowly into
your ear, “Don’t worry, babe. I’m on the pill.”
the
MYTH
of
MALE BIRTH
CONTROL
By HANNAH SMOTHERSIt’s been “10 years away” for the past 50
years. Are we just getting conned?
Photographed by HANNAH WHITAKER132
Cosmopolitan September 2019