Upon yet another relationship break-up due to disclosing her HIV status, Virgina meets Wanda.
I was dating a guy for a short while and it was the same old story. He was head over heels until I disclosed my HIV status. He insisted it was not a problem but every day he became more distant and expressed many fears including death, dying, illness and whether I had someone in mind to care for me on my AIDS death bed. Nothing I said reassured him or removed his basic fear. About a month into the new relationship I decided to do us both a favour and call it quits and he was relieved. I saved him the trouble of looking like the bad guy in walking away from fear of HIV.
As we were walking towards my house during the break up we passed a sex shop. I watched an episode of Sex and the City where the women used a great vibrator- the Hitachi Magic Wand – and the best part of the vibrator was, it was electric. No more drawers full of batteries. After watching that particular episode I really wanted one but, being the pathologically shy person I am, it was impossible for me to go into a sex shop and buy one. So for years I walked by and only thought about it.
Sam Jones and the “neck messager”
Suddenly I turned to him, handed him $100.00 and asked him to go into the sex shop and buy my vibrator. When he came out I said good bye and never saw him again. But I am now the proud owner of Wanda and let me tell you, she is every woman’s dream. Sometimes there is a silver lining in a cloud.
Or, switch the question around a bit: When do I feel hottest?
The answer may not sound so hot at first: safety gets me hot. Or, in other words, I feel hottest when I feel safest.
I don’t mean that indiscriminately. I don’t mean I’m a medical kit fetishist. I don’t salivate over sterile gauze and neosporine tubes. I also don’t get my knickers in a twist over seat belts, locked doors, and the before-take-off emergency directions on airplanes. What I mean is that in the context of sex, safety is a must. Only when I feel truly safe do I also feel free, uninhibited, and able to totally enjoy what’s going down between me and my partner(s).
Consent Makes Me Horny
The sort of safety I need comes in a lot of forms. One of the most basic forms is consent. There’s no way I’ll get into the bed of any man or woman if I think they won’t hear me when I say “no,” and long before that look for me to say “yes”. Sex is never a promise. Watching a film together, drinking together, making googly eyes at one another across a table, is never a promise. Just like getting into bed with someone is also not a promise. Respectful partners, good partners, hot lovers pay attention and check consent all along the way. The best sex happens when partners aim to please, and part of aiming to please is paying attention to what your partner wants at every step, and never forcing it.
Condoms Make Me Horny
The essentials covered, another of the fundamentals of safety is, yes, contraceptive safety. I have a personal preference for condoms. They don’t mess with my body’s hormones, they’re reversible and fairly non-invasive. To be uninhibited in bed, I need to feel fairly confident that no babies are going to result, as I’m not yet at a point in life when babies are what I want. Condoms have the added benefit of protecting against STIs. Twofer, as far as I’m concerned.
I hate the condom discussion, and if a guy objects too strongly to wrapping it up, I’m often inclined to ditch him, no matter how into him I am. To me complaining about condoms shows a lack of respect for my welfare and also a lack of responsibility for his own. Both of those things suck.
But you know what’s really hot?
When a guy wraps it up, no questions asked, and even takes initiative and responsibility for protecting against pregnancy and infection. When he does things like, you know, ask me how I want to handle it and gets out a condom himself.
I’m so trained to equate condoms with truly hot sex that I’m like Pavlov’s dogs. Far from creating an odd moment out, for me I see those square little wrappers appear from pockets and bedside drawers and I get excited. I know what comes next!
The safer I feel with someone, the more uninhibited I feel. Everyone knows that inhibitions can really get in the way, and I’ve got to say, feeling uninhibited leads to some pretty amazingly hot encounters.
Monologues are independent personal stories. The opinions shared are the writer’s own.
A riart Grrrl, a folklorist and a condom monologuer get together to discuss the phenomenon of real-life storytelling in the context of sex education
The three authors of this post come from different trajectories in the field of sex and sexuality but we share the belief that real-life storytelling should play an intrinsic role in sexual health and relationships education (SRE).
Here we discuss the need for real-life stories that address safer sex practices and how to navigate health risks in relevant ways. Dr. Jeana Jorgensen and Xaverine Bates both explain that sharing real-life stories has transformative power to validate perspectives which may be overlooked or silenced in public discourse. Storytelling has the ability to convey scenarios that one may never have imagined before. Hence, they raise awareness about social issues and invite people to learn and unlearn ways of looking at bodies and desires. As stated by Xaverine Bates, founder of riart Grrls and aGender, “The power of storytelling is crucial for truly effective sex and relationship education (SRE), with a firm emphasis on emotional health in order to foster a deep understanding of what constitutes a healthy relationship.”
Taboo Manages How We Talk about Sex
Dr. Jeana Jorgensen, folklorist and writer at MySexProfessor.com, argues that due to social taboo towards talking publicly about sexual experiences, these life stories
“are limited to settings where the teller doesn’t have a professional or personal stake in the listeners’ reactions. I think this is unfortunate, because personal narratives are really potent genres for education. When someone tells a personal narrative, they not only educate the listener (by conveying facts about their life), but they also invite the listener to empathize with them and consider their values.”
Jeana continues, “So, because of the taboo on oversharing about one’s sexual activities in many settings, people tend to share personal narratives on sexual topics within their peer groups, age groups, friend groups, and hobby groups. This guarantees that if you’re making yourself vulnerable by sharing sexual information, you’re probably doing it to a sympathetic audience. But it also means that you risk living within an echo chamber, and you’ll only hear stories that confirm your own set of values. To that end, I think it’s really important for people from diverse backgrounds to learn each other’s stories and thereby gain empathy for how different life circumstances can lead to a variety of life (and lifestyle) choices.”
The internet is one place where people subvert this taboo and overcome issues of access. At Condom Monologues we’ve circumscribed a bully-free space that aims to be as inclusive as possible allowing anyone to ask questions and share their experiences with safe sex (see our archive). Whether the admins agree with the storyteller’s values or choices is not the point. However, we do not represent everyone’s experiences and have our limitations. One can never control how stories are appropriated and re-purposed in the digital world, and that is a risk all storytellers face. But there are ways to protect identity as well as mediate discussion around sharing stories, such as workshops like aGender (explained below).
Teaching Which Facts with What Stories…
The taboo Jeana highlights also affects the way in which sex education informs students. Narratives in class are rooted in political interests and social fears around sexuality. Pleasure and desire are rarely mentioned even as a side-issue. Instead, young people are fed a platter of warnings and doom-laden data about STI epidemics and teen pregnancy. One need not look further than this and that mandatory abstinence-only assembly to be told horror stories about how boyfriends used “condoms that had holes in them” or told girls that if they use birth control “your mother probably hates you.”
Educators rarely offer information about safer sex beyond vaginal-penis intercourse. Diverse sexuality and the spectrum of (trans)gender identity are excluded. Addressing issues such as STI stigma, homophobic, transphobic and sexist language, cyber-bullying, sexting and sexual anxieties are inadequate at best.
Medical information is often presented without context nor provide students with diverse options on how to apply these facts in real-life sexual relationships. And that’s if we can call them “facts” to begin with! In the US, only 13 states require sex education to actually be medically accurate, according to a 2012 study by the Guttmacher Institute. Meanwhile, in the UK, Xaverine explains that “there is currently a bias towards the biological side of SRE” which “favors plain biological facts” without focus on issues of enthusiastic consent and emotional confidence.
What Young Adults are Saying
Students’ experiences in sexual health class are telling. As a college instructor, Jeana hears young people share their experiences in sex education which, she explains, “constitutes their own type of personal narrative. The topics that people remembered tended to be biological rather than emotional; physiology was covered, but not necessarily relationships or pleasure.”
Xaverine agrees. She points to testimonies by 19-21 year olds who participated in women’s-only focus groups that examined the effectiveness of SRE (Kavanagh, 2011).
For example, one participant said,
I was like scarred by sex education at secondary school, they came in with like these big blown up pictures of STIs and stuff and said, you know, if you have sex and stuff this is what will happen to you. It was horrible…(ibid, p-13).
All focus-group participants commented on the lack of relationship education in schools with an emphasis purely on the biological. As one put it,
I think relationships and morals and respect need to be put back in place, for everyone, not just males or females, and I don’t believe in the saying nothing (abstinence teaching) because I think if everybody was to turn around to me and be like, you’re not doing this, you’re not doing that, I’d do it…I’d rebel (ibid, p-15).
“Comprehensive” SRE is in dire need of revision. Negligence of these topics results in an unsafe, non-engaging space that silences and restricts young people’s sexuality and gender identity. Students are left inarticulate about what they want, what they need and how to manage risks. Thus the vicious cycle of sex-shaming continues and proliferates the spread of STIs and unhealthy sexual relationships.
Changing Narratives
Failures in sex education programs are the reason why organizations like aGender exist. In an attempt to move beyond standard curricula, Xaverine states that “opportunities need to be made for young people to talk about their fears, expectations and experiences of sex and relationships in a healthy and supportive environment…without fear of embarrassment or repercussions from peers, teachers, parents or carers. This is what we are aiming for at aGender.”
“aGender is beginning its pilot project this month, which consists of a series of workshops to complement an exhibition, txt, at Claremont Studios in St Leonards, which will be a collection of contemporary visual artworks that incorporate written word. The exhibition will explore the tension and complexity created when a word is used not only for its literal meaning but also as a visual cue to lead through to layers of subtext and implied meaning. In light of the current reports on the psychological impact of texting, sexting and cyberbullying on young children, SMS messaging and the power of seemingly innocent words to imply malicious, threatening messages- it is anticipated that the challenging nature of the artwork will be both engaging and inspirational for them both as viewers and as participants in the workshops.”
Storytelling as a Transformative Process
Storytelling has played an important role even during the preliminary stages for aGender. Xaverine explains,
“As part of our research in planning the workshops, which cover texting, sexting & cyber-bullying, we have had many discussions within our focus group about how best to tackle such a difficult subject. As a result, we have shared many of our own experiences of sex education, our own relationships, previous abusive situations and much more, all through the medium of storytelling.”
Image from Xaverine Bates’ blog depicting ‘Peepshow 2’, one of her live art performances with Miranda Sharp on gender stereotyping and class.
She continues, “It will be fascinating to hear the young peoples’ stories . We are planning to have a multi-platform element to the workshops, incorporating social media of their choice (e.g. instagram, twitter, etc.) to encourage young people to engage with the subject in the days between workshops. This way we will hopefully elicit more stories that they may feel uncomfortable in telling us directly, as many feel more comfortable revealing personal information via social media, which ironically is one of the reasons that the problem of sexting has arisen in the first place – the illusion of anonymity and neutrality has enabled young people to feel that exposing themselves in their bedrooms is acceptable to post online, to potentially thousands of viewers. This false sense of security is what leads to the repercussions as seen in aggressive bullying and cyberbullying.”
aGender’s project is one example in which artful use of information and communication strategies can re-engage public awareness and find new ways to talk about being a body, being sexual, and negotiating healthy relationships. Jeana also pinpoints the transformative phenomenon of personal storytelling and listening. She describes how sharing experiences of sexual assault can help challenge shame and affirm agency over one’s narrative. Jeana states,
“One of the most powerful things I’ve witnessed when it comes to sexual storytelling is the importance of processing trauma through storytelling. Specifically, sexual assault survivors are often able to work through what happened to them by narrating the events in a way that is transformative and therapeutic. One of my mentors at Indiana University, Dr. Nicole Kousaleos, did her dissertation on how women who have survived sexual abuse can, in narrating their stories, experience greater agency in their lives. Narrating a story is also an invitation for listeners to respond, and in this case, the audience can help reinforce that the survivor was not to blame (since one of the biggest stigmas that prevents sexual assault survivors from speaking out is the tendency in our culture to victim-blame). I’ve observed this phenomenon informally, among multiple friends and acquaintances, and thus I believe that overcoming the shameful silence surrounding sexual assault is an important part of the healing process for many people.”
“Additionally, since one of the functions of personal narratives is to create intimacy and empathy, listeners can learn more about the reality of sexual assault. The numbers are already shockingly high -such as the CDC’s estimate that nearly 1 in 5 American women have been raped at some point in their lives- but numbers are abstract, whereas people telling their stories are concrete, real, human. Storytelling about sexual violence puts a face on the problem and helps to humanize it, and that’s why I believe it’s so powerful.”
Conclusion
People are inherently story-driven. The way we understand the world is through narrative. That is why first-person stories are very powerful in facilitating awareness and understanding, especially when they offer an experience of the world never previously imagined. What’s lost in the public discourse of SRE are the real, everyday lives of youth and adults, and making medical facts relevant to their complex needs and desires. The three authors here advocate for more opportunities for people to engage in safe and participatory spaces to actively listen and reflect upon stories.
Because there are so few authentic first-person narratives in sex education (especially a lack of non-heterosexual voices), storytelling provides us with non-stereotypical and often unexpected representations of people, gender roles and relationships. Stories should not be seen as merely anecdotal but as a potential source of knowledge for both the storyteller and the audience.
———– Kavanagh, K. (2011) ‘Priming Pubescent Sexualities; Sex and relationship education, without the relationship education?’ [unpublished]. For recent reports on cyberbulling and sexting refer to Ringrose J, Gill R, Livingstone S & Harvey L (2012). “A qualitative study of children, young people and ‘sexting’”. NSPCC.
Upon her sex partners herpes diagnosis, Pilar Reyes reflects on her personal path from initial anger to condoms enthusiast. The opinions shared are the authors own.
We had been sleeping together on and off for a few months when he got herpes. At first, it was the usual immature reaction: panic, followed by anger, followed by bitter text messages that said, “We’re never fucking ever again!” But that wasn’t true, because despite the echoes of my high school sex education that had planted the seed of “anybody who has an STD is a dirty, bad person,” the sex was still good, and I still wanted to fuck him.
So I did my research. The Internet threw a lot of information at me, but at the end of the day I knew one thing for sure: condoms, condoms, condoms. We had always used condoms before the diagnosis, and it seemed that now using protection was imperative. The herpes virus is spread via direct physical contact. The herpes virus can shed from the skin and be passed from person to person even in the absence of a physical outbreak. Even with the use of condoms, herpes can still be passed on, although the use of condoms greatly diminishes that risk.
I looked at the odds, I looked at my needs, and I came to the conclusion that the risk was worth the reward. Armed with the knowledge that I could potentially spread an STD to my other sexual partners, I did the responsible thing and let them know. Of course, when they found out, they decided to stop sleeping with me. That was fine, because it wasn’t that serious anyways. I guess that’s the thing about casual sex – at the risk of STDs, it becomes a less worthwhile pursuit.
Which was why my partner and I became less casual and more serious. After a brief hiatus, and after the initial outbreak cleared up, I realized that the sex wasn’t the only reason I was coming back. Maybe it was the shared experience of dealing with a new STD diagnosis together, or maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t completely ditched him because of his herpes, we decided, fuck it, we clearly care about each other. Let’s stop fucking around and start dating.
It would have been really easy to instead close my legs and walk away at that point. Certainly all my friends had advised me to do so, but when I had done my initial medical research, I also came across an online community devoted to debunking the STD shaming that is pervasive in modern culture. At first I was surprised that I had never come across this point of view before. As a feminist and an avid anti-slut shamer, it just made sense. Given my initial reaction and my friends’ reactions to the situation, I realized that , much to my chagrin, our attitudes to STDs were not exactly PC. Sure, I have friends with HIV and herpes, but they were certainly not people that I would have even considered having sex with. Of course, that’s a completely unfair perspective, because all it takes is a condom to diminish your risk. So long as a person is honest when disclosing their STDs, there shouldn’t be a problem.
To give this story a happy ending, my partner and I are still together. We have safe sex every time, and, while I still do not have herpes, I’ve come to realize that if I get herpes, then I’ll have herpes. It won’t be a life shattering event, nor should it be, for myself or anyone else. Sure, I certainly don’t want an STD, nor does anyone else, but much like a cold or like acne, often times STDs are merely inconvenient medical conditions. With proper education, you can diminish your risk. Fuck it – just use a condom every time.
Monologues are independent stories. The opinions shared are the author’s own.
This story by Pilar Reyes is originally published on Fuck Feast (@fuckfeast) and cross-posted with permission. The opinions shared are the writer’s own. NSFW.
Whenever I’m in the “Family Planning” aisle at Walmart, usually I just spring for the condoms that are on sale today. Sure, I can always score condoms at various free clinics and free love inclined coffee shops in Oakland, but it’s always good to have some back up, just in case. About a week and a half ago I bought a 36 pack of Trojans, you know, the one that has 4 different varieties of condoms on them. Generally, it would never occur to me to buy those weird “Fire & Ice” condoms or anything other than standard, cheap condoms because, I’ll be honest, I’m not the one with the penis and different types of condoms don’t really create any marginal increase in pleasure, so who cares. (Maybe the dude cares, but if he really cares that much, shouldn’t he be the one buying condoms? And while we’re on that subject, how come it’s always my responsibility to have the condoms? Dudes in this city are so underprepared. I guess every boy in Oakland failed in the Boy Scouts department.)
Anyways, back on topic. I wasn’t really paying attention to the type of condom that the boy was putting on (mostly I just cared that it got on there), but after a few minutes there was this weird tingly-numb sensation in my pussy that immediately made me think, “I’m dying inside my vagina.” But, no, a few seconds later, I thought, “Maybe I’m contracting an STD right now and this is what it feels like….”
Pilar Reyes is an Oakland native who still lives in her hometown. She publishes pieces daily for Fuck Feast[www.fuckfeast.net], her personal blog. When she’s not writing, she’s doing bad things. Follow her on Twitter: @pilar [www.twitter.com/pilar].
There is no way I am having you cover my vagina while my partner performs oral sex on me. It is simply not going to happen. I would rather have no oral sex at all, because you sound like torture, kind of like licking ice cream through the screen door.
I am having this rant because my sex partner showed up armed to the hilt with condoms, lube and you for an evening of sex. You were a new addition to the safe sex practice because a counselor at the health center suggested you to him. Obviously, you have never covered that counselor’s vagina during oral sex.
I have no sexually transmitted infections, other than HIV. My partner has no sexually transmitted infections and we are monogamous. The odds of him getting HIV from licking my vagina are about as great as being struck by a meteor. I am going to chance getting hit by a meteor. My partner is also happy to escape having to lick you- dental dam. Oral sex is the greatest pleasure and an alternative safe sex practice that does not involve you right now. Besides, I would never knowingly put someone at risk.
My partner already had the discussion with the condoms about staying off his privates during oral sex, so why the hell would I want you covering my sensitive parts during oral sex and stifling my orgasms? The condoms are bad enough and that is as far as I am willing to go with safe sex practices with my partner. You are not going to take all the pleasure out of sex and intimacy for me. It is simply too much latex and makes no sense.
I have always believed that a little common sense in each situation can go a long way. So you, dental dam, are going to be put in the bathroom drawer until further notice. I promise to seek you out if needed for some future date.
Yours Sincerely,
Virgina
Monologues are independent personal stories. The opinions shared are the writer’s own.
To combat the spread of HIV and stigma, we need honest discussions that go beyond politically correct ways of representing today’s realities about the virus without oversimplifying and shaming. That is what these two digital stories offer. Watch and listen.
Real life storytelling is a powerful way to raise awareness about HIV and stigma. Stories not only convey information but they also communicate values that relate the storyteller and the listener in more nuanced ways. The Banyan Tree Project, run by the folks at The Asian & Pacific Islander Wellness Center, has utilized this human resource and extended it to Twitter chat.
Viewing Stories on Twitter #BTPChat
They launched a digital storytelling initiative to combat HIV-related stigma in Asian and Pacific Islander communities. For those of you that don’t know, digital storytelling is a workshop-based practice in which participants write their own first-person scripts, record narration, select and scan images, add music, and make 3-4 minute digital videos- in this case, about one’s experience with HIV. The digital stories are uploaded on the project website and have been shared in panels, conferences, and other community discussions to provoke dialogue and community change.
This is how I learned about the Banyan Tree Project (BTP) and watched the two digital stories posted below. BTP organized 5 weekly Twitter chats with guest including TheBody.com and the USA Positive Women’s Network, among others, and framed questions based on digital stories they shared.
You can follow and participate in the chats by following @BTPMay19 and using the hashtag #BTPChat.
June 6, 2012, there will be a #BTPChat about HIV and Youth with the Youth, the Arts, HIV & AIDS Network (@YAHAnet). It starts at 5pm Eastern /2pm Pacific Time and runs for an hour.
Image from @yahanet
HIV and Gay/Bi Men #BTPChat
Last week’s topic was about men who have sex with men and HIV with the National Minority AIDS Council (@NMAC AIDS). Tony’s digital story initiated the chat. Sharing his experience of grief and denial, Tony emphasizes the need for community support which includes the important role of family and friends.
Following the video, @BTPMay19 tweeted these questions for us all to respond.
1) Tony says “Know your status, get tested, seek treatment, find support.” What do gay/bi men need in order to do this?
2) Tony most likely contracted HIV decades ago. How has the gay community’s perception of HIV changed over the last 30 years? #BTPChat
To-the-point answers (you have to be, it’s twitter!) from various HIV outreach professionals and activists rolled out. I’m REALLY generalizing here but comments ranged from issues of disclosure and stigma, the need for everyone (not just poz folks) to have updated info on the manageability of HIV; and the urgency of different ways to frame HIV facts that resonate with different communities.
In the second video “Side Effects”, a sexual health educator candidly explains what led to his choice to have sex without a condom. He reveals that he’s secretly on post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) and works through his guilt.
The #BTPChat question posed were:
1) PEP/PReP can protect against HIV exposure. What do you think this means for gay/bi men relationships?
2) What challenges do gay/bi men still face when getting tested/treated for HIV? #BTPChat
Also, one of the guest moderators, @NMAC AIDS, asked if this storyteller is a hypocrite and if outreach professionals would use this video when teaching prevention? Again, I’m writing a very simplified overview but I think it’s fair to say that most twitter participants felt this story was the kind of frank discourse needed to tackle taboo subjects like drugs and unsafe sex. Every participant seemed to express support for PEP/PReP stating that it offers more options for different relationships and circumstances. Comments did touch upon the inaccessibility of PEP/PReP due to high costs. It was also emphasized that such treatment must be coupled with promoting regular testing and condoms use in appropriate circumstances. Other participants mentioned that condom stigma needs to be taken more seriously by activists.
Post-Thoughts?
The creation and (careful) distribution of these digital stories have potential to make people rethink assumptions about HIV issues and stereotypes of people living with the virus. These are not HIV experiences typically represented in national public discourse. You will not find them in H&M or state-funded sex ed classes. In some ways, they uphold harmful stereotypes that reduce people with STDs and infections as deviant and careless. The storytellers admit to dissent, recklessness, negligence and guilt. But that is the power of these stories- honest talk that keeps it real.
They expose the trickiness of discussing HIV-related topics without subconsciously casting moral judgment. People are slutty, people are negligent and irrational, people use drugs and take part in abusive relationships (be it with themselves or another).
However, these digital stories are not innately effective at combating HIV stigma and posing discussion. They require careful framing. Dialogue needs to be monitored and kept tailored for particular audiences in order to respect the storyteller and effectively combat myths and stigma that might be decoded by the audience. I think the people at APIWellness who run #BTPChat do a great job at this and I hope they continue to twitter #withoutshame.
What are your responses to these digital stories and the #BTPChat questions?
I can’t imagine it’s easy being a French town at the best of times, without having the daily struggle and ridicule of being known as ‘Condom’. All the other towns must point and laugh, and let’s be fair, they have every reason to. I mean, naming a town ‘Condom’, it’s just not fair. Would you name your baby ‘Coil’? Or your new dog ‘The Pill’? Even as middle names, contraceptives rarely work. That said, ‘Sheath’ seems to be a fairly well accepted surname.
Anyway, despite the word ‘condom’ not strictly being part of the French language, the people of this town have accepted it does have an English meaning. They have built their own museum detailing the history of the Rubber Johnny. They ensure each and every shop has a regular supply of everyone’s favourite rubber things and even some of the road dividers have been gifted a rather humorous shape!
Good to see a town’s sense of humour breaking a very well established language barrier…
Monologues are independent stories. The opinions shared are the author’s own. You can read more by Duncan @ DuncWilson.co.uk
Here is an excerpt from Naomi Wolf’s book Promiscuities (1997), that describes her first experience with contraceptives – her trip to the clinic and then her first time doing the “deed”. It could be argued that she tends to portray the condom as a male responsibility; and also as a very unsexy aspect of sex. Nonetheless her critique of sex education, sexual agency, and youth/adult relations around contraceptive talk is an interesting contribution to condom monologues:
“He and I could have been a poster couple for the liberal idea of responsible teen sexuality – and paradoxically, this was reflected in the lack of drama and meaning I felt crossing the threshold. Conscientious students who were mapping out our college applications and scheduling our after-school jobs to save up for tuition, we were the sort of kids who Planned Ahead. But even the preparations for losing one’s virginity felt barren of larger social significance.
When Martin and I went together to a clinic to arrange for contraception some weeks before the actual deed, no experience could have been flatter. He waited, reading old copies of Scientific American, while I was fitted for a diaphragm (“The method with one of the highest effectiveness levels, if we are careful, and the fewest risks to you,” Martin had explained after looking it up). The offices were full of high school couples. If the management intended the mood to be welcoming to adolescents, they had done an excellent job. Cartoon strips about contraceptives were displayed in several rooms. The staff members were straight-talking, and they did not patronize. The young, bearded doctor who had fitted me treated it as if he were explaining to me a terrific new piece of equipment for some hearty activity such as rock climbing.
In terms of the mechanics of servicing teenage desire safely in a secular, materialistic society, the experience was impeccable. The technology worked and was either cheep or free. But when we walked out, I still felt there was something important missing. It was weird to have these adults just hand you the keys to the kingdom, ask, “Any questions?,” wave, and return to their paperwork. They did not even have us wait until we could show we had learned something concrete – until we could answer some of their questions. It was easier than getting your learner’s permit to drive a car.
Now, giving us a moral context was not their job. They had enough to handle. Their work seems in retrospect like one of the few backstops we encountered to society’s abdication of us within our sexuality. But from visiting the clinic in the absence of any other adults giving us a moral framework in which to learn about sexuality, the message we got was: “You can be an adult without trying. The only meaning this has is the meaning you give it.” There was a sense, I recall, that the adults who were the gatekeepers to society had once again failed to initiate us in any way.
For not at the clinic, at school, in our synagogue, or anywhere in popular culture did this message come through clearly to us: sexual activity comes with responsibilities that are deeper than personal. If our parents did say this, it was scarcely reinforced outside the home. No one said, at the clinic, “You must use this diaphragm or this condom, not only because that is how you will avoid the personal disaster of unwanted pregnancy, but because if you have sex without protection you are doing something antisocial and morally objectionable. If you, boy or girl, initiate a pregnancy out of carelessness, that is dumb, regrettable behavior.” Nothing morally significant about the transfer of power from adults to teenagers was represented in that technology. It was like going to the vet: as if we were being processed not on a social but on an animal level.
Well, the Act itself will take care of that, I thought. How did I decide that day? Civics class drove me over the edge. The thought of plowing through the electoral college – which, in all its stubborn irrationality, seemed to represent all the rigidity and hopelessness of the adult world closing in on me…..At the classroom threshold, before the teacher noticed me, I suddenly turned my heel. Down the hall, I intercepted Martin before he walked into his biology lab. I easily persuaded him, ordinarily a conscientious student, to cut class. “Today’s the day: this is it.” It felt special to be the one whose decision was so attentively awaited. We seized our backpacks from our lockers, he took my hand, and we ran up the lawn to the street car tracks just as the class bell was shrilling….
He was shy and undressed in the bathroom. I, somewhat less so but still nervous, undressed under the sheets. When he returned, I was stunned: he was so beautiful. He shivered but let me look.
This was not the sweet old Martin whose grandmother bought him his shirts. I had been taking art history and had spent many hours memorizing fifth-century statues of male nudes. The walls behind Martin were grimy, but he looked like one of those statues, only alive.
My train of association connecting Martin to Praxiteles and the sublime came to an abrupt end with the production and deployment of the condom. We had the diaphragm, but there was no way I was about to deal with that yet. I was grateful not to have to think about the little rubber disk, but grateful, too, not to be directly involved with the alternative. Putting the condom on looked terribly complex. It seemed to me, watching, that if you were dextrous enough to gift-wrap an independent-minded amphibian, you could just about manage a condom.
When we made love, it hurt, but only a little. It was nice but strange. I realized my relative good luck with every disastrous loss-of-virginity story I hear. For a seventeen-year-old boy, Martin was a rarity – a sensitive, respectful teacher. After we dressed and left, we were very hesitant, even solicitous, with each other. It would take a long time and a great deal of trust to create real exotic love between us” (Wolf, 1997: 119-24).
Real life storytelling is a powerful way to raise awareness about HIV and stigma. Stories not only convey information but they also communicate values that relate the storyteller and the listener in more nuanced ways. The 
