The second unfortunate criterion for condoms is looks. Men will
generally decide whether they will wear a condom simply by looking at the
girl. If she is very good-looking, he will not wear one, choosing to
believe that such a gorgeous girl could not possibly have AIDS because
she looks so pure and clean. On the other hand, men often go to bed with
girls they know, or at least hope, they will never see again.
Women are sometimes just as absurd on this subject as men:
Hope, 29, a married secretary at a stockbroking firm, lives in
Brooklyn with her husband, kids, and mother. At the office party, she had
sex in the filing room with the firm's very straight, very married legal
counselor, 34. When she tells me the story with great pride, I ask the
condom question.
Hope: "Come on! He's an attorney from one of the best schools and
he's not gonna have AIDS. He's not the ticket."
Of course Hope has no idea what school Mr. Legal Counsel went
to.
Euphemism and Inquisition
A whole new language of the AIDS culture has grown up in the last
few years: an argot of personal mythology, reassurance, and lies. My
generation does not mind discussing AIDS in the abstract (Magic Johnson,
Rock Hudson, etc.), but can barely bring themselves to utter the word
AIDS in referring to their own personal risks.
For example, no one says "I must be careful because, if I'm not, I
might catch AIDS . " Instead, it has become universal to say "In this Day
and Age, I must be careful."
Also, among twentysomethings, there are two sovereign phrases of
the AIDS regime: "I've never done this before" (which implies "While we
are indeed indulging in a so-called high-risk act and not using a condom
even though we have only just met, be assured, I am quite safe. Believe
me. Oh, believe me"); and "I haven't had sex in six months," which is
believable only the first time one hears it. By the fifth, it is clear
that either everyone stopped having sex on a specific day exactly six
months ago or, mystically, Six Celebate Months (like Twelve Good Men or
Seven Deadly Sins) are the symbol of a sexually safe girl in a time of
plague.
Even men, who traditionally flourish on the implication that they
have had sex with far more partners than they really have, are now
halving the numbers which they claim on their scorecards.
The Date as a preliminary to a love affair was another casualty of
the Plague Years. The very formality of the traditional All-American Date
as the social foreplay before the sexual foreplay has defeated the Date's
basic purpose. In this Day and Age, it has become the cover for a game of
mutual interrogation of such frosty import (e.g. survival), that the Date
is more like a session in the dungeons with the Sex Gestapo rather than a
tender dinner with a future lover. (Ironically, the grimness of dating
has made casual sex all the more attractive.)
If the stakes were not so high, the ritual would be very comical.
The conversation always begins with a vague question from the official
seducer (male or female):
"So tell me, how long did you go out with your last
boy/girlfriend?"
The answer should be more than three months for any respectability.
The next question is: "Oh, really. Hmm, and what did he/she do?"
The wrong answers include drug dealer, rock musician, ballet dancer
(for guys), topless dancer (for girls), etc., and can freeze the
questioner's belly. Yet he/she goes on to say something like "Sure, but
not all dancers are gay/sluts, right?" or "Did he/she live the
rock'n'roll lifestyle?"
This is a tougher question than it seems. At that moment, the
questioner hopes with all his or her heart and loins to hear the right
answer without the slightest vocal doubt. If an answer such as 'Why's it
matter?' comes back, the Date ends at once. There is nothing scarier than
a person who does not seem to have heard of AIDS and as a result does not
really understand why you are asking such odd questions. Maybe, they
might rationalize, the questioner is just a geek. So be it. The geek
lives longer.
On the other hand, an over-definite answer is equally damning. One
such response that sent me running was "I know for a fact that my
boyfriend never, ever touched drugs. He promised me. And besides, I of
all people would have known, wouldn't I?" Pause. 'Wouldn't I?"
Sometimes the questioning by the Sex Gestapo increases the desire
while at the same time ruling out any chance of performance whatsoever.
For example, the guy admits that in the Eighties he once indulged in
group sex. His date is intrigued by his adventures but simultaneously
knows she must not sleep with him. As he talks, she can see Death and Sex
balanced in front of her like the scales of justice. Thus people ask and
hear more about sexual history now than they did in the past-and it is
tantalizing torture.
Girls know that men will never tell them their real number of bed
partners for two reasons: one is that they have likely lost count; the
other is that, in the age of AIDS, the number may sound alarmingly large.
(Oddly, women seem to get asked this question more than men. Yet if
indeed it is easier for a female to contract AIDS, they should get asking
fast.) As it is, men are more likely to apologetically ask: "By the way,
just how many men have you slept with?"
Women have always reduced the number, but never as much as they do
now when both death and social morality dictate it. Katherine, a
29-year-old journalist from San Francisco, reports:
Tags:
AIDS,
aids epidemic,
andwell,
casual sex,
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heterosexual male,
loins,
no doubt,
pony tails,
prestigious magazines,
promiscuity,
readership surveys,
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reminiscences,
sexual habits,
splendid isolation,
twenty-something,
twentysomethings,
wishful thinking,
world of sex,
younger generation
