STDs and College

by John Buchel, ArtsEtc. Writer

“I’m not a coward ? I’ve just never been tested.

I’d like to think that if I was, I would pass.

Look at the tested and think, ‘There but for the grace go I.’

I might be a coward, I’m afraid of what I might find out.”

? Mighty Mighty Bosstones

On one beautiful day last fall, a student approached me with a clipboard outside my bank. I could see where this was going.

He started his practiced opening, which probably sounded something like, “Hi, my name is ___, and I’m doing a survey/test/poll for some miserable/excruciating/pointless psych/com arts/social science class.” I wasn’t listening. I was noticing: 1) what a beautiful day it was; and B) how dejected this poor bastard looked after what had been no doubt hours of rejection. So I took his survey.

“Do you think college students are afraid of getting tested for sexually transmitted diseases?” he asked.

“I don’t think they’re afraid,” I said. “I mean, if they suspect they’ve contracted something … I used to think that was the only reason we had UHS.”

“Do you think the majority of college students get tested on a regular basis?”

“Surely not,” I said.

“Why not?”

“Because most college students think they have had a relatively low number of sexual partners and been reasonably safe and that it is unnecessary.”

“Have you ever been tested?”

No, I haven’t.

“Why not?”

“Because I think I have had a relatively low number of sexual partners and have been reasonably safe and that it is unnecessary.”

There it was. For all my sexual prowess and knowledge, for all the classes, all the independent reading and safe-sex activism, I stood with the majority. I was one big, fat hypocrite.

Despite regularly talking about the importance of including oral sex encounters in your count of sexual partners, that was not what I was doing. This is no longer a matter of principle. It’s a matter of convenience and laziness and fear and denial all s’mored up together.

Everyone has seen and heard the public service announcements, after-school specials and ear candy that presidents throw out during State of the Union addresses. We know the dangers. There were 834,555 reported cases of chlamydia in the United States in 2002. There were 886,575 cases of AIDS.

When a middle school teacher (or a college professor, or the president, for that matter) slaps down these types of statistics, fear is a natural reaction. Some are afraid and keep doing their thing, their thug-thizzle. Some are afraid and so cease all sexual activity. Some are afraid and try to stay squeaky clean.

During my senior year of high school, a nationally renowned AIDS activist came and spoke to our class. He was infected with HIV from a roll in the hay in his younger days and had not discovered it until he had already infected his wife.

He understood that a few hundred 18-year-olds could not fully grasp the wretchedness of such a disease, because the policy makers, he advised, though sympathetic, could not fully comprehend. It was even beyond the reach of presidents.

Only someone who has truly gotten burned can truly understand. So we sat with blank stares on our faces as he tried a tired exercise to suggest sleeping with one person is like sleeping with all of their partners. Of course, of course.

I sat next to my girlfriend, the only person I had ever slept with, feeling fairly secure. I didn’t consider college, when we would break up, diddle other people and come back for make-up sex. When the activist finished his lecture, I was the first to shake his HIV-infected hands. I felt so enlightened, so self-righteous.

“Because I think I have had a relatively low number of sexual partners and have been reasonably safe and that it is unnecessary.” How many partners have those partners had? How safe have they been? Just how unnecessary is it?

Whether you are a star slugger or sitting the bench, we are all players in the game, and we are all afraid of a situation that will one day land us permanently on the disabled list. But we will not quit the team. Just be sure to wear a batting glove, hope for the best, and keep swinging for the fences.