Love In the Time of Contraception
By Shannon Drury, Tuesday, February 1, 2011, 1 commentsSadly, a novelization of my sexual life story wouldn’t be published by Harlequin—it would be a Tom Clancy-esque thriller, a tale of perseverance against an inexhaustible foe. My clear and present danger?
Sperm.
Puberty arrived for yours truly in 1984, a time when AIDS hysteria was nearly as pitched as the threat of thermonuclear war. In the Reagan years, the possibility of AIDS transforming from a death sentence to a chronic illness was nearly as unimaginable as German reunification or George Michael’s homosexuality. The message sent to horny teens everywhere was clear: DON’T HAVE SEX OR YOU’LL DIE! Just say no, indeed.
Later, the warning was appended thusly: IF YOU’RE GOING TO HAVE SEX ANYWAY, EVEN THOUGH WE TOLD YOU NOT TO, USE A CONDOM OR YOU’LL DIE! These were very sexy times.
My generation of college students, especially those on campuses in decidedly non-Studio 54 settings, worried less about contracting HIV than catching chlamydia or worse, an unplanned pregnancy. Every dormitory bathroom contained a small envelope packed with spermicide-coated condoms, but the slippery little devils tended to intimidate our nervous 18-year-old partners. We lamented these young men’s tendency to panic at the sound of the Trojan wrapper, so frantic about keeping it up while the condom was adjusted that softness attacked. Beer, the main source of nutrients for the average college student, didn’t help things.
Should we have postponed sex until marriage? It’s true that many of my friends married their college sweethearts, but no sane person buys a car without taking it around the block for a test drive.
After graduation, in a trusting relationship with a non-alcoholic, I filled my first prescription for the Pill. On Day 10, when one of my Starbucks customers complained that he asked for a no-whip mocha, I crawled to the back room and wept— a big deal in the coffee world, where you’re expected to be so blasted on caffeine that you can charge through eight hours without stopping. After work, I remained too skittish to desire sex at all, defeating the Pill’s purpose entirely.




















