CarnalNation

Chastity Boy has dealt with those problems a lot, so my careful reaction and evident lack of anxiety won me lots of points. Since then, I've met up with him publicly twice, and we've even managed to make out! He's still going to visit. Maybe I can convince him to sleep in bed, as long as I promise not to put the moves on him.

And maybe, just maybe, his vow allows him to practice BDSM ... a girl can dream, right? But seriously, if we can do BDSM together, then I just might be his dream partner. I'd be happy to focus our sexual time on BDSM and foreplay, and to ignore "actual" sex indefinitely. Plus, some people argue that failing to sate ourselves sexually is the best tactic for prolonging romantic magic—so this could be the way for Chastity Boy to become the love of my life.

In Africa, the mantra for HIV educators is ABC: that is, the three things that protect against HIV/AIDS are Abstinence, Being faithful, and Condom usage. But my job is much more complicated than passing out condoms and wagging my finger. The problem isn't so much that people don't know how to avoid HIV, although myths and misconceptions do exist. The problem is that people don't seem willing to change their behavior in order to protect themselves. People can't just know about condoms—they must prioritize condom usage despite drawbacks like loss of pleasure or pressure from their partners. People can't just know that HIV is sexually transmitted—they must be psychologically open to abstaining from sex despite drawbacks that are, well, obvious. HIV prevention in Africa is less about sharing knowledge, now, and more about marketing: giving people a new perspective on sex, their health, and their futures.

Of course, I'm totally psyched about marketing some of these social aspects, like gender equality. (Gender equality is an HIV/AIDS issue for lots of reasons—the most obvious being that the less power women have, the less they can control their sexual acts.) But others give me pause. Abstinence? Seriously? It sticks in my craw. Obviously, I don't have a problem with people choosing not to have sex ... but I'm not sure how I feel about actively convincing people not to have sex.

In America, I advocate for open, explicit, pleasure-affirming sex education. But that's a radical stance even in America—I'm not sure whether it's possible here! At least I'm spotting a few allies, some in unexpected places: for instance, there's a great high-profile, outspoken sex-positive educator in South Africa who happens to be a pastor. I'm starting to think there's room to do fascinating work here, creating culturally appropriate sex-positive education.

Yet abstinence remains the only 100% effective tactic for not contracting HIV. As another educator told me, "I hate abstinence-only education more than anything. Seriously. But ... here, I think it's a necessary ingredient." Is it responsible for me to avoid promoting abstinence? Even if marketing abstinence means that to some extent, I'll have to tell people sexual exploration isn't worth doing?

I'm still feeling out my approach, but ... what if the most effective way to fight HIV is to align myself with values antithetical to free sexuality? Does properly doing my job require me to promote a sex-negative agenda? Surely not. Surely there are ways to promote sex-positive abstinence—perhaps a "Vibrators for African Women" program ...?

And that's just one facet of the broader question keeping me awake at night! Which is: given a fatal, incurable sexually transmitted infection; given a population where, in some areas, 40% or more test positive; given a society in which culturally appropriate messages emphatically do not include my pro-sex, pro-queer, pro-kink approach to sex education ... what does being a sex-positive educator mean?

Maybe I can harvest clues from my own feelings, past and present, about abstinence: clues for how to promote it compassionately, effectively and responsibly; clues for locating my boundaries when I talk about it. And maybe I can harvest down-to-earth advice from my relationship with Chastity Boy, too. I can work from toxic masculine norms he's had such trouble with, and examine how men in southern Africa might likewise worry about abstinence—if you think American men have tough definitions of sexual manliness to contend with, then try living in a place where the big men have multiple wives and over a dozen children. I also think it'll be hot to be bound against going "too far". Maybe I can learn how abstinence is fun, fun, fun!

Hey, at the very least, it'll give me a taste of what I'm telling everyone else to do.

* I definitely have no problem with the basic idea of porn. However, mainstream porn tends to fall into a certain stereotype of sexuality that can be problematic for those of us who don't fit the stereotype. This isn't to say that there's anything wrong with enjoying mainstream porn -- I just think it's useful for us to remember that it represents a stereotype, rather than a default. To learn about non-stereotypical porn, check out the website for Comstock Films: Real People, Real Life, Real Sex; some of the arthouse porn screened at sex-positive film festival CineKink; or the documentary "Hot & Bothered: Feminist Pornography". If you're looking for well-made, reputedly ethical BDSM porn, Kink.com may be of interest (not safe for work). (They've even got a Values page! Also not remotely work-safe.)