Guest Post: When getting fucked changes its meaning

Dear Sexless,

Let’s be honest, Peace Corps is not for the weak, and I’m not talking about the life-changing, child-serving white savior our kind of nonsense. I’m talking about being in my late 20’s in a town full of ‘almost-old-enough-to-drink’ boys that think yelling ‘bonjour’ at me is foreplay. Getting laid here is no joke, or no, it’s exactly that, the only fucked I am is the kind when I make five trips to my Gendarme and no one has apparently heard of a Carte de Séjour. When you live in a town the same size as your high-school, you know the pickings are slim. And beyond the kiddie sized pool of peach fuzzed prospective suitors — when you live in a town this small you can hardly say the word sex without every khalti, tata or khiti knowing what you’re thinking. Plus trying to sex someone here comes with a side of, ‘Can you help me buy a motor?’ Or ‘Do you want to pay for my bus tickets to Agadir?’. So with everyone in a 50 mile radius out of contention, who does that leave?


Underwhelmed & Undersexed

#2 Peace Corps Gave Me My First STI

Peace Corps is full of firsts for me, first time on a plane, first time eating organ meat, first time pooping in a hole in the ground — oh, and first time I got an STI. Look, I know, I know it sounds bad, and highly improbable. Granted, two weeks ago I wrote about not being able to get laid, and resorting to self-love with videos titled Scandal at the Vatican Part 2 and Drill Bill, but shit happens, or in my case an itchy groin happens.


Was getting an STI the inevitable progression of dwelling on my lack of sex? Perhaps. Maybe after realizing I was in a rock hard predicament I ran out on to the streets and hooked up with as many willing strangers as I could find. Maybe I flew back to the states for a weekend to resolve this sticky situation by organizing a leather themed sausage party. But, what really happened between having no sex to becoming another venereal disease statistic?


At first I thought that my privates were itching because I was letting my pubic hair grow, a real seventies full bush kind of vibe. Back in the US I ran a tight ship and I made sure that ship was hairless. Considering how unnecessary it was to continue on that track I let loose and let my hair down. And so the itching began, although frustrating, it was manageable — at first. Every so often I would run to the restroom, or even a vacant kitchen, and give the downstairs a good once over, to no avail. This continued for a few days until the itching went from nuisance to unbearable. I would not be able to sit still during language class, let alone learn, or do simple tasks without pain erupting from my nether region. At some point you have to say the buck stops here, and take invasive action.


After contemplating what could possibly be going on and staring down at myself for several minutes, the problem became quite clear, or problems. All around my stomach and my genitals I saw a bunch of little white small creatures running about and wrecking havoc. They were minuscule and had several legs that they used to scurry around or latch on to my ravaged body. I felt as though I was in a bad 80’s creature feature horror movie, where the next logical step would be to have my head explode in a grotesque display of fake blood. Instead, I ran to the restroom and shaved everything off. Horrified, I saw the white fuckers would not go down without a fight. I threw myself down on the floor and used tweezers to rip off the remaining parasites that clung to my skin, one by one, over the course of a couple hours. Exhausted, I spent the rest of the evening alternating between researching what was happening to me and talking myself down from a full blown panic attack.


The next morning I called the Peace Corps Medical Office, praying they would ease my worries, and incessant itching. I had an inkling as to what was happening and my theory was confirmed when the word crabs through the speaker of my pathetic PC issued phone. Logically, I was asked about other symptoms and my sex habits, typical questions a doctor may ask someone who is diagnosed with an STI. The problem was that my now-abused crotch hadn’t come face to face with another person in over four months.


I later found out that, while crabs are considered an STI, it is easy to get crabs without sexual contact. I got my first STI without the S, I’m not sure if I should cry or give myself a round of applause. Whether it was that towel I borrowed or those blankets I slept naked in, the fact was that I got an STI with no happy ending. They said Peace Corps would come with a lot of firsts. I guess now I can cross off crabs and an STI… or TI off of my list. This Shakespearean twist on my sex life is a cruel joke from the Peace Corps gods. As of now, I remain thirsty, filthy, and perpetually sexless.


Faithfully Yours,


#1 Sexless in the Peace Corps

This past summer I topped myself. I slept with more men in one season than I have since I started having sex. Everything was in place for me to do so – I was recently single, aggressively confident, and weeks away from moving to a developing country (where I knew my skills in bed were not why I was hired).

Since joining the Peace Corps and moving to this arid country, I’ve heard volunteers tell the same joke over and over; whenever anything remotely sexual happens we say, ‘that’s the most action that we’ve gotten in days, months, years’ – you get the idea. If I had a dollar for every time that I’ve heard that joke I’d have enough money to fly back to the US meet up with some of my summer flings and get fucked until the next election cycle.

Prior to releasing us into the wild, we had our hands held and our asses wiped, meeting every few weeks for training, mostly to share gossip – our own form of social currency, wash underwear, and bathe as much as needed. During one of the countless presentations that we are required to attend, to help us better serve we’re told, we were given several statistics on global Peace Corps sex habits. Statistically, within the first three months a quarter of us will get laid, a little less than half of us will hookup with a local by the time we leave, and by the end of the twenty-seven months, ninety percent of us will have had sex at least once.

I’ve been in the Peace Corps for about 3 ½ months now and regardless of the statistics, I’m more likely to get engaged here, than engage sexually or romantically with someone. While some of my fellow PCVs have paired up or hooked up, even broken up, I have had no such luck. I have more sexual attraction to my right hand than to any of the volunteers and I have adopted the old adage of not sleeping with coworkers. Sleeping with locals seems like it will require acrobatics and a degree of espionage, that I neither have nor care to acquire. Sex before marriage is frowned upon, homosexuality is illegal, and finding hookups will require me to travel a couple hours to the nearest big city by bus and get a hotel – and no matter the size of his dick, it’s not worth my hard earned money.

Last summer I fucked a record number of men and now I am hitting a record number of months where I get off knowing porn is as close to the real thing as it gets. I am deprived, probably even depraved, for lack of a better term, sexless.