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.