by Effin’ Sara

I’m a big fan of science fiction and cyberpunk writing.  One of the reasons (among many) I like reading about dystopian near-futures and space and otherworldly creatures is that the gravity and strangeness of the problems encountered take me away from my own.  When I was about 14 or 15, I was working my way through books written by Bruce Sterling and came to read the novel Heavy Weather. The year is 2031 and humans have wrecked the environment and ecosystem. But for me, the most memorable part of the book was a sex scene:

The wetness on her fingers felt viscous and drippy. It felt rather like motor oil. She had seen semen before, and she even knew that odd and particular smell that it had, but never in her life had it actually touched her skin. It was an intimate bodily fluid. Intimate bodily fluids were very dangerous.

“I’m twenty-six years old,” she said, “and this is the first time I’ve ever touched this stuff.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. “My sweet darling,” he said quietly, “it won’t hurt you.”

“I know that. You don’t have any viruses. You’re not sick! You’re the healthiest person I how!”

“You have no way to really know that, though.”

“Have you ever had sex with anybody, without using a condom?”

“No, never, of course not.”

“Me either. So then how could you possibly have any STh?”

“Blood transfusion, maybe? IV drugs? Anyway, I might be lying about the condom use.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! You’re not a liar, I’ve never known you to lie. You never lie to me!” Her voice trembled. “I can’t believe that I’ve known you all this time, that you’re the man I love more than anyone else in the world, and yet I never really knew about this simple thing that you do, this simple thing that comes out of your body.” She burst into tears.

It sounds suspiciously familiar, doesn’t it?  This book was written in 1994, after the discovery of HIV.  While the disease (though under a different name in this book) is not fictional, Sterling was still looking forward to a time when condom use would be completely normalized and barrier-free sex would be a Big Deal, even taboo.  We’re not quite there yet, but the nature of sex and relationships has been undergoing some major changes in the meantime.

I am a member of the first generation to grow up in a world in which there was always HIV and AIDS.  For us, it’s easy to forget that there was once a time in which the worst things you could catch were curable, and those that weren’t probably wouldn’t kill you (not that they don’t still suck big time!).  HIV caused as big of a change in the way people have sex as the introduction of hormonal birth control did for my parents’ generation.

For people my age, from the very moment we began receiving accurate information about sex, HIV was always a part of the picture.  While we may not have a feeling that premarital/recreational/casual sex is morally wrong, we have a strong sense that it is risky in a very serious way.  If we were lucky growing up, we were told that condom use is the only way to reduce the risk without practicing abstinence.

As a result of this, one of the biggest steps in my sexual, romantic relationships is fluid bonding.  For those of you who aren’t familiar with the term, any two people are considered to be fluid bonded when they have barrier-free sex or otherwise share bodily fluids in such a way that would put them at risk for contracting the STIs that one or the other may have.  This can be in any kind of sexual relationship, heterosexual or homosexual, monogamous or polyamorous.  In doing so, they are not only trusting one another to have honestly disclosed their sexual histories, but also to continue to be honest about any new sexual partners and their STI statuses.  Because HIV can take up to six months after initial infection to show up on an HIV test, for complete surety both partners should wait six months after their last sexual encounter with another partner before getting tested and deciding to bond.

When I choose to take this step with a partner, it is an indication of trust, of long-term intentions for the relationship, and ultimately of love.  It isn’t at all worth it for me to put myself at risk for someone I can’t see myself with in the long run, or with those who leave me unsure about the future of our relationship.  It’s also an emotional experience for me.  Knowing that my partner and I have built up enough trust to go through this together brings me great happiness.  In short, fluid bonding is, for me, a Big Deal.

I managed to badger a number of my friends into telling me what fluid bonding meant to them.  For some, it is important because it is something they want to share with someone they truly care about, or even save until marriage.  It serves as a line between casual partners and serious relationships.  For others, it is a big deal medically but not emotionally.  To them, getting tested is a hassle and is not something they want to go through until they know they’ll be with someone for a while.  Or they recognize that testing isn’t 100% accurate and want to be as safe as they can.  Whatever the reason, my peers consider fluid bonding to be something one should not undertake casually.

As much as we wish HIV was merely an element of science fiction, it is a reality we all have to face.  We live in a world where we need to take steps to protect ourselves.  But without HIV, we would not have this physical manifestation of trust.