Following proper airplane etiquette, I sat in the aisle seat, one away from a shlubby looking guy garbed in a Boston College sweatshirt whose other remarkable features were large, square glasses and a Yankees cap balanced on his head. He was quiet enough, I figured, for me to be able to spend the hour-long shuttle flight from New York reading some overdue Marx.

Then Olivia filled the space between us. The fellow in my row greeted her magnanimously, to say the least. Likewise, she was quite pleased to see her boyfriend. The couple couldn't keep off each other, despite his nasal sniffling. They were grabbing each other (and I'm not talking about hand-holding) and sucking each other's faces with vacuum power to rival the Dustbuster.

Then, in not so hushed tones, Olivia inquired as to the state of her lover's new bed. I had obviously overestimated B.C.'s Catholicism and underestimated the pervasiveness of potent American sexuality. Such flagrant sexual intimacy has come to disturb every aspect of life here, in the process turning the college bar into a giant back seat; moving X rated movies to the R section, likening Madonna to Marilyn. Our culture has come to reflect our sex life as an exhibitionist porn-show.

Even suburbia is getting into the act. When I arrived home for Thanksgiving, I asked my sister what was new at her school. "We put condoms on wooden penises in English class today," she informed me. I learned that my alma mater, Roslyn High School, located on Long Island's North Shore, has become the first school district outside New York City to distribute condoms in addition to thorough condom education. What an honor.

It turns out that NBC and News 12 Long Island had run the story. Newsday did a cover piece called "Condom Handout." The principal heralded "a new era of condom availability." All in all, it was a big sensation topped by a press conference and a tour of the school nurse's office where the fish bowl of condoms is to sit. Everyone was pleased that they were saving the world from AIDS. But in the process, administrators missed the bigger picture of what's wrong with sex today.

The condom education session itself proved to be as sterile as a "Leave It To Beaver" special. Peer educators (meaning high school kids) training their classmates handed out an innocuous looking ditto: "How to Use a Latex Condom Properly." The sixth of 12 steps reads, "Place condom on erect penis prior to any contact." Step 7: "Roll condom down to base of penis." Step 9: "After ejaculation hold condom at base of penis and withdraw slowly before erection is lost." Gotta love that class instruction--reading, writing and wrist action.

What is the penis which is spoken of besides a detached wooden pole created in the craft shop? Does it have any greater purpose than mock ejaculation? Where does this penis disappear to after it gets dressed up in the plastic sheath and before it disrobes? Do we hear of the partner who is the receptacle for the male tool and his or her feelings about the act? Do we inquire why people are having sex or search for an understanding of any reason behind it?

The answers to these questions are not to be found in the demonstrations of any peer educators. They haven't thought of such things. Students engaged in such "training sessions" in high schools or on this campus are doing nothing less than initiating their peers into a realm of sex which, as presented, can be nothing less than abusive. According to such groups, unhinged sexual passion is more than hedonistic satisfaction--so long as a condom is worn.

The "educators" have won the battle. Their case for sex as the true American pastime is now encoded into the textbooks and state education requirements. So why stop there? Let's instruct kids that all types of sex are cool--oral sex with colored condoms, anal sex in the morning, bestiality with stray dogs; gerbils for your rectal pleasure. Education is the answer to sexual incompetence the children: sex, sex, sex (with a condom, please). Let's get a head start now.

Joshua A. Kaufman's column appears on alternate Mondays.