As I re-entered the world of singledom, after the South African, some things became disturbingly clear

I realized that I have a post break-up habit.  Some people get a drastic hair cut. Some people gain or even lose 15 lbs. For me, after a relationship ends I tend to become a true believer in free love.   During which I made good use of all of my gentleman’s socializing networks. I could be found chatting with guys at the gym, at work, at home.  I would even travel the length of Manhattan to partake in an extra long lunch break. Just to clarify, this was NOT my prior lunch date.  Within the midst of my newly rejuvenated spurt of free love, there were a couple observations that shocked and confused me. 

Way before the South African existed in my word, I chatted with this handsome Brooklyn Boy. We met on OkCupid and we tried to set up a really real date on a couple different occasions. Unfortunately it never really worked out, so we both just gave up. While on sowing my newly found wild oats, I came across the same Brooklyn Boy, on a slightly different website, Manhunt. We chatted again and this time we were determined finally to make our date happen. Since we were chatting on a site that had the byline of “Get on, Get off” I thought I should come clean with my status. He quickly became excited and he said, “So am I, now you can fuck me raw!” Clearly, I should’ve given him a different nickname with the initials B. B. I politely declined and then literally got off. 

There was another guy, who I chatted with for quite some time.  We talked about everyday random stuff and not just about a mutual love for our freedoms.  Finally, we decided to finally set up a time to meet. Again, because we didn’t meet on Manhunt and I wasn’t sure what his intentions were, I told him my status and lo-and-behold he said he was also poz. Ok, great. There should be no weirdness. Oh, was I wrong. I also told him that I always play safe and he proceeded to tell me that he never uses protection and he basically apologized saying that he hates “rubbers” and he would never have sex with someone who insisted on using them. 

I was baffled. I know I talk a lot about my disappointment and frustration with negative guys who turn me down because of my status, now I was turned down by a positive guy who didn’t date me because I always use a condom! I felt like I had just stepped into some bizzaro universe. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, I completely understand the allure of this particular practice, especially with another positive person.  But forgeting  the personal risk factors involved, I think people tend to forget that there are other STDs out there. I have a hard enough time expressing my status to a prospective date; imagine adding Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Herpes, or Syphilis to the mix! 

Another thing that completely perplexed me was the amount of people that ask me if I "parTy". I am not that naïve that I am completely unaware of this practice and on prior occasions I have been asked if I "parTy and play". And I would be remiss not to mention I did try meth once. Luckily for me the only addictive substance my body will let me consume is chocolate.  But day after day, I found myself bombarded with that question, “Do you parTy?” No, “Hello.” No, “How are you?” Just “Do you parTy?”

I would respond: “Why yes I do! When my niece turned five, you should have seen me tearing up that Disney karaoke.” 

I love my oral fixations too much to give myself meth mouth and I love my penis way too much to swing it around at every Tom, Dick, and Harry without any protection. You can call me a fuddy-duddy, but I still head the advice given to me Mr. Jiminy Cricket and I always let my conscience by my guide.

After the lackluster first sexual encounter with Martin, I was determined that it would indeed get better. After all, we are both attractive men in our mid 30s and we like each other, so there is nothing stopping us from having no-holds-barred-animalistic sex. Right? At least that is what I was hoping for. I like Martin, I really do and I want us to work. I don’t want you to get the wrong impression, but we all know that sex is a fairly large component in a new relationship.

I’m sure you know me well enough by know to know that I had a plan a brewin’. This what I finally decided upon: First, I would stop off and get two gourmet cupcakes. Who doesn’t love a good cupcake? Secondly, I would meet him at his apartment and I would say “First I want to ravage you. Then I want to ravage these.” Brilliant. Sexy. Fun. Sweet.

Ok, ok, ok, ok, maybe I stole that from an episode of ‘Sex and the City’ where the jazz player says to Ms. Bradshaw “I want a bourbon and I want to go down on you.”

Only the execution of my plan wasn’t so brilliant, sexy, or fun. I picked up the cupcakes. One double chocolate with caramel and chocolate ganache and one red velvet with cream cheese frosting. So there I was waiting for him outside of his apartment with cupcakes, all amped up… and he texts to tell me he was going to be late.

Damnit!  I was on a mission and I was quickly loosing my resolve!  About twenty minutes later he finally shows up and I was swiftly back in the game. He kissed me and I coyly said, “First I want to ravage you. Then I want to ravage these.” and he said “What?” He didn’t say this out of confusion, he genuinely didn’t hear me. I repeated myself, but lost all of my tenacity.

Regardless, my second attempt did the trick. He kissed me hard and led me to his apartment. We quickly tore off each other’s clothes and jumped into bed. The fire between us died as quickly as our clothes came off. I was dumbfounded. As I laid there and ate a cupcake, I couldn’t help thinking that it was incredibly sad that those cupcakes were the best part of the evening. They were great cupcakes but, come on!

The next day or so we exchanged a couple emails and Martin told me that he was back in his head and that it would be best if we cooled things off. He said that it had nothing to do with my HIV status, it was him. Blah. Blah. Blah.

Two weeks later and without even seeing me, he decided that his emotions weren’t “growing” for me and it would be best if we stopped seeing each other. I wasn’t crushed. I wasn’t even a little hurt. This is so uncharacteristic of me. I mean, I usually lock myself in my apartment and have mini breakdowns after every bad date singing “Could’ve Been” by the mall queen, Tiffany. This lack of a brokenhearted feeling made me realize that I wasn’t really in love with Martin.

Apparently, I was just in love with the thought of being in love.

And just as ceremoniously as I deleted it I poured myself a glass of wine and again downloaded Grindr to my phone. (Well, Grindr, Manhunt, and Adam4adam – I’m playing the odds). 

Even though after Martin returned from his mini trip to Montreal and squashed most of the craziness that was circling around in my brain, we were still having a hard time getting together. And by getting together - I mean having sex. He was busy with school,  I was working a lot and our schedules were not quite meshing. I had never felt so chaste in my life!

I was invited to my friend Mark’s 30th birthday party the Saturday after Martin’s return.  I know that turning thirty is a big deal, but I was selfishly about to decline the invite because that was the only night that Martin and I could get together.  And yes, by “get together”, I mean have sex! Martin convinced me to go to the party and promised to  meet me there and then we could leave whenever we wanted. Perfect.

On Saturday afternoon Martin called and said "Not to be to presumptuous, but if you want to, you can pack an overnight bag." Ha. Once a Boy Scout, always a Boy Scout.  My bag had been packed for days!

I went to Mark's party with my overnight bag slung over my shoulder. As soon as I got there I was ready to go, but seeing Martin make his way through the crowded room to give me a kiss was totally worth the wait. It was time to be social. social. OK, so maybe we really weren't being that social. We had our little nook where we were pressed up against each other. We were just waiting to have spent a respectable amount of time at the party before we could make our exit.

After what felt like hours, we left and made our way back to Martin’s apartment in Hell's Kitchen.  Our clothes were torn off in a furry of passion. I noticed that there seemed to be something quite reserved about his interaction with me. There were awkward kisses and his mouth never ventured anywhere south of my neck. It almost felt like I was doing all the work and he was just a passenger – and truth be told a not so willing passenger.

The next morning I woke up and was surprised to find him ready to go at it again. I say this not because of any lack of ability on his part, but all night the only thought plaguing my mind was, "Oh fuck, I guess he's not really that OK with me being poz." The “second-go-around” was indeed better than the night before. The kissing was a little better and at least his lips made their way as far down as my nipples. I know that this is an odd statement, but  I’ve never been the biggest fan of receiving blow jobs. but to be honest, I still want to have the option. I don’t know what I would do if there were no more in my life!  Martin’s lack of southern travel plans further solidified that I could never be with anyone who would be afraid to touch me. Never.

When I got myself home I realized that I left my bag of toiletries at his apartment. Subconsciously or consciously? Who knows, but I needed to go back to retrieve them so I can look pretty the rest of the week!

Later that evening I stopped by his apartment.  He made us tea and we sat and just chatted about our day.  Suddenly  he turned to me and said that he wanted to explain something. My initial thought was, “Oh no. He's going to end it.” Instead, he proceeded to tell me that earlier on Saturday evening he had bitten his lip and that was why he was so apprehensive about kissing me.

The light bulb came on and everything started to make sense. He didn't want to go "down town" on me because he was afraid of his bitten lip!

I know that it took him a bit of courage to tell me and I do respect him for his candor. So I won't hold it against him. On second thought, maybe I will hold it against him again just to see how he does the second time around. Although I guess, technically, it would be the third time around!

I was still on Cloud  9 for days after my first date with Martin, the South African. Unfortunately for me, Martin, who was in the process of getting his MFA in creative writing, had absolutely no free time. And to make it worse, the following weekend he was going on trip to DC, then had houseguests, and was then taking a long weekend trip to Montreal to visit his sister. Needless to say, we were hard pressed to find any time to hangout.

Thankfully, he was able to shuffle things around in his schedule so we could spend a couple hours together.

He met me in Madison Square Park after work and we took a nice stroll through the city watching the night sky turn black. We stopped off at a little independent Coffee shop for some treats, but really the treat for me was his company. We spent two hours just talking. Talking about everything and nothing, playfully flirting and gently pressing our knees together.

We decided to leave and walked back out into the crisp night. As we started walking, he grabbed my hand. I was so surprised that I almost tripped over my own two feet! Instead, I managed to just smile as we walked hand in hand through Chelsea.

When we reached the corner of my departure, he grabbed my face, pulled me in close and gave a deep kiss that shook me to the core. I was so dazed that when I walked away I tripped and stumbled into the middle of 6th Avenue. Thankfully, an angry cabbie honked me back to consciousness before he ran me over.

“You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!”

When I got home I promptly told Martin about my HIV status because I knew the next time there would be a kiss like that, it wouldn’t end with just a kiss. I was beyond relieved to find that my status was not an issue for him.

Ok, we were on the right track. But it was feeling almost too good to be true, and this is where the wheels typically come off the cart for me.  My brain goes into hysterical over-drive.   As I mentioned, Martin and I would not be able to get together for a while - almost two weeks - and this allowed me ample time to drive myself crazy. My particular favorite brand of crazy is the kind where I run scenarios in my head over and over again depicting where our relationship might lead.  

Wouldn’t you know it, this would be the same two weeks where most of my friends found themselves incredibly busy and thus leaving me all alone with my thoughts. This is never good. My scenarios started easy enough, just your typical lustful encounters. Then my daydreams got a little more vivid and out of control: I quit my job and we moved to South Africa to pluck sheep and milk chickens, or whatever you do on a farm. At one point, I even convinced myself that he was only using me to get his green card. Oh yes, I became Andie McDowell and he was Gérard Depardieu sitting at that piano banging away while reciting a poem about poor children with no trees.

It is fair to say that I should never be left alone with my thoughts.

He promptly called upon his return and his simple “Hello” managed to dash all the craziness that had been circling around my brain for two weeks.  A couple days later he invited me to accompany him to see a play in Brooklyn. Before the show, we met at South African restaurant where he greeted me with a kiss and a box of chocolates he picked up at Suite 88 in Montreal.  Chocolates?!?

That night I deleted Grindr from my phone.

“And that ain't all. It could happen to anyone, so you'd better be careful. It could happen to you...and you, and...Yes, it could even happen to you!”

 

For those out there that don't utilize that site, your profile is basically a collection of the most generic questions possible to describe yourself to a prospective date. These questions include: What Am I Doing With My Life (Seriously? This question sounds like it comes from a disappointed parent.), I’m Really Good At (If you have some spare time, you should read people's responses, they are hilarious!), and the list goes on from there. Having no recent luck with the site and on-set of spring-like weather, I had a crazy idea. I decided to make my profile into bit of a joke.

 The First Thing People Usually Notice About Me…

 ....My charming personality or maybe my hunchback, it's a tossup.

To be honest, I am not exactly sure why I wrote it, but I couldn’t stop laughing. So, I took the ball and ran with it.

The Most Private Thing I'm Willing to Admit…

 ...I was lying about my hunchback, or was ?.

 and my personal favorite,

You Should Message Me

....If you like Quasimodo.

I find that there are very, very few people who enjoy my comedy. I don't know, maybe it wasn't all that funny. But because it still made me giggle, I decided to keep it. Finally, my ridiculous sense of humor paid off…

      "You had me laugh out loud at your hunchback descriptor (which I hope you have - hot!) and I thought I'd drop by and say hi."

Immediately, I checked out his profile. He is my age, blonde hair, blue eyes, South African, very handsome and most importantly, he liked my joke. OkCupid gave us only a 53% match, what do they know!

We exchanged a few emails and set up a first date.                           

When I first laid eyes on him, I was floored at how good looking he was. Then he spoke. Did I tell you that I had a thing for good looking guys with accents? Then after the novelty of his accent wore away, I actually heard what he was saying and I couldn't stop laughing. I was out for the count because his sense of humor parallels my own.

After about an hour or so of chatting, he looks at me with his piercing blue eyes and asked "Do you want to go dancing?"

"Umm…ok" He could've asked me if I wanted to go on a sightseeing tour of Baghdad and I would have blindly followed.

And danced we did. We danced and danced and danced. We only stopped to change our location. Then it happened. He kissed me right on the dance floor. He did it again. Oh my god, it's happening and I can't stop it! I am becoming one of those people. Yes, the ones who make out on the dance floor. Usually when this happens I am slightly embarrassed or when I was younger I was too drunk to even notice anyone else. But with him there was something so sweet about it - I had to partake.

We left the bar and stopped at a local diner. The conversation and the laughter were still flowing. Then as we settled our bill and made our way back outside, he kissed me again and asked, "Do you want to come back to my place?"

I said no.

Wait, what? It's true. Even I can be virtuous. He is the first guy in quite some time to not only make my stomach flip but make it do a front-handspring-step-out, round-off-back-handspring-step-out, round-off back-handspring-full-twisting-layout kind of flip. I didn't want our relationship to merely be sexual. So yes, I said no.

Me and my hunchback are still walking up in the clouds.

 

I am not always the good guy. I am not always the guy who, because of being HIV-positive, looses out in love. Sometimes, just sometimes, I find myself in the role of the bad guy.  And when that happens, I don't know why but I truly commit to that role.

Let me explain.

The tall guy, David, did indeed ask me on a date. It was your typical date: coffee and a movie. He was very sweet, smart and yes, very tall.  After the date, David did the gentlemanly thing to do, and walked me home. Before you ask, I did not invite him up to my apartment, but he did have to lean far down to give me a good night kiss.

Throughout the next few weeks we had a couple more dates. You should know that I truly liked him, I did. I do. But unfortunately I did not feel anything more for him than friendship. One thing that is almost as hard to do as informing someone of your HIV status is telling someone that you sincerely like that you just aren’t into them. What made my situation worse was that I could see that David was falling hard for me.

So I did what any cowardly bad guy would do in this situation. I said, “I need to tell you that I am HIV positive.”

You see I did not tell David this because I wanted to do a bit of the ole in ‘n’ out. No, I told him this in hopes he would respond with something negative, like: “I’m sorry for you, but I can’t date anyone who’s positive.” Because if he did, I wouldn’t have to step up and tell him that I didn’t like him, like him. Yes, I am talking like a fifth grader, because my actions are clearly representative of the mentality of one.

Alas, he responded with, “Thank you for your honesty…What you just told me does not change my interest on my end…I still think you are endearing and adorable and I can’t wait to kiss you again…In this crazy world it is hard to find genuine sincerely good people…you are one of them.”

I would like to hang my head in shame now.

He went on to describe that HIV was not a problem for him and how he spent time in Africa with kids, a lot of whom were born with HIV.

Just so you know, my head is still hanging in shame.

Since my plan did not work as I’d intended and since I was playing the role of the bad guy to my fullest potential, there was nothing else to do than to continue along the same path. After yet another date where I couldn’t express to him that I had no intent to continue seeing him romantically, I thought that the best possible course of action was to create a little distance. So I stopped all communications. What is wrong with me? (That is a rhetorical question, please do not answer!)

He eventually reached out to me and we are now becoming friends and every time we hang out I feel a twinge of shame.

This is just a little story to illustrate that I am not always the one who gets crushed. As shameful as it is, I am not always the good guy.