This post first appeared on the bloig of AIDS New Brunswick, here.

People sometimes ask me why we still feel it necessary to recognize International Day Against Homophobia. I’m never quite sure how to answer that question in a short concise way, so instead I tell them a story. In October of 2006, I was sitting in my (then) favourite study hall frantically looking for a topic for a soon to be overdue sociology paper. I was in my first year of university, I had been openly gay for about two months, and I was adamant that I was going to write a paper about something gay. I was reading something from some online source when I noticed an article about Matthew Shepard, and in particular about the eighth anniversary of his death. I sort of knew about Matthew but since I was only 10 when he died, my memory was sketchy at best. I began to read the article, and before I had finished I was in tears. I was in the middle of an unbearably quite study hall, surrounded by my peers, balling my eyes out.

If you’re not familiar with the Matthew Shepard case, this will serve as an introduction, and I encourage you to read more about the subject. Matthew was a gay male born in Casper, Wyoming in 1976. At the time of his death he was a Political Science major at the University of Wyoming in Laramie. The details are as such. On October 6th, 1998 Matthew was at a local bar in Laramie when two men approached him, told him that they were gay, and offered him a ride home. He never made it home.

Instead the two men drove Matthew to the middle of a field, beat shit out of him, tied him to a fence, and left him to die. Left there in a coma, he was eventually found 18 hours later by a cyclist who initially thought he was a scarecrow because he was beaten so badly. Matthew never regained consciousness, and died on October 12th, 1998. Incidentally, this story was the inspiration for Melissa Etheridge’s song titled Scarecrow.

It’s usually at this point that my audience interrupts me and points out that this happened more than a decade ago, AND it was in the States. They say we don’t have this type of homophobia today, and that “things have changed”. I agree in part, after all in 2002 Oshawa Ontario’s Marc Hall took the Durham Catholic School Board to court because he was not allowed to attend the prom with his boyfriend, and won, and in 2005 same-sex marriage was legalized through the Civil Marriage act in Canada.

However, more recently and more close to home, in the early hours of April 17th, 2012, Raymond Taavel was beaten to death while leaving a local gay bar in Halifax, Nova Scotia. Not Wyoming, not North Carolina, where they just voted to ban same-sex marriage, Halifax. Only four hours from Fredericton.

We are living in a world where people are killing themselves and being killed for being gay. We are still fighting for the right to get married, and have children. I grew up in a small town in Nova Scotia, only two hours from Halifax. I have friends and family who live there. In fact, Halifax was on my list of places to live after I finished High School. This didn’t happen a decade ago, and it wasn’t in the States. It was last month, and it was in the Maritimes, it was at home.

Raymond’s death saddens me and it angers me, but more than that, it scares me. I could have been the next Matthew Shepard, any of us could have been. We’re not done with homophobia yet. Raymond was just leaving a bar, walking down the street, and he was beat to death. Is it still necessary to bring attention to homophobia? I think so.

International Day Agains Homophobia website.

This article by Alex Garner, Frontiers’ Editor-at-Large first appeared on the website of FrontiersLA.com here.

I’m sure you’ve seen the sensational headlines, “HIV-Positive Prostitutes Arrested” or, “Greek Panic over HIV-Positive Prostitutes.” 17 female prostitutes in Greece were arrested for having HIV. It’s being covered as a scintillating story full of drama and intrigue. It has all the makings of an 80s miniseries. All that is missing is Phoebe Cates asking, “Which one of you bitches is my mother?” The appropriate title could be, “Sex, Scandal and Stigma.”

The key word is stigma and unfortunately, this is not a TV movie, it’s real life. The rights of these women have been completed disregarded in order to further the narrative of the dangerous and diseased prostitute. Their names and photos were released to the media, in the style of America’s Most Wanted, and Health Minister Loverdos is using language like, “exploded bomb, “ which helps paint them as sinister immigrant prostitute terrorists.

There has been no indication that HIV transmission has occurred and even the Health Minister admits that assigning blame is a bit tricky. He said, “It's not all the fault of the illegally procured woman, it's 50 percent her fault and 50 percent that of the client, perhaps more because he is paying the money."

So as this scandal unfolds it will pull focus from the challenging conditions for those living with HIV and it will keep a frustrated population from focusing on an economic catastrophe.

This incident should provide us with an opportunity to think about what it means to be an HIV-positive prostitute. Here in Los Angeles, there are scores of gay men working as escorts. Many also work in the porn industry. They aren’t “dirty bombs of disease,” they are just gay guys making a buck off their ripped abs, bulging biceps and other ample bulges.

What exactly are the dynamics at play if one is an HIV-positive escort?

A few years ago, a contributing writer to The Infection Monologues in Seattle, wanted to include a story about how his character got infected from an escort. It was the classic example of relinquishing all responsibility and blaming it on the diseased professional. The question I posed to him is still relevant today- “what incentive does an escort have to be honest if he knows he will lose money?”

I don’t mean to say the escorts are all money hungry monsters. They are businessmen who are making a living. If they know that being honest about their HIV status means they will no longer be able to make a living then it’s reasonable to expect that they may not divulge that information.

I don’t believe that HIV-positive escorts are callous and intend to infect their clients so they can make a quick buck. I think it’s important to explore the complex dynamics of sex, money and power that are at play. 

When a man decides to hire an escort he usually has a sense of what he is into and what his boundaries are. He is paying for a service and he establishes the power dynamic. An escort often has their own boundaries but those boundaries might be flexible depending on how much money is being offered and how low their bank account might be.

The scenario could go something like this: A client calls an escort and asks him details about his services. The client says he intends to be very safe and use a condom. He then asks the escort if he is negative or positive. The escort says positive. The client thanks him for his honesty but decides to move onto another escort.

If this happens to the positive escort again, will he be just as honest? If the escort is undetectable and a condom is going to be used, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that the escort would lie so that he could make some money.

And what about the client who declined the services of the positive escort? Does he expect every other escort to be as honest? Was he asking because he might really be interested in sex without a condom?

The bottom line here is that sex work is very complicated. Whether they are immigrant prostitutes or Weho escorts, they are real, three-dimensional human beings. They are already working in an industry that is highly stigmatized and add to that a disease that is all about stigma and it makes for a difficult situation.  Not to mention, there are profound differences between the escort from Rentboy and the one on the street corner in front of Shakeys.

Depicting these people as akin to bomb toting terrorists only increases the fear and fuels the stigma. The solution is a sophisticated and nuanced discussion about sex work that acknowledges the rights and the humanity of the workers while understanding the complicated dynamics involved.

Alex Garner says: I invite you to follow me on Twitter and join me on Facebook.

 

This article by  Paul Aguirre-Livingston  first appeared in The GridTO.  Republished with permission.  

This year marks the 31st anniversary of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. The issue, we know, is multi-dimensional and complicated. Even within my lifetime, the way we talk about it has changed from fear and self-loathing (riddled with homophobia) to far-reaching global advocacy tinged with optimistic complacency. On Saturday night, the Canadian Foundation for AIDS Research (CANFAR) dispatched its Young Professional Council to Airship 37 to host the second annual Our Future Without AIDS fundraiser. The volunteer-based organization was created in 2010 to bridge the gap between seasoned donors and the impressionable, to remind us why we need to keep talking about this, even if it means appealing to the pleasure principle of partying.

“Do you wanna go to the art room and be, like, classy?” asked one guy as he whizzed past us in the drink ticket line. With the event held in a stark white hangar, the young and the philanthropic gathered for modest amusement. Red lanterns were strung from above, with light to match; a good-times vibe all around. It was a fundraising initiative, and a damn good one at that, helmed by a multimedia-art silent auction. (With works starting at $10 and maxing out around $400, the auction would have been especially ideal for first-time buyers. And yet it was a shame to see so few red dots.) All the revelry was accented with photo-booth funz, a cupcake and cookie station, Parts & Labour catering, and a Sade tune or two. (Oh, is that Rick Mercer?) And drinks—another white wine, please—to cushion the reality of what we’re all fighting for: hope.

I regret to wonder how many people in that room whom I know to be straight (or those whom I will unflinchingly assume to identify as so, due to overheard complaints from all the single straight girls about the lack of “hot guys”) have actually had real intersections with experiences surrounding HIV/AIDS. How many of them have had the virus knowingly coursing through the veins of a partner next to them? Or held their friend’s hand after a former partner had finally disclosed to them, after numerous encounters, that he was, in fact, HIV positive? Or worried themselves sick in an anonymous clinic waiting room because what if I contracted the virus and how could I have been so careless? How many of them have actually been tested? Maybe that’s not important. But, also, it is. And regardless of motive and experience, showing up and showing support is indisputably invaluable.

That night alone, it was estimated 1,125 people would die from AIDS. I feel guilty because I keep thinking this is a fashion event and just… thank someone for the signs, for writing the statistics on the walls and flashing them on flat screen televisions: There are 34 million people living with HIV worldwide, and 65,000 of them are in Canada. Still, you can buy a $20 cake pop—or seven—and win a big grand prize. It’s about fundraising, so that’s okay, even if the empty donation cans serve as mere table decorations. And it’s also okay if all you want to do is cry. Cry for the man who cried with you because he couldn’t live with himself if he put you at risk. Cry for those who are having sex right this second because four people under the age of 25 become HIV-positive every minute. Cry because more twentysomethings show up to a condo opening than to this thing.

But what’s the right way to talk about HIV and how do we keep talking about it effectively? What are the issues that surround the realities in a time when, yes, 65,000 Canadians are living with HIV… but how many of those are new infections and how many of those are individuals living longer? It took years to remove the various stigmas from my own thoughts. During my formative online jaunts, I would instantly block/ignore someone who, upon my inquiry, didn’t hesitate to honestly disclose. Somewhere along the way, I changed the way I looked at the situation: What if it was the reverse? Would I want to be loved or feared? Hated or pitied? My fear turned into questions; my questions reinforced the need to be informed and protected. To get tested regularly. To not use infection as yet another reason to divide us.

But when half of our grade nine students incorrectly believe there is a cure for AIDS, are government sexual-education programs failing the very generation CANFAR hopes to reach? Are we sending the right messages when condomless (“bareback”) porn is on the rise? Or are we being hypocrites? And yet one must ultimately account for an element of personal choice and consequence (if it’s laced with honesty), and pass up ascending to a moral high ground. Fact is, there are still glaring holes in the messages sent to men who have sex with men, especially those who might not even identify as gay (those married or on the DL, for example).

Make no mistake: There is no gay/straight divide when it comes to HIV/AIDS. We are all affected. But while the virus may not discriminate, we are not equal. Gay men are still at the highest risk, and that needs to be addressed. Perhaps the way I feel most strongly connected to a proverbial gay ancestry is through the crisis. The epidemic. The fear. The truth. The fact that I’ve been ignorant and unfair and unsure. I’m not shy about admitting that I’m human, that I’m animal. That I’ve been young, and naïve, and made mistakes. That I’ve been repentant. And scared. That I’ve judged and been judged. That I’ve prayed. That I have had unprotected sex a grand total of two times in 12 years and was publicly shamed for admitting so and accused of sending the wrong messages. But no, I’m not stupid. And that’s why we need to remove any sort of lingering feelings of humiliation, and why organizations like CANFAR continue to encourage such discourse.

 Are you still listening?

“You can’t imagine,” says Mark Mahoney, the chair of CANFAR’s Young Professional Council, when he explains that the night will blow their initial goal to raise $40,000 “out of the water.” He’s right. You probably can’t imagine. Medical advancements have shielded me—and the majority of the younger, privileged gay community—from the reality of actually saying goodbye to our friends in rapid succession. But it hasn’t made us immune. And for that, we need to be cognizant. And when you imagine it—because, especially if you’re gay and young and horny and sexually active, you will—let me tell you: The psychological effects will linger. Those thoughts will unwillingly live within the partners you surround yourself with, and reside in the corners of a community that’s more incestuous than we’d all like to admit. Because I remember the message from day one. Because the questions lasts longer than a 30-minute episode of Girls and run deeper than any and every fucking Google search for “the stuff that gets up around the sides of condoms.” (Kudos, though, on condoms.) And just because there is little risk, doesn’t mean there is no risk. And you can do everything in your goddamn power to be as safe as you possibly can, but even then…?

By half past midnight, the mood lightens. People have shown up, bought art. Donated. Gotten drunk. Grabbed free condoms (but why no lube?). Some may rest assured that they’ve done their part for another year, or at least until World AIDS Day in December. Drake and Rihanna’s “Take Care” fills the ever-expanding white space in between: “I’ve loved, and I’ve lost,” is the last thing I hear before wandering back out into the darkness.

Donations to support HIV and AIDS research can be made on CANFAR’s official website.

Contact Paul on Twitter (http://www.twitter.com/pliving) and/or his personal website (http://pliving.me).

 

Like many HIVsters, I’ve made ample use of therapy; both personal and group, at times simultaneously. One might add that I am, or was, therapy-naïve – never saw much use in it, and this particular extravagance was more for the camaraderie and the drinks after it was done. In one such group session – here at Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC) in New York City -- the facilitator (I believe that’s what they’re called, others go by ‘moderator’) mentioned a concept that had me spitting nails: the idea that one should develop said HIV identity. It would help us ‘get in touch’ with the supposed turmoil within.

Well, no, I said. I neither need nor want that. My identity doesn’t include an accidental disease, and I don’t do turmoil. I speak French, read books, cook, I’ve walked down Fifth Avenue in nothing but a pair of combat boots, Calvin Kleins and a big smile, am active in politics, write stuff people actually read, I’ve even met the President of the United States – the current, sane one, not that hot mess we had until three years ago. I’m a New York hipster, for crying out loud. That should suffice to establish a secure sense of self. And just who the fuck do you think you are anyway?

So, no, I don’t have any use for this particular bit of thera-blather, I said as nicely as I could. Which still, if memory serves, wasn’t all that nice. The way I was brought up – military family, you do the math – boys don’t have feelings to begin with. If you have a problem, you sit down and work on it. You certainly don’t talk about it with mom, or dad, or your friends, and if that problem resides below the waistline where the icky parts live, you’re definitely going to mind your manners and remember that polite company is wherever you happen to be. All very British, if you will, or German, rather, because that’s my actual background. If you know anything at all about that particular ethnic group, aside from their utter lack of humor, it’s that our ‘therapy’, such as it is and Freud be damned, consists of invading defenseless neighboring countries.

And all of that served me quite well, thank you very much, for a long time. Granted, being a slab of meat devoid of detectable emotion can cost you. Say, a stunning man you’re still in love with twenty years later and an ocean apart, the one you never told just how much you love him.

I find, however, that people who vigorously disclaim something – I tend to be one of those – do so for the simple reason that someone has struck very near a mark, and  continue thinking about and watching what goes on around them. And so I did. I watched those young kids, clearly terrified, walking into GMHC for probably the first time. I had a friend break down in tears over not having anyone to talk to about his status but me, not his family, not his other friends, no one in God’s creation. Just me. That other pretty young guy, maybe half my age and worth his weight in gold, crying on the street. Or that poor transgendered woman who had just had the stuffing kicked out of her by the ‘real’ women in the homeless shelter, with no idea where to go next. Just heartbreaking, and yes, I do have one. Somewhere.

I forget when it was, sometime two summers, I suppose, when the flip-side of the Anglo-Teutonic iciness came out; and that is, simply put, the idea that one has a duty to be there for others. The idea of duty is, I believe, one of the strongest moral forces in our world; it’s why we pay taxes and at least try not to break laws. Judaism has a very useful concept for that called ‘Tikkun Olam’, ‘Repair the World’ in Hebrew. The idea, once you strip it of all the extraneous religious verbiage, is simply this: that as human beings, we live in a society, and have a positive moral obligation to make it better for everyone. As in, stop talking, take action. So far, so good, and all emotional aloofness aside, I personally actually have a pretty good track record on that; leftwing activist and all.

I decided that my duty was to be as open about my HIV status – positive, in case you’re wondering – as I could be. That’s one reason why I write here, on Daily Kos, on Alternet, and probably more as this journey progresses. One other reason is, of course, that I like to hear myself talk, but my editors have learned to live with that, bless their hearts.

But talking alone isn’t action, is it, unless you calculate the value of being out and, God alone help us, maybe being a role model for some kids none of us may ever know. Stigma is still out there, it ruins lives, and it pisses me the fuck off.

I decided to cancel my therapy group just recently. It was getting tiresome anyway, and frankly, I’m not all that interested in the granular details of the sex life of strangers (unless I plan on being a part of it, but that’s a story for another day, and most certainly not applicable in that particular context). Instead, I joined ACT UP New York, the mothership, still around after all these years. And guess what? ACT UP still gets stuff done. Amazing, that, and I get to be a part of it.

So I guess that’s my HIV identity: I’m very much okay with everything, and so is everyone around me. I’ve done a few small things for other HIVsters, nothing to write home about, not yet at least. I’m healthy as a horse, my career is getting back on track, my relationship is solid, you get the idea. I’ve stepped out of the shadow of the disease. I’m in charge now, not some virus.

I suppose that’s the moral of the story and what my facilitator was talking about. You’ll have your own HIV identity when you own the disease, not the other way around. I really do believe that everyone can get there; and meanwhile, never shut up, raise hell, and if anyone tells you it can’t be done, laugh in their face. Because it can.

As a teenager, I decided it would be wrong to bring children into this world. As an adult I find it ironic that parents sometimes accuse childless people of being selfish. If we examine the ‘noble’ reasons why people procreate, we find they do not hold up to scrutiny. 

1)   My kids will care for me in old age: Perhaps onThe Waltons, though in reality children will drain retirement savings and likely will ignore parents when they are old and infirm. Daycare, tuition, wedding costs - even adult children see their parents’ money as a birthright. One of the saddest things in my volunteer work at the Geriatrics Unit at my local hospital is that the old and the sick are abandoned by their offspring. Very rarely do I see an attentive son or daughter at the parent’s bedside. Have no fear though; they will definitely show up for the reading of the will.

2)     Children bring happiness: Perhaps when they are babies. But what about the worry each time they are out of sight? Arguably, the world has never been a safe place, but lately child abductions, murders, rapes grab headlines far too often. And forget about when they are teens. Imagine a happiness ledger; on one side add up the joy and pride your child brings and on the other list the stresses, anxiety, expenses, and miseries. Now tally them up and see if there is net gain or loss? If you want a cute thing to love and be loved by, better invest in a puppy.

3)     They are my hope: People feel my child will live my dreams. They forget the child is not a blank slate. He came with his own dreams. Hope? Guaranteed way to experience disappointment.

4)     “Go forth and multiply”: Your Bible may have said it, but with seven billion and counting, isn’t it time to stop? It takes more than a village to raise a child.  Global warming, dwindling food and water supplies and extinct species are not the result of under population. The Earth’s resources are stretched, anyone adding another mouth to feed is just not thinking.

5)     He might be an Einstein. Statistically, it is more likely you will win the mega lottery. Historically, for every Shakespeare or Gandhi who changed the world for the better, there have been a dozen Hitlers and Bin Ladens. Chances are your son could as easily grow up to be Mark Chapman as John Lennon. Parents sometimes ask me: What if your parents never had you? I have no delusions; the world would have carried on as ever. An overwhelming majority of people is of mediocre talent and leads mundane, mediocre lives. Rest assured, your child will likely be one of them.

6)     They make me selfless: In some spiritual traditions, being a parent is seen as a way to crack open the ego. Because children need you, it supposedly makes one more compassionate, more altruistic. If that were true, why then are nuns and monks celibates?

7)     Family name: I come from a culture where having children is seen as a way of propagating community. But it only adds to a sense ‘mine’ and ‘not mine’. It is only recently that both China and India have discovered that having fewer children makes for not only a more prosperous society but a more peaceful one. Communal riots and caste discrimination are just an excuse to gain advantage in competing for resources. Gay men and lesbians should be encouraged in India and China because they contribute to society in the present without adding a burden to future generations.

8)    Children bind a union. There was a time when couples stayed together for the sake of the children, but not anymore. With a fifty percent divorce rate, the welfare of the children is the last thing on people’s minds. Compound that with the fact that most people remarry, the children are then torn between two families. And if you need offspring to keep you together as a couple, perhaps the relationship is not so stable to begin with.

9)     Evolution of Species:  Procreation may be nature’s way of evolving species, but survival of the fittest was supplanted as soon as civilization was invented. People marry based on non-genetic criteria: language, education, status, wealth. Sperm banks, egg-donations, and surrogate mothers mean we are in danger of regressing. Octomom has passed on her DNA prodigiously, but Oprah has not.

10)Immortality: People feel children are a legacy. They are the only permanent proof after their death that they existed. Now really! Beyond our own grandparents, how many of us know who our ancestors were? Despite Ancestry.com, the past is murky and few are interested in investigating it anyways. People derive joy from their kids because the children resemble themselves. This is narcissism.

11)Children make me fulfilled: Talk about peer pressure! Historically and culturally this idea that spinsters and bachelors are somehow unfulfilled is nothing but a form of bullying. The main reason people reproduce is because it is expected. It is what everyone else is doing and what others before have done. To physically not be able to have children is a stigma, but to opt out of having children when biologically feasible is considered non-conformists. Is that such a bad thing? There was a time when being atheistic was heresy. Those who opposed slavery were ridiculed and jailed. Women who demanded the vote were ostracized. Civilization moves ahead by the bravery of the few.

12) Congratulations. We say that when a person has a child. As if the father or mother consciously accomplished something difficult. Biology and instinct did most of the work. All he or she did was consent to unprotected sex. Much of the stigma around HIV revolves around the fact that it reveals you probably had unprotected sex. Then why is having a child reason to congratulate someone?

Okay, so having children is self-indulgent. But then, so are most human undertakings.

Check out my blog here.

“Even if the rate of HIV infection among MSM remains at the current level, by the time a group of young MSM (18 years old) reach the age of 40, 41% of them will be HIV-positive. We cannot make any progress in fighting the HIV/AIDS epidemic in the U.S. unless we find ways to lower rates of HIV transmission among MSM.”

Positively Aware 

Ed pulls out a condom from his pocket and says to the crowd, “We’ve always had the answer all along. We couldn’t figure out how to use them.” As an international HIV/AIDS educator and one of five subjects of the award winning AIDS documentary, We Were Here. Ed Wolf reminds us that waving our finger at each other to use condoms never worked and never will. 

This is the second interview to inquire how the film impacted younger gay men.

Roy is 25, bright, reads Nietzsche and graphic novels and spends most of his time in the cyber-sphere from where he predicts a future he can get behind. He’s an artist saddled with a student loan he says he’ll never pay back from an arts program he never finished. After washing dishes in Toronto he’s moved to our place on a small west coast gulf island for several weeks to work in our quarter acre garden. On the surface the exchange was a few hours of daily labour for room and board. The inter-generational mentorship will last a lifetime.  For now he’s planning to live in a tent tucked away in the woods for the summer, read and make art. A reasonable choice considering how disconnected much of his cohort has become from the natural world. 

My husband and I are the first out poz men he’s got to know. He was only peripherally aware of the history of AIDS. From the beginning of our time together we have ruminated over the relationship between gay past and queer future. Today we talk about the documentary, chaos and condoms. 

Birch: Having seen the documentary on the SF history of AIDS what questions emerged for you? 

Roy: It was more of an exposition of what happened. No questions. It showed people reacting with their best from a crisis. I got to hear their stories of their triumph and suffering. I’m trying to relate it to now.  The audience was made up of people who care about the subject already - because they are emotionally attached, mostly people who had history with it. I came because I was told to come. I love stories and I love stories that paint people as human beings. It was about authentic stories. Later, I went to my friend’s house to tell him about how great the film was. We realized we have no contact with people who lived through it or are willing to talk about it. It is important for young men to see this film early on before being introduced to the disease-focused sex education in high school. It’s important to hear stories of the people who have HIV before you scare them about it.  

My friend said, “Maybe they shouldn’t all have had sex with each other.” I reminded him that it was a completely different time. The condom is taught in school because of what happened, and yet it creates such a naïve outlook (without the context of what happened). It has created an us vs. them rationality (especially in gay culture) because we are not exposed to people who are positive and their stories. It is no surprise then that there is so much prejudice within the gay community toward positive men, especially in younger generations. 

Birch: Do you think younger gay men blame positive men for having to wear a condom today themselves? 

Roy: No, lots of them just do it because we were taught to do so. It depends on your upbringing. Some of them go bareback, they see it in porn, or someone fucked them bareback. It depends on what version of sex ed. you got. Some of us were imprinted; as a teenager I heard ‘always put it on’…and now that I’m here (at 25) it is more to do with the guys I’ve been with…. 

Birch: How would you describe the sexual culture you have inherited as a younger gay man? 

Roy: Sex is more clinical. It’s not just about the condom anymore. Sex is very fearful now - in every regard. It is not about connection in the way it should be. Not on a level that makes people feel good. A temporary thrust, bam and quick see if the condom broke or not. Gasp. Fear. It is clinical. I look to porn to see where guys are having great sex. Mr. Steeds Bareback blog. He just talks about all his bareback connections. Maybe it’s all fiction. He’s a good writer. It’s entertaining. Maybe it’s not all fiction. It is fascinating. He makes it sound a lot more fun – a lot more connective. 

Birch: How do you relate to condoms?

Roy: The condom represents boring sex. Every sexual encounter that started off potentially great, the ones that felt more connected, always wanted to go bareback. Then I told them to put on a condom. I always have the fantasy to go there (raw sex), even drunk as a mess…so, sex ed. did a good job. But when I told them to wear a condom the sex always became more lacklustre, putting order on chaos. 

Birch: What is it about ‘chaos’ you desire? 

Roy: It’s more free. More connection. It’s not antiseptic. It’s sweating. It’s nasty. It is so scary to try. The ‘order’ is so…I have a condom on my subconscious, on my being. When the fear is so ingrained the bodies are manipulated into ‘over-thinking’ and then (by default) we end up masturbating on each other. I’ve only had mutual masturbation. I’ve never had bareback sex which I equate with real sex. Condom sex, at least the mentality that comes with it, is like two people masturbating – we’re so caught up in our heads. I’m talking about my fantasy world. I’m not going to say you can’t have great sex with a condom. 

The people who risk themselves will fuck you. There are not there to masturbate. It’s not just about condoms and bareback. Its what the whole thing represents. It’s all about order and chaos. Dionysus has always had a big hand up. You know what I’m saying, darling. The maenads fuck better than the congressmen - unless of course the congressmen are a little crazy. Never mind - congressmen are probably all fucking bareback. 

Birch: So how would you describe the culture of raw sex?

Roy: The whole thing represents more masculinity to go bareback. It just comes with that. The straight community never wears condoms. So you have to wrap yourself to go have sex? It feels cheated. Like we’re not having sex. Straight guys can fuck at the party. Being a gay man we are seen as disease carrying vessels. With a straight guy, it’s just a guy fucking. You have no condom-tations with it. Wrapping ourselves up as clinical specimens - it’s not sexy. AND we hear stories of the 70s where gay men were having sex: breakfast, lunch and supper, sex, sex, sex. How orgiastic. Then the pendulum swung back to order. Now we want to swing back, it’s just that natural swing of things and we want an orgy. We never had that.