EPTI'm sporting some dress shoes. Some casual but not too-seen over-worn faded-with-retarded-holes-jeans that are seen everywhere. I'm wearing a dress shirt that i probably should stop wearing - i bought it a year ago, it's my favourite and consequently over-worn and looks as such, but i'm wearing it anyways. It doesn't matter. I'm comfortable. After the year that i've had, i'm pretty much always in this space that i describe as 'comfortable'.
It's a Saturday, so the club i'm at is relatively busy. It's an easy-going atmosphere, not one of the stuck-up clubs that can be so often found in Vancouver. I do my rounds. I'm scoping out the crowd, seeing who's worth scoping out: someone hot, someone awkward, someone who looks interesting, someone who has a story, any of the above. Not too long ago i would go out with the hope of getting some attention and maybe getting laid; things have since changed. I've become fascinated with 'new', particularly people, who make life interesting. So now i just look for the person who is going to deliver on that addiction: whoever i talk to will raise my eyebrows; they will pique me; and if they don't, i'll move on to the next potential.
This night didn't have much by the way of interesting. A whole bunch of fags trying to look hot on the dance floor. Definitely far from interesting. The club has a karaoke room by the 4th bar (the bar has 4 floors), and i decide to check it out. The singers are almost always entertaining - one extreme or the other - and maybe i can find interesting located there this night. Sure enough i find what i'm looking for: a superb singer doing Oasis' "Boys and Girls" followed by a torturing "I'm alright" by Whitney Houston. The people might not be interesting, but the performances certainly are.
I'm content spectating, and so go to the bar to grab myself another beer.
"What can i getchya?" says the handsome boy on the other side of the bar. He's shirtless, as is not unusual in a gay club, though not the stereotypical waxed-body gym-buff. He's sporting his natural unrefined self. He's obviously comfortable and knows he's hot, but not in an overtly in-your-face ego sorta way. The impression is simply that he thinks one might enjoy the view, and he's cool with it. I order my standard pint of Kokanee.
The Oasis fan is at it again: this time a sappy "Beautiful" by Christina Aguilera. Crazy surprisingly, delivers. Amazing voice. I continue to watch the roller coaster of karaoke for an hour or two - the crowd is entertaining. It eventually comes to a close and i say goodbye to some of my undiscovered-bound-for-stardom friends, and grab another pint from Gorgeous behind the bar.
"So, is this the regular kind of busy, or something other?" i ask him. I'm always curious. I like to ask questions that elucidate the environment that i would consider foreign that other's would consider norm. "Yeah, about right for this floor. A Saturday standard."
Ok, so i realize you're straight. But really, this guy is gorgeous. Hold your puke while i explain it. He has this crazy cute face, super endearing without coming off as boyish. He's hairy, from the neck down his shirtless chest to his waist, hair outlining the 'man-lines' that men get that draw a V from the sides of your stomach to your crotch. He's broad across the shoulders and thinner around the waste , avoiding a 'barrel' shape and more of the coveted "V". He has a piercing on his upper lip. He wears ridiculous hats that he cycles through every 5 minutes - a sailor hat, a hippie wig, a pirate hat accompanied by a ridiculous rubber parrot. He's super goofy and really comfortable with being laughed at.
I make conversation. The karaoke might be over, but i've found another type of interesting. An hour goes by where i continue to talk to bartender-beauty as he tries to serve his other customers. Maybe a waning of inebriation or just a too-late hitting home of how annoying i must be, either way, i decide it's probably time for me to leave the server to his wonts, and go to say good-bye.
"Hey, i just realized that i've been talking to you for an hour, and since you work here, you can't politely or even impolitely escape my company. I apologize. Have a great night."
I decide that maybe i should milk it for all it's worth.
"so how about before i go, you lean over this bar here and give me a kiss". I make this retarded puppy-dog face that i'm sure is cute in a repulsive/homely but trying-so-hard to be endearing sort of way.
"Sorry bud, no fucking way".
Ouch. It stings a bit. But i don't fear rejection the way i once did. In a weird fashion that i won't go to the lengths to explain right now, i appreciate such an experience for how real it is (see Life and Death for a chance at better context). I smile and nod at him - giving due respects to his decision, and i turn and head down the stairs toward the next level.
"hey", gorgeous calls after me.
Still feeling pretty embarrassed i turn and just make eye contact with a slightly sheepish smile.
"do you smoke weed?" he says.
"Usually whenever i have the chance" i give him.
"Well... i'm off in a half hour, how about a walk and a doobie?".
We make our way to his place. He lives right on the beach, 9th floor of an apartment building. The view is rad, seeing over the bay that divides downtown from the rest of Vancouver, an expanse of lights dot the horizon; an expanse of lights reflect in the water. We grab some beers from his fridge, he rolls a doobie, and we decide that the beach is a greater atmosphere than his bachelor suite - occupied by his two trying-to-sleep girlfriends visiting from Kelowna.
His company is as easy and comfortable as his demeanor was at the bar. Super chill, super comfortable, completely lacking of ego. We smoke the weed and i get incredibly stoned, having also have been drinking most of the night. We don't talk about anything particularly pertinent to our lives, but still engaging, still interesting. We make our way back to his place and try to so-stealthily continue our conversation. The shirts come off. Nothing crazy or too-disgusting for you heterosexuals, just a close proximity between us. I can't remember too much the events of this part, as i was at this point pretty wrecked, but i distinctly remember that it just continued to feel more and more comfortable, more and more easy, in an awesomely mutual way. then again, i could have just been drunk.
At one point we get into each other and are equally aware of (and therefore concerned for) his company, and he shows some bravery: "what do you think of showers?".
I nod. We make our way to the washroom.
We strip down. He is unequivocally the most gorgeous man i've ever seen in the flesh. His body is what i would consider ideal: his hair, his goods, his chest, legs, ass, everything. I've never been so engaged.
We are in the shower for over an hour and the details aren't important. It was good and awesome, and a one-time experience that i completely appreciate for what it is - he's a hot bartender, and for whatever reason happens to find Mora an interest on this particular night. I escape at 7:30 in the morning to retreat to my own bed in contentment. Wow, i really wasn't expecting that.
The next day i wake to a beeping of my phone. Message from Michael: "Hey. I wasn't expecting last night. You're a great guy. What are you doing today?". We meet up and and hang out before he has to go to work. This time without the booze. Still comfortable. Hell, even more comfortable.
Over the next few weeks we see each other as much as we can. My work was getting crazy, being there about 70 hours a week. But on the nights that i didn't crash on the couch at my work for 4 hours before getting to-it again, i'd crawl over to his place at 1 or 2am, we'd stay awake till 3, and then i'd be off and out again at 8am. It didn't matter. It was all worth it.
I got a text message from him last week though that changed things. It came out of the blue.
"Hey... You are a great guy... I want to talk to you about something".
I don't know how it is in the heterosexual world, but in my world i've seen that line a lot. A LOT. It's usually said by me, right before i tell whomever is on the other end that i'm just not interested.
To provide some context, i've had a bit of an active year. I've probably given that line 20 or so times; and those are the ones that were actually worthwhile enough to care to be honest with. The rest didn't even get that courtesy. I'm not a particularly emotional person, and i don't believe in monogamy in any capacity. I've never experienced the emotion of jealousy, and the idea of that emotion is completely foreign to me. Consequently, i like to have my fun and move on before the standard person (or from my context, headcase) starts to venture into that space - they typically try to drag me in.
I saw this one guy last March/April named Justin. He wasn't what i am typically attracted to: He is petite, blond, body-hairless, completely into fashion, and as flamboyant as you can get without having a lisp. For whatever reason (i'm guessing because he was so opposite to what i am usually attracted to) he piqued me. We dated for about 2 months. He was a head-case. Not just because he was jealous, but more because he wanted something along the lines of a life-time commitment after knowing him for a single weekend. Out of character with myself, i put up with it (at the confusion of my friends) for about 2 months. I then snapped back to my usual Mora-self, and went my own way.
So the impact of this Michael situation is significant. I've never been in a situation before that a) i wasn't the one delivering the line of "you're a great guy", and b) that i would care if someone else was delivering it to me first.
But this time was a bit different. He's funny. He's smart. He makes me laugh. And i can't imagine being more physically attracted to someone. He fits everything that i'd want someone to fit. I don't believe in "the one", but he might be "a one".
A part of me was hoping that this thing he wanted to talk to me about was something along the lines of wanting to be exclusive; of wanting to go-steady. (which is mind-boggling! i've never wanted such a thing before in any capacity!)... But this possibility quickly dissipated.
"Hey, i just got in from Soccer, what's up?" i respond.
"Oh, just relaxing before work..." i get from him. And... what? You want to talk to me and you're relaxing before work? ok...?
"Sweet. You said you wanted to talk? Should i call?", i respond, somewhat annoyed that he dodged the question the first time. But really, now i feel like i'm the headcase cause i'm getting worked up that he didn't answer a question that wasn't technically asked.
"Ummm..... I'll talk to you in a few days... i guess..."
Honestly. Who goes to the effort of adding that many periods to a text message? The situation at this point was outlined pretty clearly: This guy met me and thought i might be something he wanted. He got to know me better and i didn't quite fit the bill. He wants to let me go but cares enough about me that he does not want to hurt me; he clearly wants to talk about something he doesn't want to talk about.
3 days go by without a text or phone call. Really, that isn't such a big deal, but the context is simply that we'd been talking to each other almost every day for over a month. I was bummed. I had it totally figured out and i was totally bummed.
"Hey, what time do you get off tonight? i don't work" i receive on my phone after those 3 days. I'm of course still working overtime, work is still crazy up the wall. I make my way to his place after putting in my hours.
I'm a little bit distant but obviously excited to see him - i wasn't sure if i was ever going to see him again. He gives me a hug and we embrace, and he gives an extra tug at the end. I breathe. so this is what it feels like to be let go when you don't want to be.
"So, i texted you saying we need to talk... And well, i've been feeling super shitty for like 2 weeks now..." I stare out between the narrow passage of two golden cages; Puff, his bearded dragon; Gibbons, his Cockatiel.
"And well, i didn't expect to feel this way about you" he continues. "you sort of caught me off guard... but well..."
Yep. Here it comes.
"fuck. this is tough...
"fuck... Taylor... I'm HIV positive".
...
It was a different bomb. A very different bomb.
A much bigger bomb.
We've had sex. I've been seeing him for a month. Over a month.
I got tested today. I went to the Center of Disease Control under the advisement of my doctor - they're quicker there: they're more able to deal with this, both technologically and psychologically. I sit in the waiting room reading "Things to know before getting tested for HIV".
are you prepared for a negative result?
are you prepared for a positive result?
do you have friends or family who can support you while you are waiting for your results to come through?
I look at the other people in the waiting room. 300lb guy sitting across from me. He's not fat. He has tattoo sleeves running down both arms and down his left leg. The girl he is with is crying. She keeps repeating to him that it wasn't her fault. He stares at the person-who-is-not-there sitting in the chair to my left. An older lady, native, probably around the age of 30 or 40 - she might have kids - is on the phone 3, or 4, (or 5 or whatever the fuck number) to my right. She can't really speak. She's trying to, but her voice-box refuses to work between her sobs.
The others are mostly silent and non-descript, except for the fact that we're all holding the same pamphlet.
Phase 1, understanding what HIV is...
I don't remember the titles of the other 5 phases. The nurses name was Helen. She took 6 vials of blood. She asked me to drop my pants and she poked and prodded my penis and scrotum to see if any signs show-up that sometimes do in people who first get infected. She asks me if i have a list of people i've been with since being with Michael, do i have their phone numbers, am i ready to call them.
What am i doing here?
I didn't have anal sex. It was only oral stuff. He didn't even cum. Does that mean i'm fine? Can i get out of here?
"The chances of transmission from oral sex are very low. I would say your results look optimistic. But if you had any cuts or sores in your mouth, there could be blood to blood transmission".
I suffer from naturally and horribly bad breath. Whenever i know i'm saying at someone's place, i bring my toothbrush. I brush vigorously because i'm retardedly compulsive when i comes to oral hygiene. It's not uncommon for my gums to bleed. Were they bleeding last Tuesday when i sucked him off? How many times did i actually brush my teeth at his place? Why do i need to ask myself these questions? What is happening?
I get my results on October 5th. Of course, these are only the preliminary results. There are 2 types of HIV blood testing: the first type is when you initially contract the virus, when your body hasn't actually become 'infected' yet, and the HIV DNA has just entered your blood stream. This first preliminary testing looks for that DNA in your blood. This is (according to her) an extensive process that is hard to execute and is extremely expensive. So expensive that they in fact do 'group screening' where my blood will be mixed with 9 others'. If the test comes back negative, our chances of having the virus are low. If the test comes back positive, our blood will be tested individually. All this should be done in 10 days.
Assuming that i pass this first test, i need to come back in 3 months for the final screening. At this point, if i have the virus, my body will have started producing antibodies for this, and this they can detect relatively easily. This is when i find out if i'm Negative. Or Otherwise.
So now i wait. I'm not particularly worried. I've read tons of shit online in the past 2 days regarding HIV/AIDS/transmission, and the chances of transmitting through oral sex is very low. The online research tells me this, the doctors i saw told me this, so did the nurse. But i guess the impact of this experience just changed "AIDS is bad" to "AIDS is real". And maybe the scary part is i don't know if i'd do anything differently. Who actually wears a condom when receiving a blowjob? Who actually asks to see test results before jumping into bed? I certainly don't need to be as promiscuous, but that doesn't really change whether or not they have a disease. What if they don't know? What if the condom breaks?
I'm a pretty solid guy, at least in the sense that i feel i can handle anything that life throws at me. I don't particularly feel different this time (though it's all still sinking in), but man, this is fucking heavy.
I think that's the best word i've been able to use throwout this whole experience. It's just Heavy.
