Yes, I'm gay. I probably was since the day I was born. On my 21st birthday, I sort of had my debut. I came out to my parents. A little drama from mom, and some indifference from dad. An above-average coming out. Almost perfect.

Nine years later, two weeks before my 30th birthday, I found out... I'M HIV POSITIVE.

And so my story begins... I'm BACK IN THE CLOSET.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Bus Buddy

Bus BuddyAn ordinary weekday morning. I hopped on a bus on my way to work, all seats were taken. I stood in the aisle. I took a seat that became available at the rearmost of the bus. I was followed by others who had just gotten on.

And then, of course, as buses are somehow the root of some worldly desires for me, it got weird.

A guy took one of the other seats in the six-man row I was in. My peripheral vision was teasing me. Was he looking at me? I’m oddly visually challenged. I’m far-sighted. So I can’t really scout out guys who are seated too near. Or I just don’t really want to seem too obvious. Hmm.

As people got off along the way, I was able to transfer to the two-seater just ahead. I still felt like I was being watched. It was just him left in the row behind me. He was oddly leaning forward foregoing comfort for something else. But a lady was seated across from me, which may have been stopping him from making a move. Or I was just being too presumptuous.

We had reached Shaw Boulevard, and I felt him gathering his things. He slid over to the aisle. I felt his hand on my headrest. I heard a piece of paper. Then a couple of taps. I was intrigued but remained unobvious, both to him and the lady seated across. He got up and headed up front to get off. I tried looking out the window to see if he’d give one last glance, but didn’t spot him.

So what was that? Was he indeed trying to show interest? I remembered the sound of paper I heard. I ran my hand up the headrest and took a piece of paper slipped into it. It was a bus ticket. Today’s date, the fare, the origin and the destination. At the back, a name and mobile number was scribbled.

I had all the options in the world. I could have thrown it away. But then, of course, I’m a pleaser. I had a chance to make someone happy. How could I just ignore the guy? A guy who did not shove my face into his crotch on the first bus ride for a change? So yes… I sent a text message to the number.

And then the exchange began. He was relieved that I noticed the little message he left in the bus. Naman! I’m not that dense. With that, we became text mates. We’d text daily, at least mere good mornings or what not. This went on for a number of weeks. Maybe a month.

One Saturday morning, I was on my usual mall routine with my mom. At the hardware section, while looking at rechargeable lamps, my eyes caught a glimpse of someone. A guy. Tall, dark and neat, built with a little bit extra. We just stared at each other, short of saying “You look familiar,” “Where do I know you from,” and “Is that you?“ It was him. We didn’t talk or anything. We just texted.

At some point during that text conversations, I realized how ridiculous it was for us to be relying on chance to see one another. So I suggested that we plan out the next time we’d bump into each other. He agreed.

August crept in. And upon establishing the common point of our respective daily commutes, we agreed to meet and share rush hours. I arrived at the bus stop first, he came in a bit. Must’ve been funny seeing two grown men who couldn’t wipe the smiles off their faces.

We hailed a bus that would run our common route. We took seats beside each other. Sometime during the trip, he took my hand and held it the rest of the way, not even minding if other people would see. Cool. It was really nice having a hand to hold through traffic. There was a movie playing on the bus, too. Vic Sotto and Rosanna Roces. Basta Ikaw, Nanginginig Pa. Oy, is this a sign from the heavens? Not really. We were really without the kilig of it all because we were giggling at how ridiculous the movie was. He tapped my leg before getting off at his stop.

The next day, same thing. We rode together. Same bus line. No Pinoy movie this time, which we giggled about again. Again he had my hand firmly in his. Rush hour again. Traffic again. He got to his stop again, and tapped my leg. As he stood up he looked at me, sort of waiting for me to say something or wanting to say something himself. I’m sure I had a confused look on my face. He leaned in and gave me a smack on the lips. And then he turned and trudged to the front of the bus to get off, not even looking back.

Wait... what just happened? But no more confusion, I had a smirk on my face by this time.

I got a text message from him shortly.
“Ingatz”
     “Ikaw rin. Hmp nanggugulat ka. Hahaha.”
“Hahaha… Nakuha ko ba sa bilis?”
     “Oo. Kung Pinoy movie yun, dapat sasampalin pa kita. Hahaha.”
“Hehehe… Sige di na nga maulit.”
     “Oo. Di na mauulit na magugulat ako.”
“Hahaha… So laging ready ka na?”
     “O baka ikaw na magulat. Sige. Ingat ka ha.”

The next day, same thing. Without the movie. And without the smack. He didn’t even hold my hand. I felt he was teasing me. So I took initiative and grabbed his hand. Hmp, akala mo makakatakas ka ha. So there. We were officially bus buddies, and this was our daily routine. I felt like I had a date every single day. I did, sort of.

Okay, fine, we haven’t always been that patweetums. I think there’ve been three occasions that he holds my hand and leads it towards his crotch for me to feel his erection through his slacks. But that’s the farthest we’ve gone. Nope, he still hasn’t shoved my face into his pubes. But he’s managed to keep me curious as to what’s down there. Wholesome, but naughty.

As of this writing we’re still on it... our daily date. I think in almost a month, we’ve missed just three or four days, but I liked how the days we missed together aren’t a big deal. Because on days we were together, the least we’d be is just napping in the bus holding hands. Nice.

Basically, we're barely past being acquiantances. I don't know his surname. Not even his real name. I don't know what he does, nor does he know what I do. And no, I haven't told him the virally significant secret that I hide. Not like he'll catch anything by holding my hand.

So there, now you know my bus buddy. We’re not a couple. No commitment. No I-love-yous. Just something comfortable. And major-major safe. A huge ego boost, for me, at least. Nice. Really nice. And naughty too sometimes.

Isn’t life great? And aren’t buses too?

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Sunday, August 15, 2010

Booking on Facebook

Facebook. I’ve only been on it for about a year maybe. And only got the hang of it for less than that. I blame it on my solitary nature.

My initial hesitation was that I’d become too accessible. I would be found by everyone, including those people I didn’t really want to be found by. But I guess I got over that in a bahala-na way, because before I knew it, I had added hundreds of friends, people from way back elementary days to the present. Hmm.

Facebook has also become a tool I use to promote Positivism. Positivism has its own Facebook page, and I’ve been taking the liberty of inviting people to “Like” the page. Would people be wondering why I’m promoting HIV awareness? I’d like to set a good example and say I couldn’t care less. So I’ve invited all my elementary, high school, and college friends to Positivism. Keber. If at least, it makes them think about HIV. If it makes them wonder what’s my tiff with HIV, well then that’s not my banana to split.

It’s not like only HIV positives have “Liked” the page. Over 200 of my own friends have liked it, all the way from former classmates and colleagues, to friends and buddies. I sort of lost all the qualms about being linked too definitively to HIV. As far as I’m concerned, I’m just promoting health and wellness. That’s all.

After I was done inviting the people I knew, I went after people I didn’t know. Of course I’d need to “Friend” them on my own Facebook account first before I’d be able to suggest Positivism to them. So I went out searching for people who I thought would need some HIV awareness.

How did I do that? Simple. I judge how sexual people are by their profile pictures. Hehe. Basically any profile picture that makes me say “Wow!” gets my attention and my add.

Too hot to handle... check!
Half-naked profile pics... check!
Chests without faces... check!
Abs without faces... check!
Crotches without faces... check!

Hehe, okay fine call me judgmental. But this is Facebook, after all. Not Guys4men. Not Chestbook. Not Absbook. Not Crotchbook. Right? So yes, lately, my Facebook page has been filled with chests, abs and crotches. Should I be concerned?

It isn’t all that easy, but I‘m ready to be judged. I’ve gotten the flak from some of my real friends as well. My favorite doctor-advocate has jibbed me with, “Hataw sa pag-add ng friends ah!” Fine, I admit... it looks like I'm just booking on Facebook. I tried explaining my logic. As to whether he believed me or not, heaven knows.

Another acquaintance has kidded me that maybe he should change his profile picture to a towel-clad or naked one as well, considering that I seem to have an affinity to that. Ha ha ha. It’s fine, really. Not that I have a reputation that would be tarnished or anything.

And finding my hot Facebook friends is becoming easier actually. Apparently, the tell-me-who-your-friends-are mantra is true. Chests, abs and crotches are friends with chests, abs and crotches. Eventually, people were finding me as well, people I most definitely didn’t know personally who were maybe piqued by the fact that I had such lewd friends. Hmm.

Again, why am I doing this? Well, I add my hot friends. And then I check out their pictures and drool a bit. And then I invite them to “Like” Positivism. As simple as that. But why again?

Well, I’m sort of challenged by the HIV Registry of the DOH. As of June 2010, a total of 5,233 Filipinos have been diagnosed with HIV. And I’m thinking that it should be easier to get people to click a “Like” button than getting them infected and diagnosed with HIV, right?

Not as easy as you’d think. I’m guessing it happens that some accept my suggestion and “Like” it, but upon realizing that it’s about HIV, then they retract and decide they don’t want to be connected to HIV and all. Hmm.

It’s actually funny. But it’s working somewhat. The fanbase of Positivism has been increasing anyway, albeit just one or two a day. We currently have a fan base of over 5,260. While the HIV registry is hot on our tail, at least there are still more Positivism advocates on Facebook than there are HIV-positives on the DOH registry, right?

For now, I hope my growing network means that the Positivism network is growing too, and that in turn I hope to mean that the number of people becoming aware of HIV is growing, too.

If you‘re not yet a fan, visit www.Positivism.ph, or search for Positivism on Facebook, or click here. You can also help by clicking the “Suggest to Friends” link below our profile pic on Facebook and sending it to your friends. Thanks!

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Sunday, August 08, 2010

The Bad Trip

TGIF. Talagang Grabe Isang Friday.

I got asked out by one of the guys I’ve been regularly dating (yes, “one of”… so judge me) to hang out at his place. It was supposed to be that simple.

But noooooooooo. I’ll begin my little “bad” trip here.

I left the house, crossing the street, looking for a trike. I was being watched. A car was parked in front of our house, windows rolled down, the driver staring my way while drinking something from a bottle. I glanced left and right for that elusive trike, and gave him a second look. Yeah, he was staring. It seemed like he was nodding me over, but it was dark. I wasn’t sure. It seemed like he was whistling, but it was noisy. I wasn’t sure. A trike finally came to take me away.

Honestly, I needed to stop myself from looking back at the car. I heaved a little sigh of relief. But in the back of my head, I was thinking that he could certainly follow the trike I was in if he was really interested. He had a chance. And I wasn’t completely averse to giving him that chance.

As I stepped out of the trike, I stood at the corner, glancing back. Sure enough, the car pulled up shortly. He stopped at the corner, and again nodded me over. My mind went berserk. A quickie before a date? Hmmm.

My demons took control. I took a deep breath and walked over. No words. I opened the door and stepped in. He rolled up the windows and drove off. Small talk ensued.

“Dun ka nakatira?”
     “Oo. Ikaw, tagarito ka rin?”
“Hinde, nag-basketball lang kami dun banda.”
     “Ah, okay.”
“Anong trip mo?”
     “Ikaw?”
“Gusto ko lang magpalabas eh. Gusto mo tsumupa?”
     “Okay lang.”
“Kaso baka pawis pawis pa yan ha.”

Little did he know, I had no problem with it. I actually find sweaty, musky men hot. The deal was sealed.

     “Ayos lang.”
“Sige, hawakan mo na.”

I slipped my hand into his shorts as he drove and pulled his dick out. It was stiff already. He grabbed my head and forced me down. A blowjob? While driving? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Talk about unsafe sex. I came back up for air as I felt him turn, parking in front of a row of closed shops. He turned the engine off and reclined his seat. He once again grabbed my head and pushed my face into his crotch repeatedly.

The next motion he made was a tap on my shoulder. I straightened up just before someone passed, almost peering into the untinted windows of the car. We decided to drive off and look for a more strategic place. In a dark, desolate area on a small street of residences, we reassumed the position.

I bobbed up and down his stiff member, his hand occasionally grabbing my head and shoving it down into his pubes. Soon, he was thrusting his hips, driving his shaft even deeper, if that was still possible. His breathing became heavier, his grunts got louder, and his cock swelled against the back of my throat. He pushed me down one last time as he pumped his thick, hot jizz into my mouth.

As I felt his hand easing up against the back of my head, I pulled off and licked him clean one last time. He had cum so far back into my throat, but whatever little I tasted wasn’t bad at all. I licked my lips and gulped the last of it down.

He pulled his shorts up, I wiped my lips against the back of my hand, and we drove off. A few minutes from our little love nest, he pulled over to drop me off. He thanked me and we said our goodbyes, not even exchanging names or numbers or anything. I thought, anyway, he knows where to find me. He had one last thing to say before I shut the car door...

“Malinis ka ah?” Hmm. Was he admiring the way I slurped him up?

“Malinis ka ah? Wala kang sakit?” Toink!

How would you have answered that?

a. “May HIV ako.” Wow, honest!
b. “Meron! Ktnxbye!” Pak! Honest but vague.
c. “Baka ikaw meron?” Wehhh, defensive.
d. “Kung kelan tapos na, tsaka ka magtatanong?” Taray, palaban.
e. “Nasarapan ka naman, diba?” Uyyyyy, avoiding the question.
f. “Tingin mo?” Ano ba, i-test ba?
g. “Wala naman masyado.” Ang saya, mental game.
h. “Wala ah!” Ayyyyy, deny.

So there. Argh, a bad trip for a bad boy. When I’m good, I’m very good. When I’m bad, I’m even better. Someone needs a spanking.

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Thursday, August 05, 2010

Yoga Gaga

Yoga GagaYoga for Life has been going on for quite some time now, almost two months, if I’m not mistaken. During the first month, I was a regular of the Wednesday evening classes in Ortigas. And by the time the second month crept in, I found myself a regular of both Ortigas Wednesdays and Makati Saturdays. Yoga twice a week? And coming from a guy who has been brushing off any regular exercise routine because he was too tired and would rather rest? Yes, I surprise even myself.

And Yoga for Life is also growing into the point where you can sort of figure out who the real regulars are, and those who really aren’t or weren’t into it are falling on the wayside. Trust me, it’s a normal thing. Even I have needed to figure that out for my own self.

Of course, I did pass the stage of worrying, “Oh no, what if they think, ‘Sweaty-yoga-novice-boy is here again!’” So what? I don’t care. Hehe. Of course, that was just my paranoia. And even if it wasn’t, I was there for yoga, right? So thankfully, at this point, I’ve gotten over the initial anxiety of being new at yoga, and being new at any workout in general. I’m just past that excuse.

And also, for the past few yoga sessions, I’ve been consciously stopping myself from texting peeps prior to a session, “Let’s go yoga together later” or “You going to yoga today?” I don’t want to be at yoga just because I’m going to see someone, for example BFF, there. I mean, if he’s there, then great. If not, keri. And the opposite works as well, I don’t want to hear myself think, “I won’t go to yoga unless so and so is there.” I just think, “I want to go to yoga” and that should be enough reason.

I’ve also let go of pestering my peeps too much to attend yoga. While the invite is always open, I’m thinking, if they’re there, then cool, but if not, no biggie. I mean, for me, I don’t want them to be there just because I think they should. While there are many benefits to Yoga for Life, I can’t give anyone else a reason to be there. They gotta find the reason themselves.

Personally, I do yoga for me. I focus on the fact that I’m enjoying yoga and feeling good. And the precedents of two of our regular yoga buddies increasing their respective CD4 counts by more than 100 points each? A huge bonus if ever it happens to me.

So Saturday, I found myself on the way to Makati for yoga. I arrived to find only our yogi babe there. It was on the brink of becoming a one-on-one session when our Ortigas trio of yoga buddies arrived. So it was a tight group of regulars, which was taken advantage of with an extra intense session. Believe me, I soaked up two towels with sweat.

By the end, my legs were burning, and I was almost falling asleep from exhaustion during the meditation. But it was a good and refreshing hard sweat. And I was proud to have held up throughout most of it. And with that, it’s evident... I’m officially gaga over yoga.

But that is just a side story...

Segue to the previous weekend before last. If you recall, I had a family lunch before going to yoga. I needed to leave ahead of everyone, and I had made that a pre-announcement to my cousins earlier on. My girl cousins curiously asked where I was headed... whether it was work or just a gimmick. I nonchalantly said, “Neither... I have yoga.”

And then it hit me. Me and my big mouth.

They, of course, were interested in doing yoga. These cousins of mine were both ballerinas when they were younger, so they aren’t new to the flexibility thing. And they admitted they had tried yoga a few times before, but never carried it though. They were now seriously asking me about where I do yoga. I was caught off guard, so I had to spill the beans... just inches short of mentioning HIV.

I may have been sweating beads at that moment, bewildered as to how I could possibly cut the conversation short. Thankfully, they did it themselves, saying they’d like to join me for yoga sometime. Whew, I was safe... for now. Let’s prolong the agony, shall we?

So with that, a dark and anxious cloud looms over my yoga head. If and when they do join me for yoga, I’m probably going to have to tell them about the HIV link, am I not? That will surely fast track my coming out of the positive closet. And if I still want to tell my sister before anyone else in the family, that’ll zoom in even faster. Argh.

Don’t get me wrong. I would love to have my cousins come and share the yoga experience with me. But as to how I’ll get from being in the HIV closet, to having them with me at my complementary HIV therapy? Oi, heaven knows. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Hayyyyy... Yoga... it’s so gaga.

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