Coming Clean

Finally, I can write about R. We’d met the first and only time earlier this year, when a common friend of ours organized a threesome. My friend and I drove to R’s place, and roarrr, I liked him. He was my type: manly, mature, smart, and very dominant. But being an expert at threesomes, I always make sure the guys I’m with get their fair share of the action. So we did the deed.

R and I kept in touch after that, but before there was any opportunity for us to meet again, I found out that I was HIV positive. And for lack of having an excuse to see him again, I told him.

This thing with R sounds similar with my thing with Mojo, but it was more complicated. Why? Even R doesn’t know this yet, and he’ll be finding out for the first time from this blog entry. That one time we had sex happened on April 7th, while I was waiting for the results of my HIV test. It was after March 31st, when my blood sample was taken, and before April 16th when I got my results. I’m not proud and I realize now how lackadaisical I really was about getting tested.

R basically didn’t take the news of my being poz too well. I knew from the way he bombarded me with messages and questions that he was panicking. And as it was at a time when I myself was in a chaotic state of mind, I didn’t know how to calm him down. He got tested almost as soon as I told him, and it came up negative. But we both knew that wasn’t enough.

It was such a small HIV world, that he found this blog shortly after, probably in the midst of his panic. He even asked me point blank if I knew the guy who was writing it. I denied, of course. And with the truth being in this blog, I had to change my story with him: when I got tested, when I got my results, my age, and even my birthdate. Talk about paranoia, huh? That's why I never wrote about R, because he'd find out it was me.

I was witness to how hard it was for him to spend the next few months just waiting for the window period to expire. And for those next few months, he never stopped bugging me, until I just chose to stop replying to his messages altogether, mostly because I felt he was just dragging me down with him into depression. I knew I held some responsibility for his dilemma, but needed to help myself before anyone else.

So we lost touch, or at least I did, until that fateful day that he sent me a message after the window period passed, saying his HIV retest just turned up negative. I’m sure I heaved a sigh of relief that time and congratulated him. I think his reply was something to the tune of he’ll still be there for me, but I never held him to that promise, not after I dropped him like a hot potato in his own time of need.

So months and months passed, but I do recall getting messages from R. It wasn’t that often, probably just once every other month, asking how I was doing. I’d reply, but still felt too guilty to take too much of his time.

Up until last week, when he sent his usual how-are-you-doing-buddy, which he followed up with asking if he could call so we could talk. I was hesitant, because I didn’t feel worthy of his care and his time. I was also worried because I couldn’t remember all the details of the story I’d fabricated to cover myself up. But I gave in after a few more messages, sent him my number, and we talked.

R started out asking how I was, then moving on to more personal stuff about my family, work and other stuff. I was on to him. He was checking my story out. So I decided, fine, it’s time to come clean. I answered all his questions with utmost truth, completely aware that these same details could be found littered in this blog. I honestly had a smirk on my face talking with him, as if we were playing Pinoy Henyo.

We continued our conversation the next day, which was when, upon being asked again, I finally admitted to being the owner of this blog. It was liberating, probably even for him. He told me he’d been following this blog religiously, never forgetting the suspicion he had all along that it was me. I thanked him, and surprisingly, he thanked me too. He thanked me for triggering this phase in his life, where, as he said, he realized and learned a lot.

Although I'm wondering whether my admission changed his view of me as a person, or whether it changed his view of the PinoyPoz or B.I.T.C.H. writing this blog, either way, I was just appreciative of the time he took to salvage what he could out of our friendship. I know you’re reading this, R. Thanks for listening to – and reading – my story. And thanks for still being a friend. This is just filthy old me, finally coming clean.

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Coming Out?

I started this blog feeling like I was, as entitled, Back in the Closet. But as I went along my HIV journey, I started seeing that things weren’t so bad. And especially since the so-called HIV advocacy groups showed me how they were Back in the Panic Room, I realized how relatively liberated I was about this HIV thing.

I think it was my effort to learn more about my condition that gave me some visibility to the road further ahead. Okay, maybe not so much as to just blurt it out to my family just yet. But it’s like I’ve become was comfortable with myself again, ready to face the world. So am I actually coming out?

Well, honestly, to some extent, I have been coming out.

Other than the doctors and medical personnel who tested me positive for HIV, my first ever attempt at disclosing my status was with Mojo, who I’ve mentioned in earlier posts. I was just weeks into being HIV positive, and we were leaning towards pursuing each other for something beyond sex at the time, and I had no reason to give for my sudden loss of interest. So I confessed. Yes, it felt like confessing, like it was a sin to have HIV. His initial reaction was irritating, because he had to ask if I was joking. That would’ve been such a bad joke, wouldn’t it? But he redeemed himself when he said, “I’m still your friend.” I had that message saved in my inbox until about a month ago, when I finally admitted to myself that we’d lost touch. I felt his sincerity when he said he’d still be a friend, but he couldn’t hide the fear, which was so bad that he hasn’t gotten tested himself, from fear of the possibility of being HIV positive. And although I still feel that his fear of HIV translated to being afraid of me, I’ve forgiven him.

Since that time and this blog, I’ve been pretty open to coming out. Of course, telling fellow pozzies doesn’t count as coming out at all. But I’ve openly given my number to some readers, given my real life Friendster account to some who wanted to put a face on me, given out my full name, especially lately with this campaign for Baby Nathan, and even gotten the chance to meet a few people who’d been reading this blog. And yes, occasions have come where a new guy would be looking to hook up, at which point I sometimes choose to tell, so he’d have time to change his mind if he wanted to.

Has it been that easy? Not at all. It’s taken a bit of courage and a lot of trust for me to be able to do such things. But then again, I always think to myself, “How can I expect them to accept me and my condition, if I am drowning in my own paranoia?”

Impressive? Not really. Because I opened up to these people as strangers. And as I always said, the less a person knew me, the easier it was to tell.

So what about the rest? Well, honestly, I’ve been too chicken to tell some of my other contacts myself. And when I say contacts, I mean... okay, sexual contacts. So I did the next best thing. I backtracked through my sexual contacts up to more than a year ago, and had a friend contact them anonymously, to advise them to get tested for HIV. The reactions varied from asking who the sender was, replying to the anonymous number that they’d just gotten tested, sending foul messages to their alleged stalker, or most commonly, assuming that they did get the message, not replying. But I felt that was as decent a warning as I could manage.

Sometimes though, especially lately, I find myself disclosing my status to some of my guys. These are guys who I’ve met before, and were interested in seeing me again. These were guys who knew what a slut I was and with whom I had chemistry, and for whom I had no valid reason to suddenly be uninterested in having sex. I can’t just hurt their feelings with lies like I didn’t enjoy our last time, or I don’t miss doing it with you. I just can’t. And so I tell.

Again, a bit of courage, and a huge benefit of the doubt. I usually start with the line “I got sick,” to which they usually reply “I hope you’re feeling better now.” At that point, I’d throw my cares in the air and drop the bomb, “I found out I have HIV.” Again, some would ask if I was joking, which pisses me off, but eventually, the reality would set in. So far, no really negative reactions. They’d say they’d be there for me, wish that I was okay, and even go as far as check every so often how I was doing. The worst, so far, just involved us losing touch all of a sudden, which isn’t surprising at all. The best? Some guys would say they’d still want to see me, and even better, would still want to have sex with me. That still throws me off guard, until now.

Do I really have to tell them? Technically, no. But let’s put it this way: Granted that these guys may just be after sex, I’d like to be in a similar frame of mind, thinking that this is just HIV. It doesn’t change who I am, but rather, it just changes the premise of meeting. Definitely, it changes my sexual limitations, and possibly, it can change their interest in me. And whether it does or doesn’t, I’m fine with it. I’m not the same as before, when I’d have as many as three sex sessions in a day, three to four days a week, every week. Sounds like a gym workout, doesn’t it? I’ve mellowed down a lot, and have been finding myself resorting to every excuse there is to get out of a sex meet, but definitely, hearing HIV seems to douse most guys’ libidos most effectively.

So the road to disclosure hasn’t been as bad as I expected. But it’s still all baby steps for me. My next milestone would be being able to come out to my sister, which honestly, right now, doesn’t seem too far away. It certainly helps to have a full understanding of my condition, so helping others understand me and HIV won’t be too hard. But again, baby steps, baby steps. For now, I'm still Back in the Closet. Hopefully, someday, sometime and someway, I’ll be able to come out to the world, and with them realize that... my deepest, darkest secret is really no big deal.

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My Mojo

Remember the guy I mentioned in my previous post? Yeah, that one. The reason why I decided to get tested… Let me tell you about him.

For purposes of anonymous reference, let’s call him… Mojo. Why Mojo? I dunno, I just always thought that was a cute and cool name. Mojo.

He had found me on the net earlier this year, just being my horny self. Yes, yes, I admit, I’m a raging bull when it comes to sex. How bad am I? Above average kink for universal standards. Which is extreme kink to Filipinos. Please don’t ask for details. So anyways, he found me at it, and surprisingly was still interested to meet. He was into what I was.

So March 25th, we met. Checked into a motel, and did the deed. It was no less than perfect. We were sexually compatible. Unfortunately though, we were both into bareback sex. And we didn’t even consider using protection that night.

We had remained in touch after that steamy night, and I was seriously realizing that this might be more than just about sex. Yeah, he was a nice guy, the split personality type. Quiet, calm and decent in public, but wild, tough and rough in the confines. An ode to Mentos. Crunchy on the outside, soft and chewy on the inside. A great combination.

So anyways, regardless of interest, he still had to know about my condition. We had non-sexual-dated a number of times more between that first meeting and today, and even once after I got my results. I didn’t know how to tell him. I was afraid of how he would take it. I didn’t want to ruin the relaxed evening we were having. I didn’t have a valid segue. Trust me, I had every reason in the book. I knew I should tell him, but just really didn’t have the guts to. Until tonight.

He had been bugging me about our pending “second time”, and I was running out of alibis not to do it. He knew how sexual I was and couldn’t understand why I was avoiding getting back into bed with him. He was starting to imagine that I didn’t like him that much, or didn’t like him at all, or didn’t enjoy the first time, or just wanted to be friends, or was seeing someone else. Sounded like plots to some Filipino soap operas.

So tonight I told him by sending him a text message. “I got sick. I just found out I’m HIV positive.” I think it slapped all the drama out of him. I guess he had to hear it straight, and shortly gave me a ring. I now realize that I shall hate being asked if I’m not joking about it. This would be a very, very bad and unfunny joke. Argh.

So we talked. He asked me all the whos, whens, wheres and whys. He said he wasn’t really surprised, knowing all the bad habits I had. But that he was saddened by the news. Hearing him say “I am still your friend”, brought a tear to my eye. I told him he’d have to get tested as well, to make sure he didn’t catch it. He said he’d wait until he feels something bad. Wha?! I reassured him I’d go with him if he needed support. He said he just didn’t know what he’d do if ever he found out he had it. Speechless. So getting tested really is an big issue for people beyond me. Now I’m really, really proud of myself for doing it.

So anyway, we talked for about an hour, shifting to lighter stuff, tackling his own little dramas of life, even laughing just a bit. It was nice. Relieving. He said he still liked me… that sex wasn’t the only thing he wanted… that he’d be there for me. I hate when I get mushy… and I did. It made me stronger, and I could only hope that everyone I will be coming out to would take it this well.

Mojo and I will be seeing each other at the mall tomorrow, and I’m actually prepared to get asked “Are you sure you’re not joking?” After the weeks I’ve spent crawling back into my shell, this will be a breakthrough for me. I’d forgotten for a while how optimistic I’ve always been, but really… Life isn’t all bad after all. I just might be getting my mojo back.

I’ve once again peeked out of the closet. Or maybe more like dragged someone in.

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