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This essay was originally published at Jhames.com on December 1, 2002, World AIDS Day. He stood there, in front of me, and told me with a matter-of-fact voice that I never expected to carry a statement such as "I'm HIV positive." All I could do, all I could do, was hug him and tell him how sorry I was. He wasn't looking for my sympathy when he told me, and his laissez-faire attitude about all of it made me uneasy. I was waiting for him to react with rage or anger, but he just stood there, in front of me, and told me as if we were making conversation like the day before. He wasn't really surprised, he knew that his promiscuity the summer before would eventually come back to haunt him. He went online to look for sex, just sex, and he never saw the men when they entered his apartment and then entered him. He knew he wanted, they knew what they wanted, but nobody ever bothered to worry or care about the details. Did you get tested? Are you wearing a condom? Hey, what's your name? It was only six men, but that is the right number for a game of Russian Roulette. Only he spun the barrel and came out losing. He had to send these six strangers e-mails about his HIV status, because he didn't know how else to reach them. He told me that four of them were angry at him, at him, for this e-mail, and only two were concerned about his health and thankful for his notice. And me? How can I cast judgement about this? I have had unprotected sex with more than one man during my sex life, and I did so with the knowledge of the consequences for my actions. I was drunk. I was high. I was drunk and high. I was sober. I was in love. I was in lust. I was apathetic. I didn't think it could happen to me. And it hasn't. So far. And if it did? Then I have to accept that which I chose for myself, because I had too many opportunities to do the right thing but decided to forego the health of myself and the other person during sex. And this makes me an idiot for wanting the barrel of the gun to come up with my number. I am not going to stand on a soapbox and rant about the risks of unprotected sex, because I would rather be a hypocrite about something more than a fucking idiot. I will not rant about numbers or statistics, because I know -- and now you -- that my behavior has demonstrated nothing but blatant ignorance toward a disease that is very real and very lethal and very possible to contract each and every time I have practiced unsafe sex. This is December 1, 2002. This is World AIDS Day. This is a joke, because we all live with this disease every day of our lives. And I, along with so many others, mourn the lives of loved ones who lost their battles with HIV and AIDS. And I, along with so many others, celebrate the lives of loves ones who continue their battles with HIV and AIDS. But I, and I alone, need to stop playing with a loaded gun. |
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12.07.06: Scarlet Letters -- in case it isn't glaringly obvious -- is currently
on an extended hiatus. The web has changed, we've changed, and
we're trying to figure out how we both fit together now, which isn't a process we want to rush. If you're looking for more current SL-related content, you can
have check out upcoming books from editor Heather Corinna and previous co-editor Hanne Blank, check out Heather's current sexuality sites, or explore sites through the femmerotic network. We hope to be back with you soon, as fresh, challenging and
unexpected as ever.
In the meantime, by all means, enjoy our years of past content,
all of which still remain in the public and subscription areas.
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