A heart for carefree living
Since coming out, our author's sex life had been linked to the fear of HIV infection. Then he was careless once. He wrote down for us how he felt afterwards.
Being gay shouldn't be a problem these days. Just watch out for HIV/Aids, ok?
"Being gay shouldn't be a problem these days. Just watch out for HIV/Aids, ok?": I've heard these words over and over again since I came out. They are always well-intentioned, but the worry in their voices was unmistakable.
My coming out at the age of 14 was unproblematic and that is not a matter of course. Teachers supported me and if someone did talk about "faggots", they had to expect a headwind from their classmates. Of course, I also experienced hatred and violence. But the support was greater than expected. Apart from the acceptance I experienced, people cared about my health. They mentioned Aids so often, at first it seemed like a record of caring being played over and over again.
Two years later, on a summer's day with temperatures of over 30 degrees. It wasn't just the weather that made me sweat. It was also the prospect of meeting this boy I had met in an internet chat. It was the first time I'd consciously arranged to meet another gay man. At the lake, I immediately noticed his athletic calves and strong thighs, which were only covered by thin shorts. He looked great, but the closer I got, the more I scrutinised him. Maybe I was just imagining it, but didn't he look a bit sickly? Maybe he did. Suddenly he appeared to me in a different light. He was no longer beautiful, but terrifying.
When I came of age, I was about to go to my first gay party. I finally wanted to be able to flirt and have the opportunity to get to know someone like my heterosexual friends. It took a few parties before I wanked some guy's cock in a toilet with my eyes closed. At some point, I felt a few drops of thick mucus on my fingers, reflexively pushed the guy away from me and fled like a madman.
The fear that drove me
Shortly afterwards, I went for an HIV test. During the counselling session, a woman explained to me that the situation at the party didn't really pose a risk, but I still wanted to be sure. The result was negative. From then on, I routinely went to the health centre every three months. Sometimes I had no sexual contact at all between visits. It wasn't about the risks at all. I was driven by fear. It was instilled in me openly and subtly so that it seemed like normality. Gay sex and HIV/Aids were inextricably linked. Even before I had sex for the first time, I was terrified of sex; all the gay men I met seemed like potential carriers of the virus and suspicious. Being gay was dangerous.
Shortly after my 20th birthday, I had unprotected anal sex, which was followed about 14 days later by symptoms that were typical of an acute HIV infection. The reasons for not using protection were complex and I was in a difficult life situation at the time. Fear certainly didn't help me. As everyone seemed to assume that it would happen at some point, I didn't have to prove anything to anyone. Not even to myself.
On 20 August 2009, I once again picked up the results of an HIV test. I knew that I had it. But I wasn't afraid. The moment I was diagnosed, I was in disbelief. I didn't realise what it meant for my life. At the same time, it was strangely relieving. The thing I was so extremely afraid of happened, but the worry about whether it would happen was gone. The sword of Damocles disappeared. The years of constant bombardment inside me ended abruptly.
Viral load below the detection limit
Two years passed, during which I realised that it was possible to continue working and living normally with the virus thanks to medical developments. At some point, I learnt that my viral load was below the detection limit. This meant that although I was carrying viruses, they could no longer be analysed in the laboratory due to their low numbers. Almost incidentally, it meant that I could not transmit the virus to others.
Even then, it was scientifically proven that HIV is not transmissible under effective therapy. The amount of virus in blood, semen and vaginal secretions is simply not enough to pass it on. This information brought me incredible relief. Shortly after the diagnosis, I never wanted to have sex again. Now I no longer had to worry about infecting someone with HIV. Condoms were still just as standard as extreme hygiene and avoiding contact with other people's bodily fluids. I never wanted to get a sexually transmitted disease again.
"What makes you really horny?"
Then came Nico. Over coffee before our first sex date, we wanted to find out whether the chemistry was right. He was brash right from the start. "What turns you on in particular? What makes you really horny?" he asked in the café. I've rarely been so overwhelmed in my life so far. I didn't know what made me horny. I'd never thought about it because of the scissors in my head. Many things about sex were dangerous and therefore to be avoided. So I didn't even get into the inner state of mind to allow my fantasies to happen properly.
We had a coffee and a few other drinks and chatted late into the night. Admittedly, only he talked at first. But as unfiltered and shamelessly as he spoke, he encouraged me to do the same. I told him that I thought it would be cool to get cum in my arse because it was so sloppy. I found this role appealing. At sunrise we fucked without a rubber. The next morning, my fear was probably written all over my face. Nico lit a fag and smiled at me: "It's okay that this happened!" I had never been given permission to switch off during sex. This encounter was important because I was now less afraid of sex and risks. I was shown a different, horny perspective on sex.
I was born with a fear of HIV, gay sex and "suspicious" men, so to speak. I couldn't do anything about it back then. It had a power that overshadowed everything. My earlier physical experiences had to do with many things, but today I would no longer describe these tense encounters as sex. Many gay men and other men who have sex with men know this. It's an invisible bond that is rarely talked about, but which nevertheless connects us.
Lust that finds its way
I don't blame anyone for the record of caring that was played on a continuous loop after I came out. How were they to know that it could be harmful when even sex education in schools is often very one-sided to this day? Pregnancy prevention and sexually transmitted diseases are important topics. However, it is unfair to sexuality if the hot, beautiful, pleasurable aspects that fulfil psychosocial needs are left in the dark. Incidentally, people are not stupid, they realise this themselves. Lust finds its own way. Sexual education should prepare us for this. Fear is not a good counsellor, and being left alone with it is certainly not, as years of prevention have shown and there is broad consensus.
There is no such thing as absolute safety and hardly anyone is keen on sexually transmitted diseases. Some people probably get the feeling they need to enjoy sex by using condoms or having as much control as possible. But that doesn't work for me. Today I have sex almost exclusively without a condom. Of course, I've learnt a lot more about my pleasure since then. Thank you at this point to my numerous fuck mentors. I can't say exactly what it is that makes me horny. It must have something to do with the fact that I feel like I'm merging with my sex partner. However, sex should not be thought through to the end. You can be cerebral with other hobbies. I recommend chess.
Carefree is a great state
But my solution has little to do with ignorance or recklessness. I have found an awareness of the dangers and side effects of sex, a certain respect for them and a way of dealing with them. This includes regular checks and treatment, speaking openly with sex partners in the event of an infection or being sensitive to your own body and symptoms. There are no rational arguments as to why I live this way. It's the gut feeling, the desire and the happiness inside me that feel right.
I have lost the fear that slows me down, makes me unhappy and unsatisfied. And that's a good thing. Carefree is a great state. I love letting myself go and fall and being connected to one or many other people as if in a trance. The bodies converse without the heads controlling them. To put it bluntly: how cool is it to just be a hole?
