It isn’t Monday yet. I am still waiting for my first doctor’s appointment. Batman Mum has sworn an oath to make sure I don’t miss it, particularly to make sure I seek counsel, more precisely to ask the doctor the question that has been troubling her life since I was first diagnosed.

“How can I live with my family without passing the virus on to them?”

That is the question that has been causing her sleepless night. What Batman, sorry, Mum, want to hear from the doctor’s mouth is, “Bring out plate wey e go take dey chop… Bring out him own spoon and cup… No share bucket and towel with am… No dey shake am anyhow…”

That is her business though. I am not planning on committing incest or sharing shaving sticks with any family member, so I know they were safe. I have resumed living my life just like every other normal, cute, sexy queer dude. I have stopped feeling sorry for myself. I have become chatty on BBM, Twitter, Whatsapp, Facebook, Grindr, Planet Romeo, and – Wait for it – 2go. Yes, I’m on 2go too. Any questions?

My Twitter account is quite interesting. I don’t even chat there much; I just go to view pics, dick pics to be precise. Yaaaaaaas! I love dicks. I like them black, with yellow or red head. The ones with red head na the ish sha. Dick pics have gradually begun to make sense to me again. I am beginning to appreciate nice dick shapes, colour and sizes, like I used to. Then I saw this particular one, and I felt it. I felt the blood rush. I hadn’t felt it for a while, maybe because I had a lot going on, but the thirst was real this time. The blood was flowing downwards. I don’t even know when I started caressing my nipples. My cakes became softer, and the muscles around my ‘you-know-what’ was throbbing. I drew my briefs down to let Kratos out. (Yes! My dick has a name) Kratos was fiercer than I remembered. It’s like it was wearing a coat of veins or something. The muscles around my ‘you-know-what’ was throbbing faster, to no particular rhythm. It was just throbbing. That’s when I knew it was official. I WANT TO FUCK. I NEED TO FUCK.

*

I have built my network of friends, just as I read in my HIV guide. My network of friends – or as I call them, SUPPORT SQUAD. In my head, they are like this Black Ops division of CIA sent to protect me, to make sure I make it through each day. Let me introduce you to the SUPPORT SQUAD. First is Rowland my best friend. Then Suraya, my South African bestie, though I have never meet her in person. What brought us together is our love for downloading and watching TV series. Then Iffy, the one who got away, who later became the wonderful friend he is today. Then the fourth member is PP. Pink Panther. I don’t know how Pink Panther joined my squad, believe me. PP wasn’t my favourite person. I always thought he pretended to be friends with people just to get them to read his blog. But I was wrong, even though we aren’t BFFs. You know that kind of friend that isn’t there when you want, but is there when you need? That’s PP for you. When I told him about starting this series, I didn’t tell him it was about me. It was after I’d sent the first episode and he read it and loved it; I didn’t know when I just told him, “That’s my story.” Then PP started all that “Oh, I’m sorry, I hope you’re okay? Are you okay? Have you eaten?” I dislike that thing ehn! I just told him to stop. He stopped. But he’s there whenever I need to talk. That’s how PP joined my SUPPORT SQUAD.

The fifth member is Mr. Help. In fact, I don’t know what to say, but this Sunday, I’m sowing a thanksgiving offering to God for sending Mr. Help my way. He’s being like a father to me. The last but not the least, a passive member though, is the one and only Kenny Brandmuse. He is like the silent Oga at the top. I have never spoken with him before. I speak to Mr. Help, or Iffy, and they speak to him, then they give me a reply. I am cool with it anyway. Boss na Boss. There is nothing I can do about that.

I am carrying my hunger for sex inside. I am reluctant to talk about it, even to members of my Support Squad. Not because I don’t want to. The problem is, in a way, I am being stigmatized, by no other person than Bobby. Yes! I am stigmatizing myself.

I have come to terms with my status. I have dealt with that part. But what I can never forgive myself for is if I pass HIV to someone else. I may just kill myself. I can’t be responsible for putting someone through what I’m going through right now. When I was diagnosed, it took a while before I realised that the fact that I was just diagnosed doesn’t mean I just came in contact with the virus. It’s possible that I have being living with it for God-knows-how-long. And even If I just came in contact with it, for it to be detected in a test means that I have lived with the virus for at least three months.  These three months is called the window period. It’s a characteristic of latent viruses. By latent virus, I mean viruses that can enter your bosom and lay down silently for a long period of time, then one morning they will just wake up and destroy you. Like HIV. HIV has a window period of at least three months, within which it’s most likely not to be detected by any test.  And there is also a possibility of infecting someone within these three months.

Now, I must have lived with this virus for at least three months. I have been using condoms. But what of that guy who sucked Kratos? What of that guy who ate my cakes like chocolate pie? (I have nice cakes though) It is possible that I might have passed this virus to someone else. That thought almost killed me when I was first diagnosed. During the three days of cleanse-me-from-HIV-oh-Lord fasting and prayer my family did, I did pray to God to heal me. But what I prayed for most was forgiveness. No, I wasn’t asking to be forgiven for my gayness. I was asking for forgiveness for transmitting HIV without knowing it. I do have a tough skin, but one thing it doesn’t protect me from is my own guilt. That thought haunted me more than the fact that I have HIV. But what has happened has happened, I can’t change the past. I comforted myself with the fact that it wasn’t intentional. It still took a lot of self-convincing anyway. And now here I am, wanting to fuck again. I must be sent from the pit of hell to destroy mankind, I think to myself.

I had to speak to someone. It took a lot of courage, but I just had to seek advice. Because I really need to fuck. Now this is surprising. Normally, I am supposed to talk to a support squad member, right? But I don’t. Instead I talk to someone else, someone outside the squad, this person and I have a special bond. You know why? Because we are both HIV positive. I don’t know if he’s support squad material yet, because this is my first time of talking to him. And I will call him Dexter.

Me: Hey…sup?

Dexter: I’m cool. How you holding up?

Me: I’m good. I have some questions that has been troubling me. Wanted to find out how you dealt with them.

Dexter: Okay. I’m listening.

Me: How did you initially manage your sex life after you were diagnosed?

Dexter: Initially I withdrew. I stopped having sex. Then with help from my best friend, I rebuilt my sex drive and went back out there.

Me: Do you tell your partner about your status before sex?

Dexter: Hell no! And I don’t feel any guilt about that. The condom is the only courtesy I owe them.

Me: Ok, I feel guilty, like I’m putting them at risk. What if your partner wants to suck your dick, do you stop them?

Dexter: No! I like blowjobs.

Me: I read pre-cum can infect.

Dexter: Only if the dude has a wound in his mouth. Besides my viral load is quite low.

Bobby: Do you inspect their mouth with torch light before they suck you?

Dexter: Bobby, I have reconciled my sex life with my status. Please don’t try to guilt me.

Me: Oh I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just needed answers. I am so sorry.

Dexter: It’s okay. I understand how you feel. Feel free to ask me anything.

I am back to square one. My case is worse as I don’t even know my viral load. But I like blowjobs too. Sorry! I love blowjobs. Both giving and receiving it. Come to think of it, oral sex is really unsafe sex. Unless you are blowing that dick with a condom on it, I advise you don’t. When you brush your mouth with that toothbrush you haven’t changed for over eight months, you could have tiny openings around your gum and any virus that comes with pre-cum will just enter your bosom. From this day henceforth, I solemnly swear to never blow any dick, unless it belongs to my (HIV+ or -) bf, (that’s if anyone can love me like this), and we must have tested free from other STDs. So help me whoever-is-listening. I don’t know if you took that oath with me. If you did, I commend your bravery. It isn’t easy to see a dick and not want to grab it in your mouth, close your eyes and tighten the muscles around your mouth and moan to the best love song you can ever think of, especially when the dick scores at least 80% in size, 70% in shape and 85% in colour. These types of dicks are very hard to resist. Well, if you did not take the oath, before your embark on your sucking-and-swallowing-pre-cum rampage, please slap a condom on it. Thank you.

All has been said and done.

And I STILL WANT TO FUCK.

I really want to. I don’t need the kissing and smooching, sensual, its-like-I’m-in-love-with-you sex for now. I just want to fuck and go. I am not a nun for crying out loud. So I begin to think. I am like, okay, what if I use condoms? Kissing can’t pass it on. (This part right here is a blessing to me, because I can’t be pleased without kisses) What if I use a condom and I don’t suck the dick and I don’t let my partner suck Kratos either? Everybody wins, yes? It’s a nice bargain, if you ask me.

So, I scroll through my contacts and I come across Douglas.

Douglas is perfect, because our friendship is strictly sexual. No emotions whatsoever. I don’t even like him. He is a bit timid and has this annoying Igbo accent. But Douglas is blessed down there o, choi! He should be between 8 – 10 inches. Yes! I can measure a dick with my eyes just by looking at it. I’m not a learner.

I send Douglas a text.

Me: Hey, happy new year. Are you around?

It takes about thirty minutes before I get his reply.

Douglas: Happy New Year. Yes, I’m around.

I reply ASAP.

Me: Okay, I’m coming.

Written by Bobby

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