Posts Tagged ‘sex’
Why we should never stop being scared of AIDS
The "Don't Die of Ignorance" campaign of the 1980s
As an HIV/AIDS activist, one of the questions I wrestle with daily is this:
At what point does educating people about HIV start to dilute the fear of the virus itself?
Sorry to get all controversial on you, but bareback sex feels good — that’s why people do it.
It’s no good brushing it under the carpet in the hope that people will conveniently forget this small point, because it’s a simple fact of life; your dick is packed with nerves that respond favourably to something warm and wet. And no, I don’t mean apple pie.
Well, I’ll tell you what doesn’t feel good: The fact that I couldn’t snog the face off of my gorgeous, HIV negative (now ex) boyfriend when we went to bed at night, because there was usually blood in the sink after I spat my toothpaste out. Nope, that’s pretty depressing, actually.
Or what about the fact that I can’t drink alcohol any more because of the damage the years of medication has done to my liver? Tonic water, anyone? Just me? Oh, okay then.
I’ll tell you what else doesn’t feel good: that despite still being relatively young and in my prime (I’m 31), I’m usually so exhausted by the end of the week that I sleep for half of Saturday and tend not to move past the sofa for the rest of it.
And did I ever tell you about how I got this scar on the side of my face? No? Well that was from last November, when I changed my medication, had a massive allergic reaction to it and was found hours away from a coma at the bottom of my stairs by my mother, who came round to check I was OK after nobody had heard from me for four days.
This, ladies and gents, is the reality of HIV.
In July 2008, I wrote for the Pride Blog, and I talked about HIV and the “Tombstone Generation”. For people like me, growing up in the 1980s, HIV/AIDS was without a doubt regarded as a killer. We were bombarded with images of falling tombstones and icebergs, and ominous voices telling us: “don’t die of ignorance.”
Before this period, the message was even closer to home. Paul Burston, author of “The Gay Divorcee” recently told PinkNews: “”For those of us who are 40-plus…we didn’t need ‘icebergs’, we saw friends die in hospital.”
I guess if you were sexually active in the 80s, going to a funeral every week in the 90s would have put the whole barebacking issue into perspective.
Fast forward to 2010 and things have changed dramatically. Take me for instance. I have a great job, I earn a good salary. I don’t live on benefits. My boss is very understanding about taking time off for hospital appointments, and treating the virus means simply taking five pills in the morning. It’s just become a part of my daily routine, like putting my contact lenses in so I can see properly.
Yes, HIV is now very much a ‘manageable condition’ — rather like diabetes.
In the developed world at least, we’re so fortunate to have treatment and care available to us, and I can’t put into words the respect and gratitude I have for the men and women who dedicate their lives to finding new treatments, vaccines, and hopefully one day — a cure.
But with all these advances in medical science, we’ve ended up with AIDS no longer being the killer it used to be. So it’s only natural we worry about it less.
It’s also invisible — you can’t see it, so it becomes easier to bury your head in the sand and forget about it, as opposed to, say, a dirty great weeping sore on the end of your cock.
It feels like lately, AIDS awareness campaigns have taken a very softly-softly approach, concentrating on a gentle “use a condom” message.
This is all well and good, but what about showing people the harsh realities of HIV? The anti-smoking lobbyists have got it right, with a slew of increasingly more graphic ad campaigns, and images of rotting teeth and blackened lungs gracing every fag packet.
Should we take our lead from the anti-smoking groups and start including similar on the DVD cases of bareback porn? Or would that ruin our fun too much? I mean, who wants to think about AIDS when you whack a porno on in the background while you’re sticking it to/getting banged senseless by some cute guy who thinks you’re hotter than molten lava?
If you were around in the mid 90s, you’ll vividly remember the image of Leah Betts in her hospital bed, which was circulated to the press in 1995. Her mother released the photo in the hope that people would see it and think twice about taking Ecstasy.
What would make you think twice about barebacking? An advert asking you very nicely to use a condom, thank-you-very-much, or being slapped round the face with the image of someone in the last hours of their painful life, covered in KS lesions, getting water through a drip and pissing it from a catheter?
Now ask yourself this: Is a few seconds spent having a giddy, bareback orgasm worth that?
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The lessons I learned in Ibiza
Ibiza Town
This is what I learned on holiday in Ibiza:
- I’m never again flying from Stansted…
…and the same goes for flying with Ryanair. - Getting a tan may be bad for the skin…
…but it’s incredibly good for the soul. - My friends are even more fantastic than I realised…
…and my best friend knows me frighteningly well. - A jetski is guaranteed to make you look cool…
…and even falling off one is fun. - Most of the island’s public toilets have run out of soap…
…and the hand dryers are all broken too. - Mixing beer, mojitos, caramel vodka shots and gin is a tremendously bad idea after six months off booze…
…and smoking on top of it doesn’t help the situation. - I never used to get knackered after five minutes of dancing…
…and my stomach never used to wobble either. - The film ‘I, Robot’ in Spanish translates as ‘Yo, Robot’…
…and this makes me laugh like a seal. - Laughing can make you forget you’re hurting…
…even if it’s only for a few seconds. - I learned that saying goodbye always hurts like hell…
…but even more so when it’s your decision. - And that I don’t know what’s worse — only having part of someone…
…or not having them at all. - That sometimes you shouldn’t dare to hope…
…because it can be as destructive as despair. - And when you’re missing the person you love…
…there’s little difference between one mile and a thousand. - That you can run as far as you like from a broken heart…
…but eventually you have to return and try to mend it. - And even though I didn’t want to come back…
…it’s also really nice to be home.
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On friendship, death, and honouring a promise
In memory of Clint Walters - 1979 -2010
“I am HIV positive”
In 1997, at the age of 17, my friend, Clint Walters, spoke these words to a nation after his own diagnosis, in an attempt to break down the barriers and stigma surrounding HIV, and to help others like himself.
On Friday 16th April 2010, we said a final farewell to him in a ceremony of laughter, tears and memories.
While some people may think it’s in bad taste to post a eulogy online, I have been urged to do so with the blessing of Clint’s mother, Wendy, and at the request of people who attended the funeral (and those who couldn’t) as a tribute to Clint’s life and work, and a reminder that the fight against HIV is never over.
The best way we can now honour Clint’s memory is to keep on fighting.
As the curtains closed on him in the crematorium, it seemed only fitting to give him a round of applause. Clint’s life was truly a life worthy of celebration. Here is my tribute to him as I delivered it on the day:
~~~~~
When someone you love is taken from you, it’s easy to put them on a pedestal they don’t actually belong on. It’s easy to forget all the bad stuff and paint a picture of them as some sort of saint.
The cantankerous gin-soaked grandmother who sat in a corner smoking and being miserable suddenly becomes Mother Theresa.
The estranged father you never saw eye to eye with becomes a picture perfect catalogue dad.
But the funny thing is, with Clint, he really does belong on that pedestal. In an age where anyone can become an instant celebrity, loved by millions, simply by joining a reality show and doing something controversial — Clint was different.
He was everything he’s been described as today. Not only a treasured son, brother and friend — but an icon and a trailblazer — who touched hundreds of thousands of lives.
So I’ve struggled to find an appropriate way to mourn the loss of a friend like Clint.
I could cry a river of tears. I could rage at the heavens about how unfair it is that his life was cut short. I could sit consumed with grief that I’ll never see him again.
Believe me, I’ve cried, and I’d be a fool to think there are no more tears to come, but today and in the coming weeks, I’ve chosen to let pride and gratitude be my strongest emotions.
When I read the papers and see a list of achievements as long as my arm, I sit back in amazement at how much this man achieved in thirty years, how many lives he touched, I can’t fail but to burst with pride.
I look at all Clint did, and I see not a life wasted, but a life lived to the full. And I’m so honoured that I can stand in front of you today and say this man was my friend.
He lived in the public eye as an HIV positive man, not because he wanted to be a celebrity, but because he wanted other people to see a person who had decided he would not live with HIV — that HIV would live with him, on his terms.
Clint was born on the 27th August 1979. I was born three days after in another part of the country. Twenty seven years later, we finally met, and straightaway I felt like he was my twin brother and at the same time, my complete and total opposite.
At one point we both had a number 1 crop and we looked like a photo negative of each other! Similar height and build, me with my dark hair and Celtic colouring, him with his blonde crop and permanently healthy sunbed tan.
We were so alike in our passion to use the fact that we were HIV positive and try and help others. But so different in so many ways. When we worked together on the planned Health Initiatives clinic, Clint would take a spiritual stance and look to the heavens for inspiration and guidance. Me, being the logical, methodical creature that I am, would look at a spreadsheet, a budget and a mission statement.
And boy, did we infuriate each other! As my best friend Richard, our perennial hen-pecked mediator will only be too happy to confirm.
I remember one time when I’d stayed up until about 2am proofreading the business plan for the HI clinic and putting together a presentation he was going to take to the Elton John Foundation (I think it was the EJF anyway). I was working as an editor at the time on thirty-five simultaneous projects, so my in tray was pretty full as you can probably imagine!
So I meet him for a lightning quick coffee the next day to run him through what I’d slaved over until the wee hours the night before. He bounds up to me all arms and legs and talking in that deep, sleepy voice of his. This was roughly how the conversation went:
– Thanks for this, but I’m thinking we should probably shelve it for a while, till, like, November
– Why on earth would you want to shelve it till November?
– Because I’ve been to see a fortune teller!
– ……..I’m sorry, what?
– I said I’ve been to see a fortune teller!
– …….I’m sorry, what?
– Yeah, I went last night and she said something brilliant’s going to happen in November, so I’m thinking we should hold off till then!
And if we’d have been in a scene from a film, it would have cut to the street outside and all you’d have been able to hear was a deafening scream — WHAT????? echoing into the sky, with a flock of birds scared into flight.
But there were other times when we were so in sync it was hilarious. When Clint called me and said he’d found a space on Oxford Street for the clinic, we could hardly speak we were so excited. I went with him to see it a few days later and honestly, we were like a newly married couple in our first home!
– And the office is going to go there and the consultation rooms are going to be there….
– (This is going to be the dining room!)
– I really want the reception desk opposite the door so people see a smiling face when they walk in, but then again, I’m torn, because the couch I want to buy looks really comfortable and I want to create a welcoming atmosphere……
– …..What do you think about knocking a wall down? Because I think we should knock that wall down, do you think we should knock that wall down? Yeah, I definitely think we should knock that wall down…..
– And kitchen — yellow or blue?
I’m not the person here who’s known Clint the longest, or even the person in our immediate circle who was closest to him, so I wondered at first whether I was the best person for this job.
But then I realised — there wasn’t a lot you needed to know about Clint, what you saw was what you got — a truly genuine man — and within minutes of meeting him, you felt like you’d known him forever.
In the 90s — a time when HIV was still largely seen as a killer disease, people were almost expected to sit back and accept their fate, but Clint refused to cower. He took his HIV status, made it into a bat and broke through every barrier he came up against.
He was a man with an inexhaustible capacity for love and compassion. He affected — and I dare say saved — the lives of thousands of young people. Whether by arming them with the knowledge to make safer decisions about HIV infection, or through simply being the “someone” you needed when you find out you’re positive and you think you’re all alone.
And I wonder how many people can lay claim to that — in life or in death.
In most photos you see of Clint, he’s got one arm up, punching the air. It’s a fitting way for me personally to remember him, because it’s so representative of the way he lived his life, triumphant, defiant and strong.
He was the person who would still be standing long after everyone else had given up (and the person who’d still be dancing long after they’ve called time, switched the lights on and started sweeping up).
They say the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long — well, excuse my French, but I happen to think that’s a load of crap. You only have to look up on a clear night to see the light from a thousand stars than burned out aeons ago, still shining down.
And that’s how I see Clint. While nobody would argue he left us far too soon, His legacy of love has seared itself onto the hearts of you, me and everyone he helped in his life. In 2009, Clint spoke to POZ magazine about Health Initiatives and his plans for the future
He said: “It’s the new generation that needs to run the project and move it forward. Hopefully they can build upon what I’ve started and make it better.”
Well, we are the new generation. We each now carry him with us wherever we go, and in whatever we do.
So next time you put your arms around a friend who needs a hug, or take the hand of someone in pain, you’re honouring everything he stood for. And that means that no matter how much time passes, Clint’s light will continue to burn – and boy, is it blinding.
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Sex with friends: dangerous liaisons or good, clean fun?
Not our real legs, in case you were wondering...
As gay men, we’re more likely to sleep with one of our immediate or extended social circle than our straight counterparts – I know I have. Take any group of gay friends and you can guarantee that at least two or three of them will have boffed each other at some point. It’s a bit like that six degrees of separation thing, except stickier.
Let’s face it. We’re homos. We like sex. We are lucky that the people we sleep with are also homos who like sex.
Which brings me nicely to the reason for this post.
I’m sleeping with one of my friends.
I never meant for it to happen. It just sort of…did. We’ve always flirted with each other, but I’m the exact opposite of his type, so I was actually rather knocked for six when we ended up back at his place after rather a few beers one Friday night before Christmas.
I’ll refrain from giving too much away so as to protect his identity, lest the follow up comments turn this blog into some elaborate online version of Guess Who? The likelihood of him reading this post is slim to none, but I’ll still spare him any potential blushes.
So why are we keeping it quiet? I mean, he’s good looking, has a good job (and a mighty fine backside) so it’s not as if I’m having it off with Quasimodo. We’re both single and therefore not hurting anyone so it’s OK, right? And the nice thing is we still have stuff to talk about before and after the sex. Kind of a “friend with benefits”. I actually find him fun to be around.
We simply haven’t told anyone because quite frankly – it’s none of their gosh darn collective business, and putting it out there for everyone to just start pitching in with their comments and judgements, etc…. Gah. Thanks, but no thanks.
So I guess what I’m wondering is this: What happens when feelings start becoming involved?
I’m used to being hit by a bolt of lightning where men are concerned, but perhaps it’s just a fact of life that as you get older and you’ve been hurt a few times, you become more guarded and less prone to rushing in feet first. At least I have, anyway. But am I doing it because it’s ‘safe’ and there’s less of a chance I’ll get hurt, or am I in denial that I do actually care for this guy?
Like it or not, the longer we carry on, the more potential there is that feelings will eventually develop, from one side or both. So someone’s potentially going to get their fingers burnt. Is it worth risking a friendship for that? More to the point – can I stop what I’ve started?
As I woke up a few mornings ago with him snuggled up on my chest, playfully moaning at me to go and make him a cup of tea, I didn’t have a definition for our situation. But I’ll tell you this. It felt bloody nice.
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Can I survive a life without booze?
It's time to call 'time' on tipples
I’m about to embark on one of the most difficult journeys I’ve ever made.
Deep breath.
Here I go.
I’m giving up alcohol in the new year.
There. It’s out. It’s public. No going back.
There are a couple of reasons behind my decision.
Reason number one: I simply want to see if I can do it. After all, it’s a big old challenge. Booze is the lubricant that greases the wheels of new friendships, flirting and one night stands. How different will life be without that crutch to fall back on?
Reason number two: I desperately want to give up smoking.
My problem with smoking and drinking is that as soon as I get even a whiff of an alcoholic substance, I’m overcome with the craving to stick a fag in my gob and puff away.
This would be fine if I could limit myself to social smoking, but for me, it’s all or nothing. It starts with accepting every social invitation I get just so I have an excuse to smoke. Then before long, it’s crept back into my daily routine like bindweed in an untended garden.
Reason number three: As I hurtle further along the road of thirtysomething-ness, the effects of too much beer and wine tend to hang around a lot longer than a simple next-day hangover. Namely on my belly.
Having spent my entire twenties being the envy of my friends because I had abs you could bounce a fifty pence piece off of, this is, as you can imagine, somewhat horrifying.
So all in all, a couple of really good reasons to ban the booze.
So why does the thought of a life without alcohol strike utter terror into my heart?
Far from it being socially acceptable to be teetotal, most people look at you like you’ve grown an extra head when you ask for a soft drink instead of a beer.
Having just spent Christmas on antibiotics and therefore tipple-free, I found myself getting mildly irritated as my family and friends slowly became louder and gigglier as the day wore on. I felt like I was on a different wavelength.
And what is this going to do for my sex life? No longer will I have the ‘confidence’ to walk up to fit boys in bars and devastate them with (what I believe to be) my witty repartee.
Oh, Lord.
Am I going to become *gasp* boring?
Before I go and hurl myself into the Thames, let’s look at the positives:
- I’m going to lose my rapidly expanding beer belly
- I might make it to the gym on a Saturday morning for once
- I might actually kick the fags for good
- I’m going to be a hell of a lot healthier (see points 2 and 3)
- I won’t waste my weekends dying on the sofa with a hangover
- I’ll stop snogging guys I wouldn’t fancy in a million years if I was sober
- I won’t wake up in a strange bed and recoil in horror at the person lying next to me
- I might actually make it through a party without creeping off to a bedroom somewhere to crash out for an hour
- I can laugh at my friends when they get into a state and remind them of what they did when I see them the next day
Hmm, this is actually looking a lot better than it did a few minutes ago.
So I guess mine’s an orange juice.
Well, for a while, anyway…
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The film that will make you believe in love again
Mark (left) and Gabriel (right). Gay cinema's cutest couple.
So I think I mentioned before how I got dumped a while back. It wasn’t a long relationship, and looking back, he probably wasn’t right for me for a number of reasons. But when you’re happy one minute and by the time they’ve finished saying their piece, you’ve had your happiness taken away from you, it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
My friend Mike’s also been dating a bit of an idiot lately, and finally called time on the relationship a couple of weeks ago.
So we decided we were up for a bit of soul food – and what better than to watch your favourite movie with a good friend?
For the bruised of heart, I recommend a movie called Trick. The plot involves two guys – Gabriel and Mark – who meet on the subway in New York one summer night. Trick devours every gay cliché in the book as we follow them on a tour of the city, fighting off bitchy drag queens, high maintenance best friends, and randy, bedroom-hogging flatmates in a desperate attempt to find a place where they can just get down to some good old fashioned boy on boy fun.
Or is that all it is?
Mark is everyone’s perfect man. Tall, dark and handsome – with a body to die for. He’s got the crooked grin, the dreamy eyes, and cute, sticky out ears and I fell in love with him the minute I laid eyes on him.
OK, I know he’s a movie character, but he’s Athena poster beautiful, exuding masculinity and vulnerability in equal measure. He’d blow your mind in the sack, then melt your heart the next morning as you watch him sleep like an angel.
At first you’re inclined to think that Mark is out of Gabriel’s league, but as the film progresses, you realise that Mark isn’t your average muscle mary, and he’s falling for Gabriel as much as Gabriel is falling for him. When they finally kiss on a street corner as the sun rises over the East Village you just want to cheer.
We’ve all had one of those nights. Crazy nights where you end up in all sorts of places and you come home with a smile of pure contentment on your face. The world seems to be bursting with possibilities. It was a time before life got complicated, before mortgages and careers, responsibilities and bills. When I could stay out all night and still function the next day.
Yeah, I’m cynical, yeah I’m sarcastic. I project an air of cool confidence and you would have to work darn hard to crack it.
But I’ll let you into a secret.
I want to fall in love. Big, scary, stupid love.
I’m not saying you should measure every guy against Mark. Nobody is perfect and life isn’t some heartwarming romantic comedy. But what Trick reminds you to do is never, ever lose sight of love. Never settle for second best and never close your heart to the possibility.
Everyone has a ‘Mark’ in the world somewhere. I’m looking forward to meeting mine. Until then, I’m lucky to have some of the greatest people in the world as my friends and family, so I know I’m never alone.
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The film that will make you believe in love again
So I think I mentioned before how I got dumped a while back. It wasn’t a long relationship, and looking back, he probably wasn’t right for me for a number of reasons. But when you’re happy one minute and by the time they’ve finished saying their piece, you’ve had your happiness taken away from you, it’s still a bitter pill to swallow.
My friend Mike’s also been dating a bit of an idiot lately, and finally called time on the relationship a couple of weeks ago.
So we decided we were up for a bit of soul food – and what better than to watch your favourite movie with a good friend?
For the bruised of heart, I recommend a movie called Trick. The plot involves two guys – Gabriel and Mark – who meet on the subway in New York one summer night. The film devours every gay cliché in the book as we follow them on a tour of the city, fighting off bitchy drag queens, high maintenance best friends, and randy, bedroom-hogging flatmates in a desperate attempt to find a place where they can just get down to some good old fashioned boy on boy fun.
Or is that all it is?
Mark is everyone’s perfect man. Tall, dark and handsome – with a body to die for. He’s got the crooked grin, the dreamy eyes, and cute, sticky out ears and I fell in love with him the minute I laid eyes on him.
OK, I know he’s a movie character, but he’s Athena poster beautiful, exuding masculinity and vulnerability in equal measure. He’d blow your mind in the sack, then melt your heart the next morning as you watch him sleep like an angel.
At first you’re inclined to think that Mark is out of Gabriel’s league, but as the film progresses, you realise that Mark isn’t your average muscle mary, and he’s falling for Gabriel as much as Gabriel is falling for him. When they finally kiss on a street corner as the sun rises over the East Village you just want to cheer.
We’ve all had one of those nights, crazy nights where you end up in all sorts of places and you come home with a smile of pure contentment on your face. The world seems to be bursting with possibilities. It was a time before life got complicated, before mortgages and careers, responsibilities and bills. When I could stay out all night and still function the next day.
Yeah, I’m cynical, yeah I’m sarcastic. I project an air of cool confidence and you would have to work darn hard to crack it.
But I’ll let you into a secret.
I want to fall in love. Big, scary, stupid love.
I’m not saying you should measure every guy against Mark. Nobody is perfect and life isn’t some heartwarming romantic comedy. But what this film reminds you to do is never, ever lose sight of love. Never settle for second best and never close your heart to the possibility.
Everyone has a ‘Mark’ in the world somewhere. I’m looking forward to meeting mine. Until then, I’m lucky to have some of the greatest people in the world as my friends and family, so I know I’m never alone.
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Sex, drugs and sausage rolls: Hey, world, can I come and play?
So….
This is my blog, then.
It’s strange. You suddenly think: “I’m going to start a blog!”. You get all excited, setting it up, choosing an avatar, coming up with a funky theme, title, colour scheme, etc.
Then you sit down and think: “Hmm…what am I actually going to write about?”
I’m going to try my hardest not to get all Sex and The City on your ass, but seeing as how my daily life involves working my butt off, writing, socialising and looking for a date, I suppose it’s inevitable you’ll end up drawing comparisons.
So let me set the record straight.
For starters I’m male (guy_interrupted should have given it away). I’ve just turned thirty. I work as an editor, writing and managing content for a couple of pretty big websites – a hard, but well paid job. I’m gay (in both senses of the word), single (my last boyfriend split with me a week before my birthday – cheapskate) and I seem to have a love life closely resembling a ride at Alton Towers (costly, often terrifying and sometimes leaving you feeling a bit sick afterward – not to mention the long periods of waiting around in between).
I’m neurotic and sarcastic, I like action films, rock music and going to the gym. I’m also rather addicted to my BlackBerry, which makes a nice, healthy change from crack.
Oh, and I’ve done a bit of modelling on the side. Which is tacky, but if someone wants to pay me to stand in front of a camera and look moody then I ain’t complainin’.
I’ve had my fair share of dramas in life, from violent relationships, bankruptcy (see previous – he stole all my money). An HIV diagnosis (seven years healthy and counting), earth shattering breakups, depression and drink and drug abuse. I refer you to paragraph seven – I wasn’t joking.
Yeah, I suppose you could say I’m glad to have left my twenties behind…
Thankfully for my mother’s sanity, I’ve picked myself up, dusted myself off and I’m now a perfectly well-adjusted individual who’s glad he took a big ol’ bite of life’s apple (even if it loosened a couple of teeth) because it’s given me a good outlook on things – and plenty of material to put on this blog.
The male Carrie Bradshaw I am not – in fact most people would compare me to Miranda in terms of my dry humour and slightly cynical outlook. I’m not ginger, but I do have an enormous crush on the guy who played her husband.
So I guess you could say this is my therapy. My diary. A place where I get to share my thoughts and feelings on everything that goes on in my washing machine of a brain.
I’ll let you decide whether you want to keep turning the pages….
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guy_interrupted's blog 