But today I learned that I have Human Immunodeficiency Virus. HIV.
My doctor called my cell phone when I was on a lunch date with a colleague. I’d excused myself to take the call. I agreed to stop by her clinic on my way home, I assumed just to pick up a prescription, something to finally make me feel better. I’d been feeling unwell for a while now.
“I’m sorry, Trinity. Your last blood test revealed that you’ve tested positive…”
I tuned the doctor out. I think I might have even had an out-of-body experience.
“…with a proper treatment plan…”
There must be some kind of mistake. The doctor and I had never even discussed that I could have HIV. I didn’t even know she was testing me for that.
“…symptoms are similar to…don’t always surface right away…it takes years for some…”
I’d been having headaches.
“…live a normal life…”
I’d had the flu a few times.
“…it’s not like it used to be. We’ve made significant advances…”
I’d been more tired than normal.
“I’m sorry, Trinity.”
Finding out that this was possibly only the beginning of feeling unwell was terrifying.
Hovering my cursor over the message in my Facebook Messenger inbox, I can see the first words of the answer to the question I’d just sent Blake. Without having to open the chat—without having to let him see that I’ve read it—I see the beginning of his response to the question I already knew the answer to, even before I typed it hours earlier.
“I’m so sorry, Sunshine. I didn’t know. I…”
I’ve seen all I need to, no reason to read the rest. And I vow to never fully open that message.
Tonight, I’ll have a Pity Party.
Tonight, I’ll cry and fall apart.
Tomorrow, I will pick myself up.
Tomorrow, I’ll start living the life I love again.
Just three tiny letters…
2
Trinity
“Are you excited for your big date?” Shannon Maracle—my best friend and hair dresser—asks, her green eyes reflecting her own excitement.
Tucking her long black hair behind her ear, she continues to probe me with questions as she flitters around me in her tiny bathroom, armed with a way-too-hot straightener she’s using as a curling iron. I’m twenty-six, and apparently in her eyes I don’t know how to do my own hair, so she’s helping me get ready. It’s an important date, and I want to look my best, so I indulge her. And I do want him to think I’m worth it.
“I’m extremely nervous. I really like Jared, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s going to be pissed I didn’t tell him sooner. I feel like he’s looking for the whole package, and I’m not sure I can offer that,” I answer honestly, shrugging my shoulders as she works her way around, curling the long strands of my ombre-style hair. It goes from a red velvet colour at the roots to platinum blonde on the ends. Call it an act of rebellion, but I love it.
So does Jared, the man I’ve been seeing for about a month. The same man I’m completely stressing over about how he’ll react tonight. I really like him and so far I think we’ve clicked. Despite the fact that he travels a lot for work (he sells automotive parts), we’ve managed to talk on the phone, text and Skype almost every night. I want very much to see where this relationship could go. We’re very compatible and he’s a great guy; I just need to get past tonight.
I have to tell him before I get my hopes up. I know it’s going to be a shock, I can only pray that he’s the man I want him to be. My wish is that Jared will see past the stigmas that having HIV can hold. I want nothing more than for him to see me as the same girl after our date.
The Third Date.
Therefore, tonight’s a huge deal.
Tonight’s the night I tell him that I’m HIV-positive.
For Shannon, and many in the dating world, the third date is considered the Have Sex Date: the hot, passionate, sex-on-fire date. The one with the promise of a relationship—or, at least, more sex—date.
In my world, it means disclosure. It means being vulnerable and sharing with someone outside my close-knit circle that I’m HIV-positive.
It means admitting that I’m not a guaranteed happily ever after.
That I’m…tainted.
Putting myself back out there after a long road of depression, anxiety, and—honestly—just learning how to live again knowing that not everyone will accept the Trinity I am today, has been tough. It’s taken over a year. There’s been a lot of reflection and education to get myself where I am today, happy again. I’ve accepted myself as the Trinity I am now. One who’s determined to fight and continue living a long and healthy life despite having HIV.
I’m finally dating, and tonight I’m ready to let myself be seen openly. I just hope I’ve met the right man, one who can accept all the facets of who I am, one who can see past the disease that by no means defines who I am.
“There. All done,” she says. “You’re ready for your big night.”
“Shannon, I’m terrified. A part of me wants to cancel and just tell him over the phone that I’m HIV-positive. That way I can save face. I want him to still want me, but there’s this pit in my stomach that’s lingering like a warning.” I wipe away a tear that I hadn’t realized had escaped.
“Trin. Be positive. I mean, look at you. You’re gorgeous, fun, kind and wicked smart. He’s an idiot if he can’t accept a little virus. It’s not what defines you.” She grabs my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. “And if he uses that as his definition of you, then fuck him. It’s his loss.”
Placing my hands over hers, I pause. “I know you get it, see past it. But you also don’t want to have sex with me. It’s a moot point between us. Not everyone has the capacity to.”
“I have a feeling Jared will. He seems like a good one, Trin.”
“Let’s hope so.”
It turns out it’s easier to judge me than it is to love me.
3
Trinity
“Please say something,” I whisper. I fiddle with my red cocktail napkin, wringing the shit out of it as the tension between us causes me to recede into myself. “Say anything, Jared…”
He’s silent, but his glare—penetrating me from across the table in the dimly lit bar—speaks volumes.
We’re sitting in a back booth at The Fox, a local pub I suggested going to for a nightcap and, well, to talk, because it’s taken me until after dinner to build up the nerve to say what I need to say to him.
I’m completely smitten. He’s brilliant, and I really, really like him. I think part of my hesitancy to reveal my secret tonight is due to the fact that we’ve been having such a great time all evening, laughing and sharing anything and everything about ourselves, our jobs, and whatever else we could think of. Except the one thing I need to tell him. I just don’t want our night to end.
But it all changes the instant I take a sip of my Guinness and blurt, I’m HIV-positive.”
His glass hovers between the table and his mouth then stops, his arm frozen in mid-air.
“I wanted you to know that, before things go any farther,” I say, “…which is completely where I want them to go. Farther. I really like you. This is such a hard thing to share. I hope you’ll still want to date me, to see where this goes?” It pours out of my mouth like a verbal waterfall.
As I predicted, things are not going to go my way. It’s been five minutes since I made my confession, and five minutes of total silence from Jared.
Funny. I’ve gone to therapy, joined support groups, asked questions and practiced this exact conversation over and over again with my reflection in my bathroom mirror, but no matter how prepared I think I am, it’s all bullshit. You cannot prepare for the emotional or psychological impact of telling someone that you’re infected with a communicable disease—one they risk contracting should they chose to be with you. Or for the rejection. You can never really enti
rely prepare for that.
I try again. “Please.”
“How could you?” he whispers, his eyes cold when he finally speaks. “How could you string me along…make me think you’re normal?”
I flinch at his comment along with the snide tone in which he delivers it. I swear I can see the disdain dripping off his face as he takes me in.
“I am normal. It’s still me, Jared,” I say, after a few beats of silence. Shaking my head in disbelief, I repeat it again, as though I think it will change anything. “It’s still me.”
“Bullshit,” he hisses. “You let me get close to you when you’re fucking contagious. Here I thought we’d be having sex tonight. I didn’t expect this shit.” He shakes his own head now. I try to reach for his hand, but he rips it away. “Don’t touch me,” he deadpans, “you’re…sick.”
How can he say that to me? Why can’t he realize that I’m still me; the same woman he’s gotten to know in person and over hours spent on the phone? “I’m not sick,” I blurt. I know a lot of people might consider me ill, however to me, I’m here, I’m feeling good, and I’m fighting to stay healthy and live as much of a normal life as possible.
“But you are,” Jared says. “And what’s worse, you kept it a goddamn secret. Like some kind of shitty surprise, to share once you felt like it. Once you thought it was the right time.” Contempt and judgment cross his usually jovial face, and his blue eyes look at me like I’m a stranger. “The right time should have been our first date.”
“I’m sorry, please let me explain…” I say.
Shaking his head, his lips curl as he spits out his next words. “Before we kissed, you should have told me. I hate fucking surprises. I mean…fuck! We’ve kissed!” he says, in disbelief. “You have AIDS, for Christ’s sake! I could have it now…” Jared sits stone-faced as he makes a point of wiping his sleeve over his mouth, as if he’s cleaning off some invisible threat.
“No, Jared. I have HIV. It’s different, and this isn’t the ’80s. We’re educated. Everyone knows—or should know—that you can’t get HIV or AIDS from kissing. It’s not transmitted through saliva, so it’s a low-risk activity. I mean, unless you kissed me and had gaping open wounds in your mouth, I’d say you’re safe,” I tell him, a bit cheekily. Unfortunately, though, my burst of bravado doesn’t last. Reality hits again. This man seriously thinks this little of me. The realization that Jared honestly believes that I’d be reckless and unsafe where his safety was concerned unnerves me. Suddenly, a feeling of worthlessness hits me like a freight train. I’ll never be seen as normal.
Wiping tears that are falling despite trying my damnedest to keep them at bay, I reach for my napkin and mutter, while meeting his gaze. “Despite what you may think of me, I never would have kissed you if I thought I was putting you at risk,” I say, barely audibly, the shame overtaking me. “I’m sor—”
“I’ve read about people like you. You’re as bad as a serial killer. Fucking whore.” He points his finger at me. “I can’t believe you were willing to risk my life to get yourself off. I’m fucking done here, done with this.” He stands abruptly, his chair clattering to the floor behind him. “Lose my number. I’m erasing yours. And you.”
With that, he drops a twenty on the table, leaving me sitting alone in The Fox, tears streaming down my face.
I was right. I knew he wouldn’t see me.
4
Hendrix
Know what the best feeling on Earth is?
Pussy.
Yep. Nothing beats the feeling of a hot and wet pussy gripping my cock, guiding me in, welcoming me deep inside into that incessant heat. Watching my cock as it drives in and out is what really drives me wild. I’m an admitted pussy voyeur. Seeing my cock coated in a woman’s excitement—knowing she’s all wet for me—is the ultimate turn on.
And right now, I’m hard as granite as I pound into Nikki, my current fuck buddy.
Nikki and I have been fucking on and off for a few weeks. I don’t call it dating because I don’t date unless it’s a means to an end, one that will get me laid. Then I might buy a chick a meal or take her for a drink if the situation calls for it.
Nikki’s my usual type: thin, big tits and a greedy little pussy, one that fits me just right. Uncomplicated fucking at its finest is my style. I’m simply looking for an arrangement that gets us both off, and nothing more.
Finding chicks who are down to fuck is easy enough, thanks to the company I keep and the places I hang. Like all things, though, these arrangements tend to run their course, some quicker than others, and there’s always a clear expiration date. I have yet to find a girl who truly understands my full definition of “nothing more”.
And tonight, Nikki’s crossed that line. She’s getting attached. The signs of her wanting us to be a real couple are becoming more and more blatant each time we get together. The façade of being merely fuck buddies is slipping on her end. She’s texting, stopping by the garage, wanting to go out to dinner and all that clingy shit. Things that don’t fit into the dos and don’ts of the Fuck Buddy System. Exclusive sex—with a bit of light conversation before and after—is all I want. Feelings, long-term commitment and love were never part of the deal. And trust me, this is no good at all, because she sucks me off like a champ and she’s always down to fuck, giving me the release I’m chasing.
“Fuck, you feel good, Hendrix. Fuck, yes. Right there. Oh, oh. Yes, yes, yes…right there, big boy. Yes, right there…”
I move my mouth over Nikki’s collagen-plumped lips, not so much to kiss her, but to quiet her down. Sure, she’s hot and she fucks like an animal, but the porn star routine is a bit much for me tonight. I’m here, too. I know it’s good. I don’t need that much audio to oversell it. I’d just called her over for a bit of stress relief. I have a huge day tomorrow and needed to take the edge off.
It was working at first, and then she tried to get me to go bareback (relationship red flag number one). I never go bareback. The last thing I need is some kid binding me to a casual lay for the rest of my life. No, thanks.
Then she invited me to Thanksgiving dinner, which is over a month from now (another red flag, a definite sign that this isn’t only fucking anymore).
Then tonight—along with these ridiculous porn star sounds—she also brought an overnight bag, which included tomorrow’s clothes and a toothbrush. Pretty fuckin’ presumptuous, don’t ya think? Sleepovers aren’t my thing. Ever.
Tonight is definitely our last roll in the sheets; it’s time to move on. Sure, I’m a dick for fucking her before I tell her, but I really needed the relief. Won’t be the first time or last time I’m an asshole…
“You gonna come for me, Nik? Gonna come all over my huge throbbing cock?” I thrust in and out, increasing the pace. I’m close, so I lay on a little of the porn talk myself, wondering if she’ll realize I’m doing it ironically. I do love the feel of her lips wrapped around my dick, though, milking me while I fuck her hard and deep. Such a shame…
“God. Yes. Now. Now. Nowwwww…”
And with that, her hot cunt pulses around my cock. One more quick thrust and I shoot my load into the condom, then roll shakily onto my side to catch my breath.
“That was so good, honey,” she purrs. “It’s always been good between us. We’re a perfect fit, don’t you think?”
And here we go.
“Yeah, Nik, it was good. I needed that tonight.” I rub her arm for a few seconds and then she snuggles closer to me, her auburn hair sticking to my sweaty skin. After waiting for her breathing to even out, I release myself from her hold, stand, remove and tie off the rubber before heading to the bathroom where I toss it into the small trash bin, then clean myself off in the sink.
Coming back to my room, I see she’s passed out. Not one for spooning—especially with what’s coming—I head into the kitchen, deciding to let her rest before I offer to drive her home. I figure the least I can do is give her half an hour or so.
Grabbing a beer, I enter my office a
nd boot up my Chromebook. I’ve got some work to do before tomorrow, I figure I might as well get it over with while I’m waiting.
I’m reading over my proposal for the deal I hope to close tomorrow, one that will mean big changes for me if it goes through, when I hear her calling from the hallway. I’d been caught up, I’d lost track of the time.
“Hendrix, baby? You in there?” I hate that she calls me that. It’s too intimate for what this is. In the bedroom, fine. But not here and not when sex is the farthest thing from my mind. Another sign this needs to end.
“Yeah, I’m in here,” I say, peering over my laptop.
“Baby, I missed you. I woke up and I was all alone,” she pouts, wrapping her arms around my neck. Sighing, I shut down my laptop and take a deep breath. “Come back to bed. Let your girl make you feel good again. I’ll help tire you out,” she smirks, giggling.
“You’re not my girl, Nik. I’ve told you, it’s just fucking. It’s only ever just fucking.”
“Whatever, Hen. You know I’m your girl.” She rubs her tits on my back, completely ignoring what I’ve just said. Why do chicks do this? Does she think I’ll just give in and go along with what she wants?
“No, Nik. You’re not. I was clear about what this was.” I get up from the chair, forcing her to take a step back. Turning, I meet her eyes and register the hurt starting to form. Maybe she’s actually getting it after all? “I’m sorry to say this, Nik, but I warned you not to fall for me. I told you I’m not looking for anything other than a casual fuck buddy. You told me that’s what you wanted, too. Then, tonight, the bag, Thanksgiv—”
“Well, I—I thought…I thought I was different. We’ve been good together, honey. I just know we’d make an awesome couple.” She steps in closer, her hands resting on my bare chest.
“Sorry, but I don’t want more. I think it would be best if I took you home now.” I start to walk out of the room.
Tainted by Love Page 2