so i was skinny-dipping at eva langora’s house

i was swigging beers with the presets the other night

ok, so a few weeks ago i was on a date, where, in the span of 3 hours, i thought i was going to die or get arrested at least 3 times.

we’d first met out at .rage. and by met, i mean i drunkenly made out with him on the dancefloor after some 400lb sugardaddy bought me 10 tequila shots earlier. we exchanged saliva, pleasantries and phone numbers.

on the phone, robert seems sweet and quirky and hyper. and smart… he’d nearly gone to geek camp like me, he’s working on some mob-vlogcasting suite. sweet! 28, cute, what else could a boy ask for?

he picks me up and we zip off to a dive bar in venice beach. we sit outside and enjoy the warm ocean breeze and typical first-date banter [oh, you like music? me too!].

by the third drink, we’re back inside the bar, and i’m loudy chatting with the cute latino bartender about burningman as robert queues up 100 .depeche mode songs on the jukebox—smooth! he returns, looks into my eyes, and drags me off to a secluded corner for a chat.

ummm… he starts. i can see the pain in his eyes. it’s cute. he looks down for a few seconds, pausing, composing.

i don’t usually tell people this, you know, right off the bat. i wait for more, but all i get is a raised eyebrow… i’m positive.

i’d like to claim that i have tons of hiv+ friends, and that i’m so comfortable and familiar with the surrounding issues that it wasn’t a big deal. but it was. sort of.

i mean, as a young [cough] gay man, i’ve grown up under the shadow of the aids crisis hiv epidemic. of course i practice [and practice, and practice] safe sex. although i’ve never knowingly slept with someone hiv+, statistically i’m sure one of my previous partners had the virus.

so, i gave him a hug. a lingering hug. and then a kiss. and i looked into his eyes, and explained that i’d need time to process what he’d told me.

at this point, many different processes were kicked off in my head. calculating risks. mapping futures. estimating horrible estimates. what’s right? what’s fair? what’s selfish? what’s practical? could i—would i—try to make a relationship work with this boy?

all of a sudden, this boy became giddy. drunk. intoxicated. not from the alcohol—nay—but from the honesty. he starts telling me about his drug problem. erm, former drug problem. about his porn career. erm, former porn career. erm, former bareback porn career.

i’m confused, but trying to play it cool. as he starts to drive me home, he tells me about his dui arrest. and how he’s not supposed to drive. he screeches into a 7-11 parking lot, nearly hitting a police officer who’s yelling at some loitering teens.

through the grace of god, a crazy homeless guy picks a fight with the police officer just as we drive away, preventing another likely dui arrest and jailarity.

just as i’m about to do a stuntman-style barrel roll out of the moving vehicle and call a taxi, he drops another bombshell on me. actually, i’m probably hiv negative now. huh? yeah, i got tested like 4 years ago and they said i’m negative what? yeah, and i never took any meds or anything jigga?

…

our evening ends with him getting a phone call at 130am which sounds something like this:

what? oh, shit. yeah. no, i can’t. no, i don’t want it anymore. no, i don’t have the money with me. i know. sorry. ok, i’ll come meet you. ok.

with that, he tells me i need to go run an errand and we call it a night.

aside from the fact that he has 5 different deathwishes, is a little bit psycho, and has a strong criminal mindset to him, i kinda like him.