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Kevin is coming over tonight. I told him over text that we would be having pasta and asked if he could cut some basil to bring over. He has a habit of pruning the basil the wrong way—yes, there is a right and wrong way—so I sent him a picture of a basil plant with dotted lines to indicate where to cut it. I tell him that I will be having my daily nap and for him to wake me up by crawling into bed, give me a wake-up hug. I try to take my nap, but the news of Sam Altman returning to OpenAI excites me, so I stay up way too long to read all about it. I get a bit horny, so I go to Pornhub and watch some porn, jerk off, come, which relaxes me, and I am finally tired enough to have my nap, although it lasts only about an hour. Later. I can hear the door of my bathroom sliding open, and I know that Kevin is here, but I pretend that I am still asleep. I can hear his pants coming off; his shirt follows, and he crawls into bed with me, gives me a hug. “Well, hello,” I say, tired but glad to see him. “Hello there, handsome,” he says, gives me a hug. We lay there like that, hugging each other for almost an hour before I announce that I am getting hungry—it is almost 8 PM after all—so we get up from bed, put on our clothes, walk to the kitchen. Tonight, he is in charge of making the sauce. We have a routine going on when making pasta, which has served us well: he basically does the cooking, and I prep all the ingredients. I cut the sausages in two, squeeze out the content. Then, I dice the onion and the mushrooms. I give him the ingredients, and he begins to cook it. I prepare the sauce by emptying out the content of store-bought Napoletana, and begin to boil the pasta. By the time it is done, Kevin has finished making the sauce, and we combine the two. We don’t talk much during cooking beside the usual “here you go,” when I hand him the ingredients and the “thank you,” in response. We are focus on the tasks and there is a silent connection between us that speaks louder than words. The whole process takes thirty minutes from beginning to end, and we sit at the dining room table, marveling at our creation. “See,” I say. “This is why I much prefer to stay at home and cook. It’s cheaper and tastier.” This is true, and he nods in agreement. We open a can of Coke and share it between the two of us. It’s refreshing and hits all the right notes. I turn on the latest episode of Family Guy and we watch it until the very end. Later. We are in bed now. I am feeling very full and very tired. Kevin is giving me a foot massage. Soft autumn jazz music plays on our HomePod. We talk about what is happening in our lives in the form of updates, which are small short stories. I tell him about my car battery dying on me, and he tells me about the progress on getting his home insured from the recent burst pipes upstairs. The night is getting late—actually, it is only 10 PM—so we both go and floss our teeth, brush them. We tell Siri to turn off the lights, and before anyone knows it, the room is fill with snores.

One of the best things about cruising for sex is you never know who's gonna turn you on and what's gonna happen. Its the unpredictability that causes the buzz. You know that tingle in your cock, that beautiful ache in your balls, the twitch in your asshole. Its the expectation of a new fuck! I went out at the weekend to a club in town which has a good darkroom and cruising area. I met some friends; we chatted but not much was going on. As the evening went on I went to the cruising area and was immediately struck by a guy, I guess around 40, in sports gear: trainers, grey jogging pants, red t-shirt with the arms crudely cut off (I guess he'd done that himself) and a baseball hat. To be honest he was not really my type - a guy not prepared to accept his age; he was trying to look younger. The reason I was struck immediately was because as he went passed I caught the smell of sweat. Either he'd been working out or perhaps he'd already been having sex. It was like an instant turn-on. I felt my cock leap in my pants. And to get me horned-up even more I noticed, as he put his beer bottle high up on a shelf, thick black hair in his armpits. I was really, really hard, really, really quickly and all for a guy I wouldn't normally go for. He went into the darkroom and I followed as quickly as possible. It was busy in there and it took a while to find him by which time he was tickling tonsils with one guy and another was starting to chow down on his cock. Fuck, I thought. I'll have to wait. I stood to one side for a while. The cocksucker was doing great work on his cock. It was a good size and had a very red and now very wet head. I noticed my guy had very a hairy ass and was wearing a red jockstrap. If only I could get in on the action. After a while the guy kissing him got distracted. I think he was getting blown too. Anyway my guy was clearly really horny so I moved in and kissed him. He was fucking hot. I could smell the sweat on him, taste it on his neck, see it glistening on his shoulders. I lifted his arm and started to work on the pit. The thick hair was matted and wet and the smell deep in his pit was fucking rank. This guy hadn't washed for a while. But it was soooo good I could feel my cock stretch and tingle with excitement. I pushed down my jeans and my cock stood up to attention; he saw and took hold in his hand, jerking it quickly. Fuck, I didn't want to shoot yet. I moved his fingers to my balls and his mouth to my left tit. He was pulling hard on my balls and biting on. My nipple. Fuck he was turned on. And all the time there was a guy at his groin sucking on his hard cock. I wanted to fuck him. I had been fingering his ass a short while and moved in to massage his puckered little hole. He shifted slightly and I knew I was okay to fuck. I moved round and rested my hard and really blood-hot cock in his hairy crack. Its that moment when you think do I tell him I want to fuck raw. I took his hand and made him feel my cock. I whispered in his ear "Lube me with your spit, man!" He did as he was told and made sure my cock was slicked up and wiggled his ass. Great. I knew I didn't need to wrap. The guy sucking him got squashed as my guy bent over but the sucking continued. I felt my cock push at his pucker. Shit! Where is it? "Put me in," I told him and he reached round and helped me in. I felt the hole press and open as I slid into his ass. Well to cut a long story short, you'll know that I bred his ass and shot my load deep inside his guts. You've read that nmany times in these pages. The key bit I musnt leave out though is that as I plowed his ass, I had my face buried deep in his pit: the smell, the deep sweaty, stale, rank odour that I snorted deep up my nostril like some line of cocaine, was intoxicating. I drank deeply on this guy's body, sweat and saliva all mixed in with the stench. I didn't get to taste his salty load. That got gobbled up by the man squahed at our feet. I licked a little of my cum out his ass but he'd blown his wad so he was off. He pulled up his jogging pants and disappeared. The cocksucker and I remained to savour the moment.

I just made my 4,000th post on this forum. If that were one post per day, it would equal almost eleven years’ worth of posts (I’ve only been here for six). By my reckoning, that still leaves me about 400 short of having the equivalent of one post for every day that I’ve been HIV+. By the time I reach 4,500 I’ll probably hit that equivalency. I wouldn’t have thought I had that much to say about sex. I never thought that sex played a significant role in defining me - I live alone, have no social circle, reside in a place where casual sex is practically unobtainable. What’s more, I hate the fact that I exist in an animal body with sexual demands. I haven’t been happy since puberty, when these unwelcome urges were forced upon me. I was perfectly content without them. Yet fast-forward to today and I find myself looking backward at a sexual past that has been, shall we say, colorful by most any standard, with choices made that only caused it to become ever more so. 4,000 - roughly four posts for every man who’s cunted me. I’ve been very (very) open about my sexual life in these posts, possibly oversharing, but if I have it’s been out of a desperate sense that no one would believe that such things actually happened to me. I’ve never told anything that didn’t happen, was always careful not to exaggerate or embellish, because if I ever did, even once, no one could trust any post of mine to be true after that. I’ve never been inspired to write erotic fiction, which is ironic because I’m actually a published novelist. God knows I have enough personal experience to write something, but it’s all too real to me, too personal, too intense. There’s no need to fictionalize it. Possibly part of the reason I’ve never thought to compile it all into a book is because I’ve gotten it all out of my system here, in posts, like Scheherzade telling a story for a thousand and one nights until she ran out of things to say. I do feel as though I’m running out of anything new and meaningful to say. When I do, I’ll stop, because I hate repeating myself. Every time I’ve done so in these posts I’ve felt like I was begging to be believed. 4,000 posts. 1,000 fucks. Pity - I’d much rather it had been the other way around. The posts would have been much more interesting.