bearbandit

The instructions are above. Hint: write down a list of the things you must do to re-gain access to your picture and you own group. Then slap your forehead saying the word "d'oh"....

In the UK in the late seventies, we considered it something that just happened sometimes. But times change, and what was acceptable is no longer acceptable. I remember times of fucking someone, realising that there's shit everywhere, and then just carrying on, something which few would accept today. Make enforcing a cleaning out ritual on your next fuck part of the fuck, even if there are hours between the cleaning and the fuck. Keeps him focussed... I still rely on my pig out on miwsli and other high fibre stuff the day before then fasting on the day itself (with maybe some imodium), but obviously this isn't a healthy diet in the long run...

Not ideally, but essential... even for a five minute cum'n'go the HIV risk may be present and each participant has to be aware of it and to accept it. We've each got individual limits of the risks we're prepared to take (if not, how come the popularity of PrEP?). The point isn't consent, but informed consent.

Rimmed every time. In many ways I'd prefer to cum through 69 rimming than fucking or being fucked. There's something about defying the "no, dirty" approach we were taught as kids, that makes me appreciate assholes even more. Mutual rimming is, to me the perfect gay sex act, outstripping 69 cocksucking easily. It's not something that happens often: you need to be of similar height to avoid cramps and other discomforts, and maintain body contact, but when it does happen, there's something magickal about it. Of course there's always the forfeit that the fie first one to cum through 69 rimming then gets it up the ass, which by that time is nice and sloppy...

No, you have to assume, unless you know for a fact otherwise, that the other guy is of a different HIV status to you. I serosort as much as possible so that I only fuck with other poz guys. If a guy doesn't know for a fact that he's poz, then that changes the nature of the sex we'd be having, or might even be a deal-breaker, despite the fact that he might actually be poz but doesn't know it.

I think that was one of the biggest mistakes we made in the eighties: the separation of HIV disease into several different components with different names: a progression from HIV+, to PGL, to ARC, to aids. All stages of the same illness. I suppose the intent was to reduce the anxiety levels of those who hadn't yet reached the "stage" of aids, yet when I was diagnosed with aids in 1991 it was via anal herpes lasting longer than a month while being treated. I was still riding my motorbike around London and working. In the UK we rarely talk about aids any more, but rather "late stage HIV disease". Almost as soon as you get HIV, you're immune deficient as your CD4 count drops and your viral load rises when you seroconvert. I guess it was the urgency and required speed that stopped us considering things like that. I remember the demonstrations to get AZT released for use in the mid-eighties, I even took it myself, knowing how many people it had killed through anaemia. The history of HIV is littered with both the most brilliant medical/psychological work we've ever seen and some of the most grotesque mistakes (condom nazis, AZT, ddI, d4t, high dose ritonavir). I recently took part in an oral history project about HIV: my interview is littered with exclamations of surprise from the interviewer, himself a survivor of nearly thirty years. Sex education in schools is the best way to get the message across: I don't think it unreasonable to devote an entire term to HIV. Unfortunately in the UK parents have a right to withdraw their kids from sex education classes, and a "guest educator" as I would be has to undergo an expensive Criminal Record check to be allowed into the school in the first place, so when I do training work it's always for adults, which is too damn late!

I'm not so sure of that last sentence PissPigBrooklyn. I get a fair number of "please fuck me, Daddy" messages on Grindr, which is the only place I don't make it clear that I'm HIV+. It started out as an experiment to see how clued up guys are about HIV since I volunteer for an HIV organisation. If I'm interested I bring up HIV by asking them if they know their HIV status. I've had insults, "no, I'm not old enough"(!), instant ending of conversations and several times from guys in their thirties "what's HIV?"

I used to work for London Gay Switchboard and really enjoyed those Sunday business meetings when I'd arrive from the home of whoever I'd picked up the previous night. Conspicuously sitting on one ass cheek, with newly acquired bruises clearly on show (I wasn't as decorated then as I am now). A lesbian member (who now rakes it in as an equalities advisor) told me in the middle of a meeting that, actually, she found my sexuality rather ugly. I was a gentleman and didn't throw an ashtray at her as she'd done a few weeks before (and at a woman!) I fought long and hard to get BDSM incorporated as a sexuality choice in the organisation's constitution. We became a charity and didn't have to drop the BDSM bit of our constitution. Top or bottom, I'm into pain. My only regret is that I can't take as much as I used to be able to.

Sorry it's been a while - not been too well... Pozdaddy 26 Pozboy is tense all week, frustrated at the attention Mochyn’s getting, probably angry at himself for his words or angry at me for his punishment, but when I say “a week” I mean a week. I guess it doesn’t help that we’ve developed taking the medication into an evening ritual. None of us seem to be showing any physical side effects, it’s obvious that none of us are happy with the idea of the meds. What needs to be done needs to be done. I’ve gone too long without and I’m not letting my boys go that far. I make no indication that week is up, though I’m sure Pozboy has been watching the calendar. I let it drag on to the early evening before I order Mochyn downstairs. I grab Pozboy by his collar and pull him downstairs after me. “Strip and kneel facing the wall, the pair of you.” I leave them there while I change into chaps and boots. Neither of them realise that I’ve lowered the sling just that little bit. “Mochyn – in the sling. Pozboy – restrain him. Then get your tongue up his ass. I want to see him jumping around against the restraints begging for more, squealing like the pig he is.” Pozboy gets his tongue in there and ends up having to hold Mochyn’s hips to keep him still. They’re both so hard I can see the blood pulsing through their dicks. I oil my own dick up. “Think he’s ready for it? Well, fuck him.” Pozboy stands up and forces his dick into Mochyn’s ass. From Mochyn’s grunts, I’d guess he wasn’t quite wet enough. Not my problem. I come up behind Pozboy, use one arm to grab him round the throat and other round his belly. I got the sling height exactly right: my oiled up cock slips into his ass. “Keep fucking him: you’re the only one moving here. I’m just along for the ride.” He gets it just right: burying his cock in Mochyn’s ass and my dick is only touching his asshole. When he pulls back, he gets his ass filled. I reach around and start working his nipples. When Pozboy pulls back he’s pushing himself harder onto my dick, so next time he pushes into Mochyn I move a little closer, keeping up the play on Pozboy’s tits. Without warning I start pissing inside him. As he realises I’m pissing and not cumming he grinds his ass against me, desperately seeking to press his back against my chest without losing contact with Mochyn’s ass. I finish pissing and push him forward onto Mochyn. I pull out and walk round to the head of the sling. Mochyn is already straining back, though careful to keep his hole open for Pozboy. Looks like the exchange of positions, which I’d only intended as temporary, has already reversed itself. Mochyn is grunting with each of Pozboy’s thrusts into his ass while his eyes are locked onto my cock. I push it down into his mouth. Just as he begins to work on it he gets the rest of my piss. He splutters at first but quickly recovers so that he’s swallowing it down as fast as I can piss it out. The doorbell rings. “Well, it’s not my job to answer the door...” I say, knowing full well who it is, but too fucking early. Pozboy walks gingerly out of the cellar heading for the stairs; “put them in the living room and then go empty your ass.” To Mochyn, as I untie him “Looks like you’re going to have to wait, kid... Wash up and snacks for five. And the pill bottles: it’s nearly time.” I snap on a leather jock before going upstairs – it doesn’t look good to be too eager... In the living room Ken and Bill are looking somewhat bemused. “What the hell’s up with him? Sat us down and dashed off...” A flush sounds from upstairs. “If it were still there I think you’d find that that was about half a bladderful of my piss,” I grin. “So, how’s progress? Oh, by the way, Mochyn’s fixing snacks and Pozboy’s off punishment. And yes, we were in the middle of it!” “I think we’re there,” says Ken, completely ignoring my sarcasm. “Just details to debate. I’ve arranged scenes in what seems to a logical order. We’ve got that abandoned scene to use as an extra – I’ve already put it online as a teaser - and a series of alternate covers. To my mind we just need to agree a cover and do we want to put in cast soundbites as extras? Oh, and a title would help.” “At the risk of swelling your upper head,” says Bill “since every one of us in the film is poz, I thought either Poz or Positive.” Definitely not Poz,” I say “it identifies it too much with me when even my doctor calls me Poz. Go for Positive. What d’you think Ken?” “Good point. Maybe spell it with a “Z” to make it perfectly clear.” “So, says Ken, “that leaves cover art and what extras... Personally I like this cover. Tight focus on your face, Poz...” As I thought one of the stills of my with my face covered in cum but not enough to leave me unrecognisable. “Yeah, I can go with that. I do have a reputation to keep down, after all. Extras: any other scenes get left behind?” “Nope, just the one with you, Pozboy and Mochyn.” “So a talking head section before that final scene to separate it off from the rest? A couple of minutes each talking about the film or life in general? We’re going to need to bend the truth a little: that scene with Mochyn is almost certainly how he got pozzed, so we need a rumour started that that’s what happened while the official position is he was already positive, which is a possibility. We don’t want awkward questions from the law. And I think we need some sort of platitudes about the difference between reality and fantasy. Yes? No?” The other two nod as Pozboy comes back into the room, hopefully with an empty ass. Then Mochyn arrives with a trayful of dips, crackers and pittas. “Wine or beer, Sirs?” “There’s a bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge. Bring that with five glasses and put another in the freezer – set the timer for 30 minutes... Okay guys let’s see what we’ve got... Pozboy, sort out the DVD.” It’s an odd atmosphere as we settle down to watch the DVD through; after all, all of us appear in it and one point or another, so it’s almost like selling family photos for cash. There’s no point in checking the menu system as there are still a few extras to complete: chief reason for tonight is to check through the movie and make sure it works. The first scene is Ken and Max in Ken’s playroom. The scene starts with some basic cocksucking with Ken building up the force so that Max begins to gag. I could swear that at one point Max does throw up, but manages to swallow it while working on Ken’s dick. Ken pulls Max off his dick and with a simple head movement orders Max into the sling where he secures one hand and both ankles, thus leaving one hand free for poppers. Ken starts with spit on his fingers, rapidly moving from a single finger in Max’s ass to four. Max’s hardon is obvious through his jock while Ken is greasing up his hands. A brief nod to Max and Max takes several deep belts of poppers. Four fingers slide in easily, then Ken adds his thumb. Max gasps and tries to push his hole onto Ken’s hand, which twists slightly and slips in past the knuckle. Max’s sigh of satisfaction as he envelops Ken’s hand is enough to give you a hardon without even seeing what’s happening. As Ken works his hand further up Max’s ass, Max keeps up a string of grunts, sighs and pleas for more. Which he gets: Ken starts by pulling out completely and then punchfucking him, but each time he withdraws the one hand the other goes in. Ken is intensively focussed on what he’s doing with Max lying back, it seems like breathing only poppers, begging for more. Eventually Max lets the poppers fall. Ken picks up the bottle and caps it, even though a substantial amount has spilled on the floor. Max is totally shitfaced and his asshole is gaping. Ken sticks his dick in Max’s loosened ass, one push to get balls-deep. Ken has always liked a loose hole to fuck. He grabs Max by the shoulders as he fucks him – a brilliant shot of Ken’s balls up against Max’s stretched hole. Ken’s balls tightening and the increasing urgency of his fucking as he cums deep inside Max’s hole. Then he walks round so Max can clean the blood and cum from his dick with his mouth. Ken’s dick is all but cleaned up when the shot changes to show Max cumming spontaneously, the cum spurting through his tented jock. The boys are on the floor either side of me, both gripping my legs and breathing heavily, while I’m wondering whether I’d want to play out the same scene with Ken or with Max. I take a large swig of wine, drink it as though it was beer: we’re onto a winner with this DVD. And we’ve still got Bill’s scene with the Pup to see...

You're in the position I was in in the mid eighties. Except I didn't have an array of proven therapeutic drugs in front of me. Oh, BTW, this is the UK where treatment is free. I've stumbled from new drug to new drug in an effort to stay alive, and have the scars to prove it. I've injected £100-a-shot (provided by the National Health Service and therefore free to us) medication into a dying lover. If you want to know about the miseries of untreated HIV disease, I can tell you, simply because when I, and most of my friends, were diagnosed there were no fuckin' treatments and you're getting precious about the politics of the medical sector. Sure hospitals have to balance budgets: there was even an argument over whether or not to test my for HLA-B*5701 ("Oh, we might as well, it only costs £50"). That decision saved my life: abacavir is as good as cyanide for me because I have two copies of that gene (one from my father, one from my mother - thanks a bunch!). Take it from an old-timer: get yourself to your hospital and say "gimme the drugs". They're more refined now, the dosages are more finely calibrated to cause less harm, and with number like yours you bloody need them. You won't go through the shit that I and many others went through because they've learned from us. At the risk of moral blackmail, by refusing the drugs which you so clearly need, you're pissing (not in a good way) on our experiences as we tested those drugs.

Thank you rawTOP: my tongue and hole wherever you want them...

Thank you - those two sentences show your agenda. Now go and put your tin foil hat on so the aliens can't tell what you're thinking. Alternatively you could explain how HIV found it's way into the blood of a 16 year old boy in the USA and a British sailor in the 1950's...

You clearly have little understanding of HIV. "All" HIV does is attack the immune system, the nervous system and some skin cells. The vast majority of people who die as a result of HIV infect die as a result of an opportunistic infection, that is to say an infection that needs the immune system to be lowered before it can attack. Hardly anyone with an intact immune system gets mycobacterium avium intracellulare, or aspergillis pneumonia, yet they were the diseases my husbands died of. They didn't die because HIV had got stronger: they died because HIV had weakened their immune systems to the point where they couldn't defend themselves. Oh, and there were fifteen years between their deaths. Go read up on immunology...

I'm three months away from my last undetectable VL test: if Mr Right Now turned up on the doorstep I'd want him to have taken at least a week's worth (preferably two) of truvada if I was going to fuck him. Maybe it's personal anxiety and it would be okay - it's not as though every poz load infects anyway.

I've lived with HIV since 1980. Politically I suppose I'm a mixture of socialist and green. I believe in the right of the individual to determine their own fate, but do not believe that the actions of others should endanger anyone, which is why I'm solidly behind the vaccination of kids for measles/mumps/rubella which has caused such a stink in the UK these past few years. And in this instance I think the 'slut has hit the nail right on the head. It's expensive and imperfect, but with the combination of Treatment as Protection (TasP) and PrEP we can get rid of HIV. It's going to take a massive community action to do it, but we've got this far haven't we? I was supposed to be dead by 1993...

It doesn't matter how healthily you live: a CD4 count of 350 and a high viral load are not healthy. Chems don't come into it: the nearest I've come to chems is viagra. At a CD4 of 350 you're at the top of a slope: the longer you leave taking meds the more difficult it's going to be to regain full function of your body. To be blunt, what you're doing by not taking drugs is passive suicide. It's your right to do so - in fact I tried it myself after my last partner's death seven years ago. I've never made up the ground I lost and am now registered disabled. It's not just opportunistic infections: it's now known that HIV itself attacks your system directly, with a particular fondnesss for brain cells, skin cells and the lining of the gut.

I agree with pisstopper here. I've been part of an existing couple who tried to introduce a third to our relationship and, frankly, it did not go well. Similarly there's a couple who live a couple of hundred miles from me who I think the world of, but I'm grateful for the miles because they make the relationship impossible and save all three of us from getting hurt (well, in the wrong way).

As rawTOP says, you're on the brink of finding out for yourself how HIV progresses. If my CD4 gets down to 350 I start getting candidiasis in my mouth and throat. When I got down to the low 200s, I neglected to wear gloves etc when feeding a sickly orphaned lamb and ended up with cryptosporidiosis (when the water authorities tell you to boil all drinking water it's almost always because cryptosporidium has got into the water supply), which entailed shitting myself four or five times a night for five weeks. The longer you leave treatment the worse it gets: my partner was completely unaware of having HIV until he had a needlestick injury at work. We worked out later that he must have got it some years previously when he was the first on the scene when an injecting drug user hit an artery instead of a vein and in the course of getting a tourniquet on the guy to stop the massive blood loss he took a faceful of blood. When he tested after the needlestick injury he had only 80 CD4 cells, and as it turned out MAI, a relative of TB. It took him four miserable years to die, losing half his body weight in the process. See your doctor. Take the pills.

It happens. Sometimes as a random attack, as happened to a friend of mine (and he got HIV as a result of the attack), sometimes as a result of a top overstepping a bottom's limits (I reference Nicehard1's tagline "It's okay to say no after we're naked"). The incidence of man on man rape is horribly under-reported, in part because of the attitude of many gay men that it's impossible to be raped: "you could have fought him off" "you wanted it, really" and so on. Fact is when it happens you can be in fear of your life. When it's not pretend fear of your life, it's fucking terrifying. I speak as the survivor of two rapes. I've often thought of stepping into a playroom as a suspension of belief: everything that happens there is removed from the real world, so it's a safe space to act out rape fantasies, or any other fantasy you care to name. I've found acting out fantasies of rape have helped me recover from the trauma of the real thing - in fact I didn't realise I was doing it until my partner said that I consistently used the word "no" for "yes, please, more" when we were were fucking. He found it disturbing that although I seemed to be having a good time, I was vocally rejecting it. That was quite a while ago and the fantasies have waned - I fully believe that being able to re-enact the trauma, but on my terms, has been instrumental in getting over the trauma. In the UK it's now recognised that a man on man sexual assault is rape (whereas previously it was merely "gross indecency" and all parties were liable for prosecution).

Poppers reduce the blood pressure for a short while, while a solid hardon needs all the blood it can get. Try wanking with poppers and note the change of texture/feel in your dick as the poppers hit. I can get totally shitfaced on poppers if I'm bottoming but if I'm topping I'll just have (at most) two very light belts - enough to make me more aware of the sensations between thighs and waist, but not enough to lose my hardon. Often those two very light belts of poppers are more for the benefit of the bottom as when I'm bottoming I want to see the top getting off on the poppers the way I am. Somehow it doesn't seem fair that only one of us can get shitfaced! I wouldn't be surprised if you told me that tops in porn are actually sniffing water from a poppers bottle...