ErosWired

I hadn't planned on it, and didn't expect it. Well - I didn't expect it. I was cleaned out, and lubed up. What I planned on, or at least hoped for, was a pleasant encounter with some willing top who might like the look of me and have some fun. You never knew at this campground, but it was a gay campground, so the odds were good, and even if the goods were sometimes odd, I didn't much care. But it was a crapshoot, because I was there alone, and it always seemed like the action happened to the guys who arrived with friends. Groups begat groups, action happened more readily within groups, and action begat... well, begetting. A guy alone found it harder to get noticed, to get selected, to become a focus of, shall we say, attention. Not that I'm ever looking for 'attention'. I don't care if they ever even see my face. For that matter, I don't care if I ever see theirs. One of my greatest memories from that place is the dark night where an unknown guy fucked me deliciously for a good ten minutes before he blew, then handed me over to another who plugged right in. The first guy then paused by my head and said to the first, a stranger to him, "You'll love that. He's got a fantastic ass." He left, and I never saw his face. This time, I wandered around for a while, finding no joy, and at last made my way into a shed where they kept a fucking bench. Two men stood nearby touching each other, and others stood in conversation around the walls. No one particularly noticed me as I stepped over to the unoccupied bench. I pulled down my underwear and bent over with my belly against the leather and my elbows and knees against the rests, not really expecting anyone to take the unasked-for offering. Nobody did for a few minutes. But then the two men touching each other suddenly began touching my ass, and soon, fingering my hole. Without a word, one of them lined his cock up and slid it forcefully inside; it was just the right size to stretch me open without much pain. His vocals turned heads. After a few minutes I felt him fill me, and then his friend swapped out and did the same. By the time he pulled out, I was glowing - two for the price of one! I started to raise up, but suddenly felt two fingers at the small of my back give me a little push back down. Slowly, I resumed my position on the bench. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the two guys standing beside me and the bench. They weren't moving to jump back in again, but I couldn't tell what they were doing. I only knew they wanted me to stay there. A few wordless minutes later, a different set of hands spread my ass apart and stroked my taint up and down across my hole, the finger probing inside, smearing cum in and out to lube the opening. Then an larger cock entered, and began fucking. The grunting was more gutteral than before, lower and quieter - a bigger man, who finished more quickly, but filled me just the same. After he pulled out, I started to raise up - but there it was again, a little push. This time, a pair of eager, uncertain hands. Hands that weren't sure quite what to do. Hands that kneaded my globes and my calves, a cock that smacked against my hole repeatedly, a cockhead that jabbed the wrong place a couple of times before getting it right, hips that pushed with a lot of energy. Some barely legal kid, probably. He blew in a few seconds, but it kept on going. He finally pulled out. Men clapped. When I was sure he was done, I raised up - A little push. This time, an older man. You can tell sometimes, because the hands stroke your ass with reverence, with appreciation, with gratitude for the gift they know they are about to receive. Fingers knew what to touch, and where. I know I gasped, and I know my face betrayed the reactions running through my body (it always does - remind me to tell you about the time with the lumi-lights). The fingers (multiple) took the time to visit my prostate and then stroke me to dripping before he mounted me. Viagra or no, he had no problem staying hard or completing the act, which he did with a shuddering sigh and pulses that I felt all through me. When he was done, there was silence in the room, and no one seemed to move. I felt a wave of contentment. I had not anticipated the chance to serve so many, nor the exquisite rush of having a roomful of eyes watch me do it. I pushed my torso up from the bench - A little push. What? A built guy positioned himself in front of me with his cock at mouth level. "Suck it," he said. I couldn't raise my head enough to see his face, and he was insistent enough that as soon as I opened my mouth even a little he jammed his cock into it. I lavished my tongue all around it, let it explore the hollow of my throat, but he quickly pulled it out again. "See this cock?" he said, turning it sideways so I could examine its thick, veiny purple size. "This is going into your ass, and then it's going back in your mouth." He disappeared from in front of me and I quickly felt his strong hands cleave me apart and position his cock to piston into my cunt. He was rough, and he took his time. My head bobbed up and down and my back arched from the brutality of the raw fuck. When he finally burst, he did it with a barking shout and yanked my hips back as hard as his muscled arms could bury him into me. After the pulsing stopped, he circled back around, panting, and said, "This was in your ASS," and thrust it into my mouth, tasting of cum, sweat and ass. I cleaned it off with my tongue. When he left, he smacked me on the ass. I lay there for a few moments, worn out. Not only unexpected, but more than I had had in mind. I gratefully got up - A little push. In all, twelve men fucked me on that bench. I have to assume the first two in some way silently invited the other ten to use what they had appropriated as their free giveaway cumhole. I don't understand the dominant male mind that finds such a thing a turn-on... I'm just glad they do. I wish more did. I wish more men would feel free to give me a little push. That's all it would take, any time. If you're a top who would enjoy doing something like that, can you explain what that feels like for you? Why you would enjoy doing it? I really want to understand. And if you're a top who wants to try it...

I got AIDS from barebacking. Not just HIV - AIDS. As in, I didn't just get the unstoppable, irremovable virus in my body, it actually had time to eat me alive. HIV destroyed my body's ability to defend itself from disease, an ability that it had developed over the course of my entire life. By the time the doctors diagnosed me, every random bacterium, virus, and fungal spore had an odds-on chance of killing me. Some of them tried. Pneumonia, fungal meningitis. The latter almost finished me off by causing two small strokes in my brain. I would have died, too, if I hadn't been lucky enough to have a complete Circle of Willis - a circular path of blood vessels in the brain - that kept enough blood flowing to the blocked area to keep me alive. Even after I pulled through and started ART, I got an onset of molluscum contagiosum around my cock and balls - normally this is easily resisted, but it took months to clear. Then an old friend returned from childhood: chicken pox, in the form of shingles, activated because my immune system started to recover. That was misery squared for about three weeks. My CD4 count inched up slooooooowly, and I had to take prophylactic doses of antifungals and antibiotics until the count reached around 200. It's now around 300 after three years, where it ought to be at least 500, and it may never get that high again. I started on Atripla, then Triumeq, and now Genvoya. Every. Single. Day. Atripla sucked because it had to be taken at the same time each day, coordinated with meals, so there were times when I could, and could not, eat. It also made me gain weight, and shifted that weight to unattractive areas of my body. It has taken a long time, a complete change in my lifestyle, and a heartbreaking change of diet to alter that. Most recently, my doctor informed me that, as a result of my medication, I have developed a low-grade case of diabetes. Yep, you heard that right - meds-induced diabetes. Why am I bringing all this up? Because these are the consequences. I'm alive. I'm relatively healthy. I'm not sick, my viral load is undetectable, my chance of infecting someone else with HIV is very, very low, and my chance of getting another opportunistic infection is also very low as long as I take my HIV meds daily. But that doesn't mean I don't have to pay a price for my barebacking. From now on, I have to live very carefully. Until science catches up with this enemy virus, I have to live with diabetes. I have to watch what I eat, knowing that badly prepared food could do far worse than give me a bellyache. I have to work extra hard to keep my body from changing shape into something I don't want to look at. And I have to live with the understanding that my life expectancy, even with these miracle meds, is my mid-70s. That's at least 10 years less than I should have had. Now, I never particularly wanted to live to be an 80-year-old, so that's no great loss for me, but in a general sense, is the feeling of a raw cock up your ass worth ten years of your life? I can't answer that for you, because I can't answer that for me. Even after everything I've said above, I'm still not sorry for the day I took 34 loads in my ass. I wish I could do it again tomorrow, and the day after that. Being that kind of bottom completes me. I've accepted that part of the reason I'm here is to serve other men in just that way, and it gives me great joy every time a man experiences his climax inside me. I feel as though what I lose in quantity of life I perhaps gain in quality of life at that moment. I only wish I had more opportunity to give. But maybe that's what these HIV meds do, after all - not more opportunity to give the virus, but to give ourselves.

I got tested regularly at six-month intervals, not including the times when my doctor had me tested for cause because he knew that I had sex with men. I never had a re-test for a negative result, however, so none of he negative results were ever suspect. I just had a run of very, very bad luck as far as the test results. In hindsight, there were other clues that the doctor *should* have seen, like low B12 levels and other markers, that should have pointed to HIV infection, but he's a GP without a great deal of experience in HIV diagnosis and simply didn't connect the dots.

Positive and on meds since September 2014. Undetectable for over a year, haven't missed a single dose of meds in three years. Guys said I was a 'power bottom' before, no reason not to be one now. I'm not a chaser, though - not looking to get *superinfected*. :b

Undetectable does not equal Negative. It simply means that the viral load is extremely low, radically reducing the risk of infection. If you're on PReP, you have an added margin of safety, but wherever the virus exists, there is risk. I've been undetectable for over a year, but I will only bottom now because topping is a higher-risk activity, and... well, I was born to bottom anyway.

I had a sphincterectomy also, and I would emphasize - be patient - give it enough time to heal! I was a little too eager, and jumped back in the saddle (or, kind of, was the saddle) a little too soon, and it set my recovery back a while. No more fissure problems now, though. Also, be sure to regulate your diet to keep enough fiber moving through you, and make sure you always get enough water. It's very important.

In July 2011 I got pneumonia. No big deal; I went to the doctor, got treated. The odd thing was, the next month I got it again. My doctor said, "Nobody gets pneumonia twice." But he treated me anyway and sent me home. Later in August I got a cracking headache, worst I've ever had. My brother had to take me to the emergency room, but they sent me back home. By the next day, I was at the doctor again, and an astute nurse spotted the signs of possible meningitis. Back to the hospital. Long story short, by early September I had been diagnosed with fungal meningitis, and had nearly died from two small strokes related to it. I lay in my hospital bed and one morning a small United Nations of doctors from different nationalities lined up by my bedside and delivered their verdict. "You have AIDS." "What?" "You have AIDS." "Are you saying I have HIV?" "No, AIDS." (The guy didn't pull any punches.) My C4 count stood at 49. My new infectious disease specialist put me on ART immediately. I've been on Atripla, Triumeq, and now Genvoya. I've had shingles, and watched my body shape change as a result of the meds, and have had to change my lifestyle because the meds have given me a case of med-induced diabetes. Many things about all this suck ass, and not in a good way. I tried to figure out how this could have happened - I had gotten tested regularly. My tests had been negative. There had been no indication at all that I had had HIV in my system that could have turned into AIDS. I had been careful. But not careful enough. I knew that. I had no idea who had given me this, and would never have any way of knowing. There had been too many men. The most likely time had been the day I took 34 loads in my ass, probably without a single condom; there was no way of knowing. There had been other times, many other times, but every time I had been tested, the tests had resulted in negatives. Not all of these were over-the-counter tests, either. Two years earlier, my doctor had hospitalized me for a mystery illness that he chalked up to some unnamed virus that came and went. At the time he gave me a full-bore HIV test, which came back negative. Yet I'm now certain that that "mystery illness" was my seroconversion. I quizzed my doctor later: How could this have happened? I had been under his care for years - how could HIV have flown under his radar long enough to have turned into AIDS and nearly kill me without his seeing it? He explained that the problem with modern HIV testing isn't just false positives, but also false negatives. The truth is, the science just isn't good enough yet to give us certainty in diagnosis. I was just unlucky as I could possibly be. On the other hand, I was as lucky as I could possibly be. I survived. I've now been undetectable for over a year, and have not missed a single dose of medication since I began three years ago. My cell count is now at 300, which is not too bad for someone my age, and it may improve. I don't hold any bad feeling toward the man who gave me HIV. I hope he discovered his infection soon enough to be treated before it wrecked his immune system. In honesty, I can't say that I regret the behavior that resulted in this, because the day I took 34 loads was a highlight of my sexual life. I would do it again in a moment. What I will never, ever do again is top anyone. I will put no one at risk. I will not be the one who passes this down the line. This blog is called News From The Front Lines because we are at war with an Enemy, and I am committed to fighting that enemy inside my body, and in the world outside. I will use my words, and I will use my body as the means to fight, and if I can prevent even one person from ending up where I am now, then I will have justified my survival where so many others have died. More dispatches to follow.

I have one nephew who is very much out. His brother is totally straight and married, but completely stands up for his gay brother. The whole family does, which is something in Kentucky.