so it might have happened...I did my oraquick test yesterday and it read positive! It was a shock to see two lines (positive) instead of just one(negative). I was wondering if anyone has ever experienced a “false positive” result on oraquick before? According to oraquick’s own website the odds are very slim but it does state:
A false positive is when an HIV test shows that a person has HIV when they don't actually have it.
Conditions that can lead to a false positive HIV test are:
* Lyme disease,
* syphilis (SIF-uh-lus),
* lupus, and
* other conditions.
A couple of months ago I did test positive for syphilis and was treated for it but, oraquick’s own website says it could trigger a HIV false positive on their own test. Anyone have any thoughts on this? Heard of anything on false positives?
A delicate flower. Exquisite. Innocent. Ripe. He is looking at me, a gentle boy, soft as goose down, naïve. He shivers a little, eyes wide, deep, dark. I brush his black unkempt hair from his forehead.
“Monsieur,” he whispers, a voice like honey.
“Yes, boy,” I reply. He doesn’t understand my English. I touch my finger to his lips. He kisses it. Little playful kisses, a game. He grins, a beautiful smile, joyful. He giggles.
“Monsieur,” he repeats, and I melt.
I kiss his hair. A hint of grease, a tinge of shampoo. Flowers, soap, exotic fruit. He is a smoker, I can tell from his scent.
“You’ve never kissed a man, have you?” I tease. He doesn’t understand. I laugh. He laughs too. I lean forward, hold his chin and kiss him. A soft kiss. Mint, beer. His mouth is eager. He groans. Shivers. I hug him, his denim jacket damp. He feels warm, and I kiss his head again.
Outside, on the motorway that leads to Paris, the traffic rumbles. Cars and trucks crossing the country, transit, movement. In the restroom it is cold, water drips, scents of piss and disinfectant.
My hands are on his back. They travel down. I squeeze his ass. “Oh, goodness,” I mutter. He whimpers. I cup his crotch. He’s big, I can tell. And rock hard.
“Show me,” I whisper. “Show me your cock. Take it out and show me.” My tone is flat, firm. He shakes his head, confused. There is Gypsy in him, a darkness.
I unzip his fly. He is nervous now. He glances at the door. His anxiety excites me. I am a hunter, and he is my prey. He stands still. Obedient. Frozen.
I inch my finger into his fly. It is warm, a little damp. He hisses. I pull on the elastic. His pubic hair is thick and wiry, warm to touch.
“Show me,” I repeat. I nod reassuringly. He squirms, a grimace of a nervous smile. His eyes plead, burning with lust, tormented with shame. He squints, then with a final groan he pulls out his cock. I grin. I am lucky.
His cock is beautiful. Hard, too hard. So hard it is purple and vascular, uncut, dripping pearls of precum. His cock scents the air, making my mouth water.
“Good boy,” I say softly.
He came with me. Followed me like a lost puppy. We are in my room now, in my room by the side of the motorway, a bland room. It is private, the door locked, no-one can see, no-one can hear. This is the room where his life will change, the room where our destinies will merge.
He trusts me, adores me. I am older than him, a father figure. I want him, and I want to own him, to make him mine.
He is undressed now, down to his underpants. Vulnerable and shaking, his skin white, his body a little soft, like a cherub. He hugs himself nervously, his large teen cock tenting in his red briefs. He tries to hide it with both hands.
“It’s OK,” I murmur.
He shakes his head, and suddenly hugs me. Now it is my turn to gasp and tremble. I almost feel bad, I almost relent. I almost want to extinguish my anger. I toy with making him leave now, leave before I change his life.
“It’s ok,” I repeat.
I take off my shirt. I am muscular and strong, an older man who works out. He looks at me, he is hungry. I can see it in his eyes.
“Tattoo,” he says. I guess the word is the same in French. He runs his fingers over my chest. “Scorpion,” he grins. I laugh.
“Yes, a scorpion,” I say nodding. He makes a grimace of approval.
“Good,” he says in thickly accented English.
“Yes, good,” I say. “Maybe. But they bite.”
He shakes his head, confused.
My Cock, Harbinger
“Look,” I tell him. I drop my trousers, I unhook my massive cock from my briefs. I am conscious I haven’t showered. Yet the thought of the boy’s virgin lips on my ripe cock head excites me. It will be part of his defilement, part of the fall.
His eyes widen. My cock is so hard. I flex it, I want to impress him.
“Your first taste of cock,” I say, more to myself.
He is looking at me like a kitten. I press down on his shoulders, and he collapses to his knees, my cock pressed to his sweet nose. He breathes in, intoxicated, drunk on my scent.
I motion for him to stick out his tongue. He shakes his head, his mouth slack. I rub my uncut cock head on his lips. He makes a low growl. A little trail of precum glistens like lip balm.
I cry out in sweet joy as his mouth opens and he takes most of my cock. He splutters and gurgles. My toxic seed awakens in my balls. Soon, my beauties. Soon.
He is lying face down on the hotel bed, an offering, a sacrificial lamb. My French, Gypsy boy. His ass is soft, plump, hairless, white. I caress it, it’s beautiful, warm. I encourage him to hold open his cheeks, exposing the prettiest hole, forcing him to co-operate in his own degradation. He is exposed, his most private place on view, his balls hanging. I lower myself to lick him, man tongue on teen-hole, a heavenly tang, a taste of heaven. He is groaning, arching, a young virgin bitch in heat. He gasps into the pillow. I dare to introduce my finger, marvelling at the warm, tight sensation. I need to be inside him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I murmur, my cockhead pressed to his pink hole. Purple flesh on white skin. He is squirming, trying to reach behind him. I take his hand in mine. “Relax,” I hiss. I hold a bottle of poppers to his nose. “Breathe.”
He cries out, but my cock slides inside without mercy, gripped by velvet. I cannot hide my cruelty, my mask falls. I laugh, mockery in my tone. He cannot tell, he is in a trance, the trance of an 18-year-old with a big cock up his ass for the first time. I force more poppers into his sweet nose. He is open now, loose and damp.
I am close, my cock raw, swollen and dangerous. I fuck so hard that the bed is creaking. He sweats and writhes, his boy’s face screwed up, contorted in sweet agony. He laughs and groans.
“It’s time,” I hiss, I feel my cum swirling, an ache that delights. I cannot hold it. “Fuck!!!” I scream, my seed shooting out of me, deep inside him. Potent seed. Bad seed.
He turns round to kiss me, the face of an angel, eyes sparkling with life and bliss.
It is done. I pull out, and my seed drips out, milky and alive. I lean forward and lick the foam. It is done.