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Prologue

The first warm days of spring. Everything tingling. Hormones. Naughty thoughts.
A profile – his profile. Few words, but strong energy.
I message him. Just like that. “Hey hey.”

He replies fast. “What are you into? What's your status?”
I type back without thinking: “Tested negative for HIV. Not taking Prep. Raw. Mostly bottom. Risk turns me on.”

I’m hard instantly.

How will he respond? Will he even reply? I’m 45. He’s maybe 35.
“I’m poz, on meds. If that’s your thing, I’ll make sure you’re dripping with my HIV cum after. Real. Raw. No protection.”
I read it twice. Feel the pressure building. A fantasy wakes up.

We write more. Pictures: He looks attractive, normal build. A handsome, and a poz guy. Myself, average build, naked in the woods, bent over a tree trunk. Exposed. Words that hit.
No small talk, no games.
He says he’ll be in my city soon. Business trip. Wants to know if I’m truly in.
If I’ll show him I’m ready.
I nod – even though he can’t see it.

Mail after mail, the tension grows.
He writes: “If we lock this in, I want it real. I will stop my meds then. No halfway bullshit.”

I’m rock hard.
Finally. Someone who means it.

“I want to be your poz Dad, Boy. So you'll make a test. Just before I'm fucking you.”

One sentence. And my mind explodes. Pre dripping.

Nothing’s certain yet.
But the thought is there.
Deep.

Three weeks later. You're in town. You stopped your meds two weeks ago. I'm still off Prep. It becomes real. Today. 2 p.m.

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