Those were the Days
After battling a number of illnesses
over the past 6 months, I have recovered most of my health and vitality and am
on the prowl once again—in the back rooms of seedy bars, cruisy parks, and
other places of lewd and lascivious behavior.
This year has not been good to me. My
T-cells plummeted to below 200, and my VL peaked at over 300,000. I refuse to take Meds because I cannot
tolerate most of them and am resistant to others. Anyway, I like living on the edge and love it when my VL is
high. It feels so much more lethal, unloading a TOXIC
DOSE in some anonymous Mancunt.
I've been POZ
since '91. I've been one of the
lucky ones who never did get sick—at least not yet. Back then I was so young and scared. There were no
cures nor cocktails. AZT, with its
chronic side effects, was a joke.
Testing POZ
was a death sentence. You were consoled by a doctor or counselor, who told you,
you could still lead a long and productive life if you took care of
yourself. I guess that was to make
you feel better.
Then you looked around, and reality
smacked you in the face.
Friends were dying at an alarming pace. If that weren't enough, AIDS was a shameful disease—a fitting finale to an
immoral life. You got what you deserved—that's how
they felt.
Overwhelmed by my dismal state of mind,
I attended a Support Group--one of the more counterproductive missteps of my
quixotic life. It was horribly
depressing—surrounded by guys with one foot in the grave. I watched in horror and amazement as
they dropped like flies. I was
losing friends faster than I could make them. The Support Group only fueled my
anger and disgust.
With trepidation I scrutinized myself
for signs of HIV—night
sweats, fever, blemishes, and wasting. They never came, but all around me guys
continued to die.
Often the simple act of having sex was
a death sentence, for you never knew who had it. That uncertainty, coupled with self-imposed abstinence, and
a hyperactive sex drive made lapses and slip-ups inevitable. Plus there was a small group of us who
purposely continued to fuck raw. Perhaps we secretly coveted the Bug—but to deliberately infect someone was taboo.
I kept hearing about certain POZ miscreants who fucked raw and lied about their
Status; and other more forthright, if misguided, souls who vowed to take as
many with them as they could. Though I found such irresponsibility abhorrent,
IT TURNED ME ON!
I was barely 3 months pregnant when
I confronted the Unspeakable. I
fucked a sailor from a nearby base.
He asked if I was SAFE,
and I outright lied
I remember the excitement pulsing
through my groin as I slid my bare Cock into him. I remember thinking how naive he was to take me at my
word. He was the first sacrificial
lamb to fall victim to my ruse. It
would ruin his career. His
shipmates would find out. He'd end
up losing everything—including his life.
Visions of Toxic Sugar Plums
danced in my head as I plowed in
and out. I marveled at the power
of my Spooge over his Pussy—the power to condemn him to an ignoble Death. IT WAS INTOXICATING!
I knew how my Cohorts felt as they
fucked and poisoned the Turds half-witted enough to trust them, how elated the
Dude who'd POZZED
me must have felt as he passed me the Baton. TRIUMPHANT!
I felt my Nuts tighten with the all too
familiar surge of Cum. I knew if I
shot in him, it might cost him his life. If I withdrew, he might survive. But it was too late. I could not stop. I quickened my pace and pounded
his Bloody Hole. The Orgasm was the
most stupendous I'd ever experienced. 'Wow!' I thought. 'No wonder the world is awash in Poison Cum!'
My spasming Cock shook me to the core
as my Bug
Juice erupted up his Ass. I felt confident the Sailor was
kaput. Suddenly I felt
repulsed. I loathed him and
shirked away. The sorry
little Fuck was still tryin' to jack off.
I pulled out, got off the bed, and dressed.
"What's wrong?" he asked so innocently.
"Nothing, Dude.
I'm done."
He looked a little hurt, but I had
bigger fish to fry. He was
just a common little Slut not worth the fuss. Besides, he'd soon be dead.
It had all been so intense, and my
Balls ached for more. But the
fuckin' Slut wasn't the answer. He was dead meat, anyway; and my body needed to
recharge. I couldn't get
away quickly enough.
That was my first BUGGING episode, and there were many
more to cum. I didn't expect to
live more than a few years, so my mission became fucking to my heart's content. And I did. I'm
sure a lot of Bottoms succumbed to my disease, but I survived and thrived
undeterred. 'As long as I have an ounce of Cum left
in me....'
The best BUGGING
was before '96, back when HIV meant
certain death. Of course the fear
and stigma persists today, but nothing like it was back then—when death was
much more in your face.
After a while, I got bold enough to
tell the bastards that I was POZ and they were going to die. Then, later, I'd jack off at home—at
their panic and dismay.
My favorites were the married guys and
bi's who had so much to lose. How
many of their ilk committed suicide rather than face their female cunts? And how I loved to describe to
them the course of the disease.
Too bad I didn't get out to their hospices or funerals much. But time was of the essence, and there
was so many more NEGs out there to POZ.
But today with all the HIV
Disclosure Laws, it's too dangerous to reveal my Status. So now I'm Grade A STEALTH POZZER No. 1. The Dudes don't need to know until they get tested. I'll grant them that lagresse. By then, the who of their demise
will be but a faint flicker in a blur of bareback sex.
Anyway, I'm back in the loop and more
virile than ever—due to my lack of Meds.
So I'm off to the Baths.
Surely some of you have seen me there. I may have even coupled with a few of you. I've spread my Poison there night
after night and many an afternoon.