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 lewd and lascivious places.
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 Viral
Load 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 seriously. 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 said 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
struck 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 with horror and repugnance 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'd
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 in his tight Mancunt. 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 POZZED
me must have felt as he passed me the Baton. TRIUMPHANT!
I felt my Nuts tighten with the
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 deeper. The Orgasm
was the most stupendous I'd ever experienced. 'Wow!' I thought. 'No wonder
the world is awash in BUG JUICE!'
My spasming Cock shook me to the core
as Jets of Poison erupted up his Ass. Then 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?" So
innocent.
"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 was dead meat, anyway; and my body needed to recharge. I couldn't get away fast enough.
That was my first BUGGING experience, and there were
many more to cum. I didn't expect
to live more than a few years, so my mission became one of 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 was a
certain death sentence. Of course the fear and stigma persist today, but
nothing like it was in the days before the Cocktail—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 confront their female
cunts—fuckin' cowards all!
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 were so many more NEG Cunts to POZ.
But with all the HIV Disclosure Laws, today it's too dangerous to reveal
one’s 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 largesse. 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 afternoons.