AIDS LOVE STORY
I
hit the baths Monday night and things were really dead. I counted a mere eight cars in the lot.
I
had the good fortune to find an old compadre lying in the Sling. He's POZ.
In fact, he has full blown AIDS.
What with the cost of Meds and the precariousness of his
health, he only ventures out maybe once a month when he feels at his peak. He's extremely wasted and effeminate—a
real mincing queen, but very gentle.
I once observed him comfort a drunken boy who'd just been dumped by his
Boyfriend. I watched as they
embraced and he wiped his tears away. At that time I still didn't know his
name, for all the years I'd seen him around. I guess that's true of many of my casual acquaintances.
Most
of the guys avoided him like the plague.
They bitched and moaned about him almost to his face. Yet I never heard him rebuke any of
those Screaming Queens. I know I
wouldn't have been so kind.
He
climbed in the Sling—his Cock and lumpy Ass on display and up for grabs. I pictured myself kneeling down
to lick his Hole, my Dick sliding in his Cunt. Yeah, I had a secret passion for
the guy. How gladly would I have
drunk his piss and eaten his shit to fuck his bony Ass.
I
knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. But not just yet.
I didn't want an audience in case the guys freaked out (as I was pretty
sure they would) and ostracized me as well a him. It was cowardice on my part, simply put. How I despised my wimpishness. I was
drowning in my own timidity.
Reluctantly
acknowledging there was no white knight in shining armor cuming to ride his
haggard Ass, he knotted his ragged towel about his meager waist and smiled at
me and everyone as he pranced past.
I
decide to fraternize with the boys and listen to them bitch and moan about the
dude. Cowed by my
cravenness, I didn't say a word in his defense . Still I was beguiled by his
she-male thing, the AIDS thing, the hole
ball of wax. It made him
seem so vulnerable and impotent—though impotent was hardly the proper
term. But the character
assassination never ceased, and it was not my part to remonstrate.
Before
checking out, I searched the Maze for him. He was lying on a leather bench. I wasn't sure if he were asleep or waiting for his paladin. I couldn't deny I admired the man. It took guts to cum here and put up
with all the crap.
I
stopped and listened. I
could hear the sibilant sing-song of his wizened nasal passages. Otherwise, it was deathly silent in the
Maze. We were alone. What could it hurt? Why not? Despite the harangue, we were still two human beings in
need.
Before
I knew it I was beside him on the bench.
I ran my hand over his thin body, down his scrawny back, over his bony
Ass, and onto his emaciated thighs and twiggy legs. His skin felt more infantile than masculine.
In
the darkened room. He squinted, "Hi."
"I'm John."
"I know. I'm James. I was getting vibes from you before."
"Good or
bad?"
"The
best."
He drew up to kiss me.
I pinned him down and
frenched his teeth and gums—a warm, deep-throated, passionate exchange
presaging things to cum. Our souls
bared, our raw pent-up emotions boiled over.
I
went on auto pilot, as my years as a Top ensured. No, I was not ashamed I craved his disease-ridden,
effeminate Gay Ass. We kissed. I tweaked his Nips. I sucked his spongy Dick till it
grew tall and proud. I licked his
hairy Balls, savoring even the random, cloying strays I extracted off my tongue. My hormones raged.
I
nudged him over so I could rim his Ass.
I smelled the remnants of a recent bout of diarrhea and plunged on
in. The Queer began to
whimper which only served to whet my appetite. I rimmed him deeper, straining to please and compensate for
all the undeserved ill-will.
"I'd love to fuck
you."
"I'm full
blown POZ."
"I think I know
what
POZ is all about."
It
was then or never. "Might be
better in my room. More
privacy"
I
squeezed his knobby hand and pulled him to his feet. Fleetingly we kissed again before I led him up the stairs
and down the hall, past the TV Room where the guys were prone to congregate.
But, like I say, it was a quiet Monday night, and the TV set was off. No
witness saw us traverse the halls, which was just as well—for I wasn't yet
prepared to deal with the ostracism about to come my way. The vicious catcalls already
reverberated in my ears. You
that hard up? You have to fuck that Sicko Queen?
I
never once released his hand. It
was like I was emboldened by his unassuming feminine mystique. I felt the certitude of one who's
finally met his match, the paramour who was destined to become my live-in mate
for the few years we had left.