Dirty Little Secret

The moment my HIV test came back reactive, I immediately knew who to call. Jonathan was practically a local poster boy for HIV. He and I had chatted online many times and even met once for coffee. Since he was in a relationship, our conversations always remained on a more platonic level. Now, more than ever, I really needed his friendship.

When I told him what happened, he suggested we meet for lunch ASAP. Hopefully Jonathan could help untwist the knot in my stomach that seemed to be getting tighter. I still couldn’t believe this was happening.

Lunch went surprisingly well. Much like the man who administered the rapid test, Jonathan thought it could very well be a “false-positive” too. But just in case it wasn’t, he assured me that everything would be ok. He laid out all of the steps I would need to take: choosing a specialist, setting up appointments, dealing with the department of health, going on meds …

A good gal friend of mine took me to the appointment to discover my final results. When they came back positive, my brain temporarily lost most normal function. She drove me home where another joined us in the need for support. But these women didn’t know anything about HIV. I needed someone who could comfort me with actual knowledge of this disease. I texted Jonathan and he immediately came over.

His vast knowledge helped my friends just as much as it did me. For some reason, in the first couple hours of my diagnosis I convinced myself that this whole thing would eventually lead to a horrific cancer diagnosis. Jonathan assured us that the meds help keep the immune system normal and that I wouldn’t be at any great cancer risk.

Around 5pm, the girls had to leave and return to their normal lives. Alone, Jonathan and I sat on the couch and I started to cry again. He leaned in and wiped my face. As I sniffled, he leaned in closer and began to kiss me. I immediately cringed and started to pull away. This didn’t seem to matter to him. His head followed, licking my lips with his tongue.

Jonathan was an attractive guy, but I didn’t want this. I just found out I had one of the world’s most terrifying STDs. Making out or getting it on was the last thing on my mind, yet for some odd reason, I felt powerless to stop any of this from happening. I felt so vulnerable in that moment that I simply couldn’t tell him no.

He stood up and grabbed my hand, leading me back to my own bedroom. On my own bed, he unzipped my pants and went down on me. The feeling of Jonathan giving me oral made me cry more. I closed my eyes and thought of the sexiest things I could in hopes that I would ejaculate and end this as soon as possible. Shockingly, it worked. Of course things didn’t really end until he could get off too.

When I looked up at him, the expression on Jonathan’s face changed. He no longer gave me sweet glances of hope. Instead he looked worried.

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “No one can know.”

 I wasn’t sure if he needed to hide this from his partner or to protect his reputation as an HIV mentor. And I no longer understood why he had even come over. Did he really want to help? Or had he just wanted to bag me in the sack? The day already felt shameful enough with my HIV diagnosis. Now on top of that, I felt like Jonathan’s dirty little secret.

He left in a hurry which made me feel even more used. I noticed it was 6pm: time for “The Simpsons.” I laid in front of the TV too exhausted to even cry anymore. If life had to feel this horrible, at least I could escape it for an hour with some cartoons. But after that hour ended, I simply didn’t know how much more real life I could take.