The bear group I sometimes hung around with met once a month at a local bar, and I took Metro there one evening to join them. A middle-aged guy I’d never seen before introduced himself as Clyde and we chatted a little through the evening. When it was time to leave, Clyde offered me a ride back to my house but once in his car (doesn’t this seem to happen a lot to me?) he suggested going instead to his place, and I accepted (which he must have been planning all along, says the pot calling the kettle black).
Clyde had a house in a quiet part of southeast DC, and we went up to his bedroom. He became very cuddly and not being very tall, I had to bend down to kiss him. He paused at this point and said that before we went any further, he wanted me to know he was HIV-positive and that he would understand if I wanted to be taken home instead. I said I appreciated being informed but as long as we played safe, it was OKs.
Clyde turned out to have a fairly nice body and hairy chest and was nice to jump into bed with. As we got into cuddling, I realized that his dick wasn’t getting very hard. He saw I noticed and said that some of the HIV drugs had a side effect of impotence, explaining this honestly and without self-pity, which I admired. He jerked me off as I straddled him, feeling up his chest and shoulders, and fell asleep in his arms.
The next morning, he offered me juice and drove me home. I continued to see Clyde around town or occasionally at bear group events but we didn’t get together again.
And I was becoming less regretful about casual sex, even though I still cherished the idea of finding a real relationship. I was not only more experienced and comfortable with my sexuality, but I had also made some friends. Not feeling alone in the vastness of DC made a huge difference.