I think it’s about time I wrote about G.
G was an editor at a magazine with headquarters in Hell’s Kitchen, just a few blocks from his apartment. One night, while I was out drinking tequila and he was in drinking tea, we were close enough that Grindr brought us together.
I honestly don’t remember which of us messaged the other first, but I have a feeling it was me. G was exactly my type: shaggy dark hair, big kind eyes, worked with writers—what more could I want in a man?
On one of the last warm days of the year, we decided to get drinks at Merchants on 17th and 7th (now closed). The conversation was magical: He had a witty retort for every sassy thing I said, and I couldn’t stop smiling. After a couple glasses of wine, we talked about sex, and he revealed, “I’m HIV positive.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d never met anyone with HIV before, or any STD (that they told me about). He was so calm and confident telling me he was non-detectable, searching for a reaction. “If you have any questions,” he said, “I’m more than happy to talk about it.”
But I didn’t have any questions, because I didn’t know the first thing about it. So instead, I just said, “That doesn’t bother me at all,” and we continued our date.
After drinks, we went to the Highline. By then the sun had set, and we were cast in a mystical blue glow. We found a bench to sit on; nobody was around so late. Talking turned to kissing, and I just couldn’t stop—we sat there kissing for a long time, not even pausing when people walked by. Feeling adventurous, I even felt down the front of his pants: G was big, and hard as a rock, which made me hard too.
We laughed at each other, at the small amount of precum that showed through my red pants, at the fact that we were on the Highline making out like high schoolers.
As soon as we went down, we got up, walked to the subway, me on my way uptown to the Heights, him downtown and into Brooklyn. “I had a really amazing time,” I told him, and I meant it.
Immediately when I got home, I started to do research on HIV. But there were a lot of articles, a lot of “facts,” and it was all overwhelming. “If you have any questions, I’m more than happy to talk about it,” echoed in my mind. But I didn’t ask him any questions. Instead, I played busy when we’d text, and that second date never came.
