Love a n d trust in the g a y '80s
Men who in other times would be good and decent people
now are desperately denying their health status , hoping that
if they ignore it they will not die. They do not care
that their bodies can be lethal weapons.
BY
M I C H A E L
S.
R E E D
The scene: The Spike, an L. A. bar
The time: February 1988
Action:
J '
"
4
t
en cruising, talking, groping each other
in the crowd. The men are handsome
and huge, at least seven feet tall and with
shoulders wide enough to land a Cessna upon.
The variety of men ranges from tortured queens
with too much mousse on their bleach-tipped
let you.”
crewcuts to daddies in flannel, jeans and
“ I’m not going to stop having sex.”
leather; from student-preppies with horn­
“ Who said you had to stop having sex? I’m
rimmed glasses and sweatshirts to ordinary men
saying that your partners ought to be warned so
they can make choices. Denying them that right
makes you a killer, as simply as if you take a
knife and shove it through their heart — except
using a knife would be more kind.”
“ So what happens now?”
“ That’s a good question.”
M
• • •
who dress simply in wardrobes purchased at
K-Mart. Their faces bear expressions in varying
degrees of hostility or friendliness, depending
on their particular modus operandi in the deli­
cate faggot art of cruising.
Then, in the crush of all those beautiful men,
I see a man, also drunk, blond and leather-
jacketed with a face that resembles a pouting
weasel. He weaves up to me. He strokes my
knee and leans in to kiss me. I put my hand out
and stop him. “ Kiss me,” he said. “ Come on
— kiss me. I'm not dying.”
Fade to black.
• • •
Fade in to: A restaurant in L.A., two men
talking over coffee in quiet, sometimes
anguished tones.
“ How long have you known?”
“ Three years.”
“ Why didn't you tell me sooner?”
“ I was afraid you’d leave me. I thought it
would be OK since we have safe sex.”
“ What about French kissing? And we don’t
know if condoms are always safe — they’re in
the medium-risk list. If you had told me, we
would have done things a lot differently.”
“ Just because I’m positive doesn’t mean I
have to tell everyone.”
‘ ‘How about the people you go to bed with?’ ’
“ No.”
“ How can you say that? How can you con­
sciously spread this disease?”
“ I’m not spreading anything.”
“ I feel betrayed. We’ve been together for
months and you wait until now to tell me some­
thing this important.”
“ I didn’t betray you, I just didn’t tell you.”
“ Same thing. You put on a condom and you
fucked me and the whole time you knew you
were antibody-positive. What if a condom had
broken?”
“ That never happened.”
“ But what if it had?Then I would be infected
too.”
“ How do you know you aren’t infected
already?”
“ I don't know for sure. But you certainly
shifted the odds. You have no business putting
your cock inside anyone unless they know that
you're positive and make the definite choice to
The word is trust. The implication is simple:
Forget it.
Walk through the bars. Look at the faces.
Trust. This one looks healthy. That one looks
“ clean.” Avoid “ trash.” But it's a lie. There's
no way to know. Appearances mean nothing.
Look at them. Smile at them. Take them home.
In the safe harbor of your bed. hold them and
touch them. In your mind, think of their semen
as a toxic fluid. Trust. Jerk off for them, have
them jerk off for you. Talk dirty. Trust. Safe
sex. If you like them, see them again. Love
while you can but don't expect everyone to
share your moral codes. Assume that everyone
is positive. And don't make the deadly assump­
tion that they’ll tell you if they are.
This plague has cornered the market on ter­
ror, denial, guilt, hopelessness and waste. Men
who in other times would be good and decent
people now are desperately denying their health
status, hoping that if they ignore it they will not
die. They do not care that their bodies can be
lethal weapons that because of their own denial
and ignorance spread the plague among those
who are foolish enough to trust them with their
health and lives.
Several friends have mentioned that they and
their lovers plan to be tested. If both partners'
results are negative, they want to rush right
home for a rousing, unprotected screw. Silly,
foolish, deadly fantasies. Any lover who sug­
gests this as an option is deluding himself.
Those days are over. Get used to it. Let no one
put his cock inside you without a condom on it,
no matter how much he loves you, no matter
how much you love him.
We must redefine trust in these days of
plague. Trust with your heart, not your health.
Trust is always a gamble anyway, and gambling
with your emotions is perfectly human, perfectly
fine. If you lose, those wounded emotions will
heal. If you gamble with your health, there is no
healing. A long, ugly, wasting death awaits
those who gamble with their health and lose.
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• • •
The scene: The Spike
The time: February 1988
Action:
He has been smiling at me all night. He is tall
and handsome. His shirt is open, his chest
massive and furry. Eventually he stands beside
me, touches me. I touch him.
“ What do you like to do?” he asks.
“ Depends on the person, the situation. Whai
about you?”
“ Cuddling, touching. A little affection. '
“ Sounds good. How about a backrub?”
“ I’d love it.”
“ Something safe?"
“ Yes.”
VISTA TRAVEL
SERVICE
224-5000
In Oregon 1-800-245-5557
200 S.W. MARKET • PORTLAND, OR
Wayne Boulette
Travel Counselor
•
Just Out • 13 • March 1988