Worst Best-Date Ever

So I had a great date last night. And I had a really horrible date last night.
Here's what happened.
About two months ago, I met this guy on Tinder. He swiped right, I swiped right, so we knew there was some mutual attraction. He was going to Phoenix, then I was going to Orlando, so we kept chat light and breezy. No immediate plans were made to meet.
And I started working on this July photo challenge and I came up to Thursday and had 3 different guys back out on me for my "Uniform" shot.
160721-Uniform-013-Edit
I turned to Elias.
He is in the Navy and was open to posing for me. So we set up the shot after he got off work at 9pm. So for a few hours (from 2 - 9pm off and on) we texted back and forth, and the conversation drifted away from photograph and into dating. We interviewed one another. We admitted our biggest worries about dating - him, having someone waste his time; me, having someone fetishize my weight. We talked about sexual roles, past indiscretions, several marriage proposals were bandied about because the answers were just that good.
He's 31, something newish for me; those who know me know I tend to date younger than that, if you can call what I do "dating".
He has a career, he lives in his own apartment, he has family and friends around him. He's like a totally normal guy who is cute as fuck and who likes me for me, as much as he knows.
And we do the photo shoot and we go to a bar for a drink to talk quietly.
Wrong bar. Pecs was packed for a "Drink & Draw" event. I had been told by another friend earlier in the night that it was dead, but that was, after all, earlier in the night. By 10:30 it was packed to the gills and hotter than hell in that non-AC bar. We had our drinks, we talked a bit, and around midnight I gave him some choices: he could stay here and hang with his friends who were out in the smoking patio (I didn't want to go out there - I had had enough smoke in Orlando), he could have me drive him home if he was ready to leave, or he could come back to my place for some quiet talking and…. whatever.
He chose option 3.
We were getting into our explorations quite intensely when I realized there was one more thing I didn't know about him.
"What is your HIV status?" I asked.
"I'm pop, I thought I'd told you that already on Tinder."
If he had, I didn't remember. But it isn't a deal breaker. No problem. We just make sure and make good choices - can't be forgetful. "There are condoms in the nightstand," I say.
And then the entire date when to fuck.
"I don't use condoms."
What?
You don't…. but you're positive and I'm negative… that's how people keep from getting infected… you don't…. you just….. don't?
We stopped, still tangled in each other's arms.
We talked about PrEP, we talked about treatment, we talked about "undetectable viral loads", we talked about infinitely low risk….
But the night was over.
He dressed and wanted to walk home, declining my offer of a ride.
I think I had thought about it for a moment - everything else about him was so spot-on for what I wanted, I wanted to make that part ok too. I thought, "Maybe if I just go on Truvada then we can…." But no. I can't. It's a numbers game, right? If you hook up with a guy who is HIV+ once, you have good odds that you won't contract the virus. But if you're in a relationship with a guy who is HIV+ and you're having sex once or twice a day, every day, for weeks, months, years… your odds of transmitting the virus are huge over time. What would be the point in starting something that I can't finish?
A friend of mine pointed out at breakfast this morning that I'm making progress. I've gone from no dates, to bad dates, to great dates that end badly.
Surely something good is coming along soon, right?
blog comments powered by Disqus