living positive by paul montero
YOU
Can
RING
My
BELL
I’ve started listening to myself lately. (Gasp!) I’ve found that I can come off a little all know it to be true: there really can’t be romance without at least the prospect
bit preachy. This month, however, I’m doing things differently and talking about of good sex. But I certainly didn’t want to throw him away. That was until he let
the power of the Audible Ringing Tone—that funny sound that the telephone me know (conveniently late) that common condom use isn’t nearly as common
line makes to let us know the phone on the other end is ringing. In the exclusively “where he comes from.” Goodbye monsieur—whimsical French accent and all.
gay cyberland of Adam², this infamous sound byte has found a new meaning Despite my stinking…eh, stinging defeat with Pepé Le Pew, my foreigner kick
with Internet-surfing ‘mos worldwide. It marks the arrival of new messages in our continued full-force to a land down-under with a man we’ll call Lynus. Like the
online inbox and has subsequently conditioned the male heart to race with the countless men who leave their profiles’ HIV status entries blank, he made it clear
anticipation that perhaps Mr. Right has finally found our screen name. without a word that he was poz. I can understand the need for discretion, but a
At least that’s how it feels the first time. A few thousand inbox alerts and an hookup site really isn’t the place to be coy about this sort of thing. But his profile
equal number of disappointments later, you’re reminded of Pavlov’s salivating did mention he was a “very laid-back kind of guy.” True as this was, every minute of
dogs in hindsight of the fleeting thrill. There’s only so much mutilated grammar his drowsy conversation fueled my suspicion that his easy-does-it demeanor was
and HIV-intolerance we can stand before lunging our laptops out a window. chemically induced. Hey, no judgment. We all get our kicks from different licks,
“Let’s conversate...U clean?...Where U at?...Whatchu get into?” What I’m “into” but it felt like I was the third wheel on his date with his beloved THC. On the bright
is someone with a respectable mastery of the English language. In my search side, his sexy Aussie accent was decipherable and he smelled great—a factor
for such a specimen, I find it ironic that two of the best candidates came from which certainly served the mood when he invited me to his place.
abroad…but then again, I did ask that Magic 8-Ball of mine for something com- Unfortunately post-coitus irony struck again when he revealed to me, from his
pletely out of the ordinary. neurotically paralyzed state, that he was really, REALLY bothered by the presence
Apparently there exists an oasis of emotionally considerate gay men who treat of “man fluid” that resulted from our session. I didn’t think anything of it since I’d
each other with respect. As of a few months ago, North America wasn’t it. Sébas- encountered many guys who shared that quirky phobia—before I’d serocon-
tien was an exchange student from Paris; handsome, humble, refreshingly poz- verted, of course. As I stood over his bathroom sink ringing out the washcloth I
friendly and overall a bona fide gentleman. Next to California’s image-obsessive used to wipe all the “evidence” from the crime scene, I realized that it wasn’t just a
tendencies bubbling up in the summer heat, Sébastien was a much-needed quirk. It was different. I was the thing that freaked him out because I was openly
breath of fresh air. And then came the stink bomb. poz...and I’d just finished cleaning up the physical embodiment of it! That flash of
In no way did his lack of personal hygiene alter my perception of other Euro- insight didn’t feel very good. Neither did the subsequent days of silence when a
pean men, but it sure didn’t help it when—after failed attempts to inject some nice inbox ringing tone would’ve been appreciated.
sensuality into vigorous soap and scrub sessions together—the pungent whiff Looking back, it’s silly how I convinced myself that a man’s country of origin
showed absolutely no sign of subsiding. I felt powerless, like I’d come home from could actually contribute to his compatibility with me—especially when I had
a dinner run to a house of hungry roommates with the wrong takeout in hand a perfectly decent, sweet (and indigenous) guy ringing my inbox while I was out
that I just couldn’t throw away. I guess the specifics of my request for “something there getting tangled in foreign relations. He’s since shown me to look in my own
different” needed a little revision. backyard for exotic experiences and, most importantly, that I don’t need the
Later, as my friends joked that I ordered a “beefcake with no B.S.” and instead validation of a borrowed sound byte or some outlander’s affections to live it up!
got a side of B.O., I silently pondered, “Is this the scope of compromise I’ll have to
make with every man simply because I’m HIV-positive?” It sounds shallow, but we feedback?
livingpositive@ragemonthly.com
24 RAGE monthly | August 2009
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