Bullshit

Just before I was diagnosed as HIV positive, a man I had been avoiding messaged me (see “Deniro” in my sex inventory post)... and he said something to the effect of,

“Considering that all the other men you encounter are boys, you might want to keep your options open, as far as I’m concerned. With 7 figures, I’m the only one who can provide you with the financial security you need. Just an observation.”

I took the bait. When I got my diagnosis, he was the first person I called, even before my sponsor. He told me, at his age (72), what did he care anyway? And he knew about the antivirals available these days, and wasn’t too concerned. But he did use it as another opportunity to corner me.

I was especially weak and vulnerable in that moment, so when he promised to love me and take care of me, I felt relieved: Thank GOD I wouldn’t have to be alone forever - that there’s still someone who wants me. And he wants to take care of me financially, too? And all I have to do is visit him once in awhile and fuck him?

Okay, I can do that, I thought...

For awhile.

Until, earlier tonight, he detected that I was “less than enthusiastic” about the whole deal. He expressed his desire to see me before January, and I reiterated the impossibility, with my business and my kids - it would have to be just after the holidays, while my son is visiting with his grandma, and my daughter might be able to stay at dad’s, and my work will be all caught up.

At some time after midnight, he texted me about his problem with me not jumping at the idea of coming down to So Cal to see him sooner.

So, okay, he knows.

He knows I’m not too keen on trading my vagina for money. I mean, I used to do that for nothing - well, for “love,” but that never worked. If I wasn’t “done” with that lifestyle before (I was not, clearly), I definitely want to be done now. And I can no longer play the actress. I can’t act enthusiastic about it. 

So he and I are “done”, I think.

I wonder how long I can handle being “done” before I stop being “done” again. I’ve sucked at being “done” for years now. Failed completely. Hence, the HIV. 

If one good thing - one really great thing - can come of this... I’m hoping it will do for me what I could never do for myself.

As long as I can survive the aloneness of not being loved “that way”.

For a love addict, it feels like death.

Only, death would be easier.

Of course I would never go there. I’ll pick up my cross and raise my two kids to the best of my ability, by myself. It’s what I’ve been wishing I could do for years - not “needing” a man.

So, here goes nothing. Or should I say...

No one.

This is such bullshit.