So there I was at a funeral and all I could think about was sex. Before you think that’s inappropriate, it was the celebration of life for Jim Deva and the eulogies were incredibly sex-positive.

As the speakers reflected back on his life, his irreverence, his fight for sexual liberation, I began reflecting on my current state, my lack of sex, my lack of involvement in our community. But most importantly, my lack of sex.

What had happened to me? Why had I become so withdrawn from other gay men? Why were nearly all my friends straight? Why oh why was I so satisfied with my right hand?

As I left St Andrew-Wesley’s Church, I turned to my friend Lucy and said, “I need to have sex tonight. I need to fuck as a tribute to Jim.”

I left the funeral’s after-party at Celebrities to meet up with a friend at Pumpjack. I was already getting pretty drunk at this point. After a little while on the dancefloor, my friend introduced me to someone —let’s call him Darryl. Within seconds, I’d grabbed Darryl and started kissing him passionately, even a bit rough. It was like I’d switched into animal mode. I quickly suggested we go fuck and he said he lived around the corner. So we rushed back to his place.

We pretty much tore each other’s clothes off and he hopped onto his bed and got on all fours. I began eating his ass. A nice, smooth, tidy ass. Without even thinking, I put a big gob of spit on my knob and shoved it in him. I switched back and forth between eating his ass and fucking him till I finally shot my load. By this time it was 3am. The hangover was beginning and I needed to head home, take my contacts out and go to bed. So I gathered up my stuff and left.

The next day, I couldn’t get my mind off what had happened. First, I’d finally had sex after months of nothing. Second, I topped! I’d tried topping maybe 15 years earlier but hadn’t enjoyed it. Third, I barebacked.

I’d only barebacked (knowingly) with a boyfriend and I’d never topped that way. And it felt amazing. Two weeks went by and all I could think about was how hot that sex was. Rough, raw, and so full of pleasure. So I contacted the friend I’d met Darryl through and asked for his number. I texted Darryl and we arranged for him to come over the next day.

We fucked and watched movies. In fact, I fucked him three times that day. His smooth bubble butt, his nervous laugh, his constant grin. He was such a hottie.

It was a great day filled with great sex. He left later in the evening. And then I began to think.

This guy just lets me fuck him bare and give him loads without questions? I’m amazed he’s not positive yet. Wait a second. I never asked him his status.

So I sent him a text:

Me: Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?

Darryl: Sure. But do you want me to call you?

Me: No, that’s okay, I’m heading to bed soon. Are you HIV-positive?

Darryl: Yes, positive undetectable. Do you know what that means?

Me: Yep. Totally cool with it.

I later got the full story. Apparently Darryl had arrived at my place for our second “date” shaking, ready to disclose his status to me. But when I opened the door and he was staring in my face, he just couldn’t do it. He knew that if he disclosed at that moment, I could call the cops on him for the first time we had sex without his disclosure.

The irony — if I was at risk, he’d have to keep putting me at risk or otherwise tell me the truth and risk going to jail. Laws criminalizing non-disclosure could actually be putting us at risk. And of course the first time we hooked up we were both drunk — he never thought to tell me and I never thought to ask.

Politically, I was already against non-disclosure laws. And I wasn’t about to be a hypocrite.

I quickly went online to reassure myself about the science I’d heard of — that we’d been having safe sex. Ever since I was a teenager, I’d always said that status would never get in the way. But that was theory. This was the first time I’d knowingly slept with a positive guy.

And it wasn’t just okay. It was fantastic. The sex was great. I didn’t wear a condom. I’m still alive. I’m still negative.

So much of the fear I’d held started to evaporate in that moment. Twenty years of fear. Twenty years of anxiety. It didn’t go away completely but it started to loosen its grip — a funeral and four loads later.

I hooked up with Darryl again but he was struggling with alcohol and substance problems and we stopped seeing each other. I started searching out undetectable guys so I could fuck without condoms. I started having more sex than I’ve ever had in my life and it was far better and less anxiety inducing.

I have Darryl to thank for that. And that’s a huge thank you, given how much my life has changed and how important sex has become to me in the last year.