It was time for my periodic visit to the VA, and with a new doctor. I might have been the last appointment of the day for there were only a couple of others in the waiting room...a lounge, really, as the VA staffers do well for us...fresh coffee, magazines, TV. There have been times when a dozen or so vets occupied the lounge, some of longstanding associations who conversed familiarly with personal news. I suspect we are all HIVers as we seem to fit the demographic, men in their 40's-50's-60's, most of us existing in precarious situations and I suspect some of us are quite on the edge of slipping into destitution. Thank God for the VA, this great nation and its great institutions and its deference to good old Christian guilt.
The unexpected revelation: my T-cell count is up, way up, to well over 600...for years it had settled around 300-350, never higher than 350. What have I done differently? It has to be the apple cider vinegar...a drop in a glass of water first thing in the morning, and a second drink of same before retiring...before the tooth brushing, since the acid can't be good for one's teeth. That has to be it. Maybe that crazy old doctor in Vermont with his folk medicine wasn't so crazy. Ah, and the viral load remains undetectable. Despite much indiscriminate whoring around, anonymous sex, charged loads up the ass and fuck parties with other poz guys. I don't want to give the impression that HIV is not so bad and can be controlled with doses of apple cider vinegar...that would be irresponsible...so this information will be restricted to this blog and its readers. I might share with other poz bruthas. As for the cute little bug chasers out there...well, there are a great many jackasses out there, most of them in their 20's who believe they are invincible and that HIV is little more than a manageable nuisance. This is a fallacious notion...but I am delighted with my own personal history...at least for today and after this visit. That's all I can say, as far as I can go. Who knows if this mystery can be sustained? We will return to this matter in later postings.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Back in the Saddle Again
Aaack, I have been sick with this nasty flu! And out of commission for a couple of weeks. It was really bad for only the first 36 hours or so, and then it was just a nuisance with annoying coughing and a raspy, smoky voice that hung on for weeks. It's a bore to relate more so I'll spare you the rest. Of course my thoughts drifted to my immune system...and whether it had been taxed heavily...one can't help thinking about it despite the stories in the papers about how this year's flu vaccine had 'failed,' did it take longer than usual, 'normal' whatever that may mean, to recover this time? I haven't been so sick for 10 years or so...well, that time I ended up in the hospital and then my whole life changed. More about that some other time.
As soon as I felt presentable: I searched manhunt and barebackrt for hook-ups. Ah, this time, my trick was only a few blocks away, walking distance...no expensive cabs, or tiresome buses and streetcars killing the mood. I was pretty horned up by the time I got to G.'s flat in a nice building on a lower slope of Nob Hill. A beer, some agreeable chit chat and then we got down to business...an adequate cock and a big bed...but jeez, the guy's taste in music was a minor turn-off, not a deal killer, but not appropriate for some nasty taboo bareback fucking...mainstream easy-listening from The City's 'favorite' channel...I persuaded G. to change to my station of circuit party trash. Maybe it's psychological but the music that accompanied one of the best fucks of my career (on a rimseat, and then in a sling, loaded on vodka and cum in a private house off Upper Market) was African tribal beats and chants...shit!! that was hot!...thinking about it gets me hard. But it is hard to find fuck music on the radio, except for occasional late night trance stuff on a progressive FM station but who wants to kill the mood diddling with the radio? Note to self: check out the African dept. at Virgin records. But it was White Party sort of stuff that accompanied G.'s thrusts into my ass...goddammit we older guys know how to fuck...shifting around, moving my legs up, flipping me over, slamming me on my side...I moved right along with every shift, his nice dick never slipped out, and I got some nice probes into my love canal, my shitter was gripping his schlong like no tomorrow.
Nice session, no nut, walked home around 1 a.m., pleasant night, the air having equalized, no winter edge that night. Home, got ready for bed, watching Sean Storm getting plugged on a massage table in tropical Florida. Beat off a little, fell asleep, feeling that the illness was really over, and the good old horndog tendencies were back.
As soon as I felt presentable: I searched manhunt and barebackrt for hook-ups. Ah, this time, my trick was only a few blocks away, walking distance...no expensive cabs, or tiresome buses and streetcars killing the mood. I was pretty horned up by the time I got to G.'s flat in a nice building on a lower slope of Nob Hill. A beer, some agreeable chit chat and then we got down to business...an adequate cock and a big bed...but jeez, the guy's taste in music was a minor turn-off, not a deal killer, but not appropriate for some nasty taboo bareback fucking...mainstream easy-listening from The City's 'favorite' channel...I persuaded G. to change to my station of circuit party trash. Maybe it's psychological but the music that accompanied one of the best fucks of my career (on a rimseat, and then in a sling, loaded on vodka and cum in a private house off Upper Market) was African tribal beats and chants...shit!! that was hot!...thinking about it gets me hard. But it is hard to find fuck music on the radio, except for occasional late night trance stuff on a progressive FM station but who wants to kill the mood diddling with the radio? Note to self: check out the African dept. at Virgin records. But it was White Party sort of stuff that accompanied G.'s thrusts into my ass...goddammit we older guys know how to fuck...shifting around, moving my legs up, flipping me over, slamming me on my side...I moved right along with every shift, his nice dick never slipped out, and I got some nice probes into my love canal, my shitter was gripping his schlong like no tomorrow.
Nice session, no nut, walked home around 1 a.m., pleasant night, the air having equalized, no winter edge that night. Home, got ready for bed, watching Sean Storm getting plugged on a massage table in tropical Florida. Beat off a little, fell asleep, feeling that the illness was really over, and the good old horndog tendencies were back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
