An image of the moment I was diagnosed HIV positive remains vivid in my mind. The feelings and emotions that ran through my body like a lightening bolt that day are not easily forgotten. They will be with me forever, as will my feeling of infectiousness upon hearing the words that have played in my mind like a broken record all these years: “Josh, I am sorry, but you are HIV positive.”
I remember telling myself that this would be the end of the road when it came to my sex life. Children? Forget it. That would never happen. Who would ever want to be with me, and how could I bring myself want to be with someone else again when condomless sex got me into this situation in the first place?
The first time I had sex after my diagnosis, it was with a sex worker in Tijuana, Mexico. This was a major step for me. At the time, I had not yet started treatment. I knew enough about HIV to understand that by using a condom I would be protecting both her and me. I longed not only for the physical affection I felt I would never again receive, but also mentally I wanted to prove to myself that sex was not out of the picture.
I went into a small brothel labeled a “massage parlor.” You know those ones, right? Where happy-endings are not only a hope, but a guarantee. Well, yeah, it was one of those. In typical red light style, they had all the women line up, and I chose the one I would spend the next few hours with. As I glanced over, I saw a beautiful woman in her early thirties with long black hair and green eyes. Let’s call her “Alejandra.”
I didn’t know whether I could bring myself to disclose at this stage of my diagnosis. I knew it was the right thing to do, even though we were both protected by the condom, but I didn’t know how she would react. I figured that I needed to tell her, even if she was a sex worker providing a service. And so, I did.