World AIDS Day

Jon reflects, Part 1

HIV and AIDS have been part of the world's reality for all of my adult life. It's not unreasonable to say that they have defined at least part of that life, and I'd have to suspect, the lives of every gay man of my generation in one way or another.

When I was in my mid-late teens, AIDS was just starting to be identified. At that time, there was no question but that it was 'a gay plague', and no one had even begun to realise the devastating impact it would have around the world. Even the already significant numbers of infections in Africa were generally being blamed on bisexual prostitutes, so even that was connected back to gay sex, and the general view was that AIDS wasn't something that 'nice' (for which read 'normal') people needed to worry about. There was a joke at my school: "What does GAY stand for? Got AIDS Yet?", that I never dared challenge, because the assumption would be made (rightly, as it turned out) that I was gay. And at that point, I was in no way ready to deal with the impact of that.

By the time I went off to university in 1985, the ground rules for sexually-active gay men had been set: Promiscuity was bad, sex without a condom could kill you, and fun was out of fashion.

Now this was a bit of a blow. One of the things that had sustained me through the difficult last few years at home was the chance to get my hands on as many attractive men's bodies as possible. The few older gay men I knew all told stories about all the fantastic sex they'd had, with more men than they could count. Now, to be honest, I was always rather restrained in my aims - I didn't want to lose count of my partners. I just wanted to have some. 'As many as possible' in the context of my past experience, could have been covered by 'one' and I'd have been happy. AIDS made this seem an increasingly-unlikely possibility. When I started hitting Manchester's clubs, I met a lot of very nice men who were all as scared as me, and who all wanted to meet someone with whom they could spend evenings talking and possibly, (in the case of the more hell-raising ones only) indulging in some mutual masturbation. ('Mutual' here would constitute being just about on the same premises, but in different rooms, wrapped in clingfilm, shouting encouragement to each other, before disinfecting and kissing each other chastely on the cheek (with no actual contact) before going their separate ways. I exaggerate of course. But only a little.)

Of course, being a virgin, I was perfectly safe from everyone else's point of view, but I was so scared by the way some of their eyes lit up upon hearing this that I usually ran a mile. Everyone I knew, 'knew someone who'd been infected during their one and only time' - it was just one of those urban myths that seemed all-too-likely to be true. As I discovered it was when I found out I really did know someone in that exact situation.

So my innately un-promiscuous nature was only further curtailed by circumstance. There were people who didn't give a damn of course, but who on earth wanted to get involved with them? They were probably already infected.

Eventually, of course, I did meet people with whom I had relationships, and with whom, after suitably-protracted negotiations (in the non-financial sense) I ended up sharing a bed. And then I discovered what all the fuss was about. And I resented even more this disease that was keeping more people from discovering it.

And then the other resentment came along - the one that I'm wholly ashamed of, but of necessity must admit here. I resented the people who'd 'caused' AIDS. (Now note that this was still in the days of the 'gay plague' and before I was even remotely as aware as I am now.) But I resented those madly-swinging, promiscuous men (whose very promiscuity, on another level, I envied) who had spread this devastating disease far and wide by being so free with their attentions. Yes, dear reader, even though only deep down, I became reactionary. I am deeply ashamed.

It didn't last long, I'm glad to say. I got informed, and took it upon myself to inform others. I was the first person I knew to wear a red ribbon, because it was a sure-fire way to get to talk about the subject. Outside of the gay community at that time, very few people knew what it meant, so people always asked. Of course, once I wore it when I went back to the North to visit the family, and a friend of my mother's, having asked what it was for, pulled a classic 'distaste' face, so I didn't get to do much informing there.

In my last two years at Manchester, I had one boyfriend for pretty much the whole time, and in that situation you start to break down some of the barriers (stop it! - you know what I mean), and are able to talk about the kind of things you'd like to do, or try, (or watch.... joke). This is not going to turn into a distasteful catalogue of my sexual exploits, but suffice it to say that new experiences were had on both sides. In that situation, it's easy to put aside all the fears and the paranoia that dominated the 'scene' in the late 80s.

Like all relationships, that one eventually went wrong, and I moved to London and embarked on new ones. By this point - some rather more sensible attitudes were on display - safe sex as a concept had gained general acceptance among gay and straight communities alike, as HIV had been identified, and AIDS was becoming a cross-sexuality problem. Suddenly, the old fear of intimacy was replaced by a more pragmatic approach, that said "Let's be intimate sensibly".

And lo - there was sensible intimacy across the land, and the people were full of laughter and rejoiced and danced to Kylie records.

To Part 2....(you'll need the password) >>