Clay? Clay? Is That You?

So I'm spending a mere three hours or so cruising Manhunt for coffee dates, when I get an inturruption of an instant message. Which most people seem to hate, but I really don't mind. I can always muster a "hello" and a "no" at least. As a matter of fact, I rather enjoy saying no to people who bust in on me asking for sex. But I'm a little twisted like that.

In any case, my would be suitor opened with a pithy and oh so sexy "Hey".

To which I responded, "What's up man?"

"Nice pix. You lookin'?"

While this fascinating conversation was going on I was busy filling in the search box on the main page to bring up his profile, as the browser I was working in thought it was a pop-up and blocked it. Before you tell me that I can set the browser to allow the pop-up I know that already, this way works fine and I'm too lazy to set it up. So by now I had pulled up his profile, and found that out of the six pictures he had posted, five of them were blocked and only the picture of his (I presume) hard cock was showing. Not that I presume it was hard, it was, but that I presume it was his. But you never know.

Now, aside from him being audacious enough to think I'll agree to sex with him without seeing what he actually looks like, I also see in his profile his HIV status, listed as negative. Which prompts me to end this dalliance with:

"Sorry man, I prefer to get together with HIV+ guys. Take care and good luck.

Now here's surprise one. I get an answer back almost immediately.

"No, I'm really HIV+."

"Say what?"

"I just say I'm neg because I have a very important position in the music industry and I have to be careful."

And that's when it hit me. How could it not given the recent news? Could it be? Was it my turn? Was I about to get GAikened? And more than that, as hard (really really hard) as it is to believe, The GAiken is supposedly a top. Was I about to endure an hour of bareback butt reaming from America's Next Top Idol Survivor? Do they make a Fleet enema for that? I was giddy enough with anticipation that I decided to continue for a bit.

"So what do you do when you get together with a guy? Tell him when he's naked?"

"No. I tell them before if it seems like he's interested."

I got the distinct impression this was a big fat lie. I decided to not even point out that the conversation might not take place at all if you went ahead and let the men know you're HIV+ in the first place. And I also decided to skip the part about how annoyed I would be if someone wasted my time getting into a conversation and e-mailing back and forth, only to reveal the truth down the road at some nebulous point. Instead I tried for a little bit of sympathy. In case, you know, it was The GAiken looking to bare fuck me and leave behind the trick towel, so I could get really, monstrously rich by selling The Enquirer the story of The GAiken spilling his HIV+ seed up my hole. And don't you think for a single second I wouldn't.

"Wow. That's got to be hard, having to keep having that conversation with every guy."

OK, so it was sympathy couched in a dig.

"Whatever. Do you want to hook up or not?"

Clearly, I've annoyed The (possible) GAiken.

"I don't think it would work out man, but thanks."

I had no intention of hooking up with a possibly positive liar. Besides, it occurred to me that the chances that The GAiken had any reason to be in Rutherford, New Jersey were pretty slim.