First Person by Shawn D. - Tweakroom

First Person by Shawn D.

My life is small these days. I don't power shop, do lunch or dance until dawn. I haven't had a hangover or been to "happy hour" in at least five years. But you don't know this or care. After all, it's 2:30 in the morning and all you want is some dick and mine looks pretty damn good - especially if that's all you're looking at. I shot up a bunch of speed a couple of hours ago, tweeked in the mirror for awhile, tried on all my clothes, then opted for shorts - even though it's freezing outside. The speed is good and I'm ready to "party." I hit the street.

I am grateful for the speed coursing through my blood. The relief, however temporary, is total. I transcend the aches and pains, the chronic fatigue and the endless depression. I step out of time. At least for the next six hours none of this will cross my mind. The speed has tripped all circuits. Something has snapped.

This park is packed. I stick to the shadows making sure you can see my crotch. Momentarily, I am overwhelmed with despair. I feel sick. I go to the restroom and do a little more speed. Chemically altered, I am only in the moment and obsessed with sex. I step out and join this surreal primal dance we do in pantomime. Lives in the balance...

As the sun comes up, I sit alone on Broadway chain smoking and drinking coffee. My head feels like a war zone. I'm not ready to go home yet. As the speed wears off, I am aware of the world - people doing their lives, the smell of the air - I feel like a voyeur, not living, not dead, not knowing when or if I will do this again.

I had sex with at least ten different guys. I fucked four of them, had my cock in all of their mouths. Two of them wanted my piss in their mouth, their face. One guy begged, "Let me eat your ass." I felt like a bomb had just gone off in my head. I want to cry. I want to tell him I love him. I want to get away. I want more speed.

I asked him to repeat himself and he said, "Please, let me eat your ass." He was on his knees. I looked at him and told him to open his mouth. The explosions in my head were deafening. I slammed my cock in his mouth, grabbed him by the hair and pinned him against the tree. I watched his face. I wanted to choke him. I pulled back for a moment and asked him if I hurt him. He said, "Yes." Do you want more? Again, "Yes." I pushed him back banging his head roughly against the tree. I pulled his face up by the hair, tried to get him to look at me, my face, my eyes. He looked at my cock. I made sure he couldn't move. I slapped him a couple of times. I know it hurt. He did not resist. I watched his face. As I pushed harder, I felt him shudder. I could see his eyes getting bigger. I pushed harder and stuck my fingers in his nose. I wondered what he felt. He couldn't breath. I wanted to scare him. I wanted his life to flash before his eyes. I wanted him to remember me. Something went snap. I left him on his knees gasping for air - without a word.

I hate coming down, dread going home and having to deal with all of these deeply disturbing images of last night, of us, of you and me. I ask myself, "How in the fuck could I do these things knowing I have AIDS?" and I answer myself, "How could you do these things knowing about AIDS?" I did not come, piss or let anyone rim me, but not one guy asked me to wear a condom. What in the fuck is wrong with us? Who and where are the responsible parties? Do you blame me? Do I blame you, or maybe the speed? So how do you feel? Am I a monster? Did I expose you to AIDS? For what and who do we care? Are you pissed? And with who? At what point are we all responsible?

I am pissed at all of us for our anonymous, exploitative, dehumanizing sex. I am angry that the only warmth I get from most gay men has been nothing but a grope and a blowjob in the night. I am pissed that we ask each other about our cock sizes with more recall than we do our names. I am pissed that most of us take better care of our dildos than we do each other. And I would do anything, give anything to change our lives, to make you care enough about yourself that you would not get on your knees and risk your life just to suck my cock.

After fifteen years of AIDS, I do value life - yours and mine - and care deeply. And I will until the next time I do speed. Then you're on your own.

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