The Teenage Dream

I met D roughly 5 months after I split from my ex-husband. He was like a tornado. He appeared in my life and turned everything around, blew everything apart. He was, crazy, exciting and left destruction behind.

I loved him. Rightly or wrongly I fell for him the very first time I met him.  To me he was an extremely attractive man. He’s handsome, with big pretty eyes. He has a slim, athletic and muscly (but not too muscly) body and a sexy, cheeky smile. D was extremely sexual. I loved that, I saw something in him that I saw in myself. I only originally met up with him for sex. At the time I fully believed I was just satisfying some sort of fetish for him to be with a bigger woman. Not that I minded for a one off encounter. He seemed fun, kinky and I fancied him.

I could write about 100 different posts around the complexity that was our 18(ish) month relationship. I’ll probably write more about him, but for this one I’ll talk about the start.

We started chatting early one afternoon. We met online through tinder and exchanged numbers quickly.  We had a sex chat and exchanged some sexy pictures/videos and voice messages. Everything about him got me going. I was new to this sexting world and it was the second or third time I’d done this with anyone and I was careful not to expose my face etc. I didn’t see the harm as he lived in a different city. It was fun and turned me on a lot. Then, unusually, as soon as we ‘finished’ he called me. No one had done that before. After orgasms the others disappeared. I lay there looking at my phone debating whether to answer. I thought it was sweet for him to call. We chatted and got on really well.

I had an unexpectedly child free evening, one of my first. And we arranged to meet up. I decided to drive to his house so we could have sex.

The whole drive there I was excited. My stomach was filled with butterflies and I was nervous. Many different scenarios played through my mind. When I arrived I sat in my car around the corner debating whether I should just go home. At the time contracting HIV wasn’t one of the reasons why I was thinking about not sleeping with him. It wasn’t even on my radar.

If anything he was better looking in real life. It was the hottest day of the year, he was waiting on his doorstep shirtless (I would come to learn he hardly ever wore a shirt at home, regardless of the temperature!) having a cigarette. He looked sexy as fuck! And seemed delighted and surprised that I was actually there.

We went up to his bedroom and I sat on his bed. He walked around the room, babbling nervously about nothing. Commenting about how calm I was. I have self confidence when it comes to sexual situations. I know where I am. I’m calm and I’ve got it under control. I figured everyone in these situations just wants to have fun and get off so it relaxes me.

Then something changed in him, he got his confidence back and crawled onto the bed and kissed me. It was passionate and sparked something inside me. He said he’d not been with a woman for a while and he delighted in the sight of my breasts and body. I loved the sounds he made and how vocal he was during sex, moaning, grunting, saying dirty things; I loved it all. During foreplay he turned on some music to drown out the noises. It was a mix CD of some pop punk classics. The type of thing I listened to when I was a teenager. It created an overload of the senses. The sight, smell, feel and sound  of him enveloped me and I was taken away. He fucked hard and roughly. He told me what to do and held me in place when I did it. I love him taking control of me and enjoying my body. It was what I had always wanted in a sexual partner and so far had not yet experienced. That first time we used a condom.

After, we chatted, hung out and watched a film. Later that evening I was lay across his bed on my front, mostly naked. Doing something on my phone and he started playing with my arse. This was something we had spoken about earlier on in the day and I’d expressed a love for anal which he shared. I’d never had a partner into it, I’d had to always ask for it. He teased me and turned me on so much I wanted to have sex again. We had already used the only condom, but we did it anyway. We were greedy. Too keen to extend the connection we had found in each other in case this was going to be the only time we met. The second time was even better than the first. I was glad I did it. Before I left we had nice long kisses and I was floating.

I try to not regret what happened that day. I try and separate the experience of that day and linking it in with my diagnosis. I made the decision to have condomless sex, just as he did. 3  weeks later I got “flu” and around 10 days after that I was diagnosed.

I used to think back on that first encounter and get butterflies again. Now time has gone on I feel sad. It’s not changed the intensity of everything I felt, or how much I enjoyed it. I just feel sad for me, that young woman making a mistake and for all the consequences and trials that were to come.

Meeting D changed my life, in so many ways. Some relating the the HIV, some not. He’ll always be in my thoughts because of what happened between us, even though we are no longer together. I generally don’t regret meeting him because if I hadn’t I wouldn’t be who I am now. A much stronger, more confident and self assured person than I ever was.

Though sometimes I wish I could’ve discovered all that on my own 🙂

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Author: pozwoman

Just your average HIV positive woman blogging about her life.

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