One of my clients has been living with AIDS for a few years. He didn't expect to catch it. He didn't wear a condom. He just needed to get a little more love from someone that wasn't his man, and some part of him inside can probably never forgive that moment of promiscuity.
And he's a damn good guy trying to give back to the community, speaking up about his illness, and trying to educate a growing number of deafened ears. Super-resistant HIV. Global epidemic. Wrap it up every time. EVERY time. It only takes one slip. No need for drug cocktails. We can be buff and wonderful and pretty and proud and it'll all work out okay.
He told me a sad story about making his rotations through the city's HIV/AIDS support groups -- the sad tale of men doing all but dropping their trousers and shaking their asses, preening, begging for a little contact. "It's okay," a resigned-to-death smile, "it's already too late for me. Gimme all you got. Whatever you want." I beg you. Please.
And that's really sad -- a disease with such intense and unforgiving mortality, ultimately an act of desperation, a longing to just feel love any sick and dirty way it can be brought.
Tragic, isn't it?
That's a reality... either you're on the invisible side of the AIDS barrier and can go tripping off of your own light fantastic, or you're in this desperate, dark world, far away from those visions of pearly-white teeth and beautiful bodies and smiling men who say that all they need is their one injection a day (SUSTIVA! sustains me!

.
It's cold, and it's very scary.