I spilled my secret – then my date told me to take off my clothes

Between the grey walls, dull PowerPoint presentation and rain splattering on the window, I’d been about to fall asleep at my trade union meeting. And then Thierry walked in. With turquoise eyes to swim in and a defiant jawline encasing the softest lips, there was no denying that he was wildly gorgeous.

When he spoke, a soft Parisian accent floated across the room and suddenly, we were all alert. As Thierry shared his experience of igniting bold, creative and law-changing campaigns from Paris to Hackney on LGBTQ+, HIV+, anti-racism and sex-workers rights, I was instantly mesmerised.

Yet, as much as I cared about changing the world too, I was focussed on two things…. One: could I get his number? And two: would I be able to unlock the secret that was eating me up from inside to him – and how would he react?. Seven years earlier in 2005 a rash had spread around my body in a flash. I was covered head to toe in red blotches and spots.

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At the time I thought it was a really bad bout of flu. My housemate knew better though and rushed me to the doctors to get blood tests and I was swiftly called back for results. Turns out, I was ‘seroconverting’ – when the body produces antibodies in response to a virus – and the rash was an indicator of HIV.

Because of the Section 28 law, I’d never heard about HIV in school, or the need to look after or protect myself as a queer person, or anything so silly and dignified, so I had no idea of the signs. In fact, my only frame of reference was from watching the falling AIDS tombstone adverts stating ‘Don’t Die of Ignorance’ or my beloved EastEnders where Mark Fowler sped off on his motorbike after seeing ‘AIDS Scum’ graffitied on his wall. The images that defined a generation.

My HIV+ diagnosis felt like a bombshell. I genuinely never thought I would be healthy, fall in love or have sex again without five bin bags strapped to my dick. I was devastated, lonely and depressed. Attempting to date, I heard all manner of ignorant comments: ‘Can we share a sandwich?’ or ‘Do I need to medically clean the toilet after you use it?’ So soon I gave up.

I locked my heart in a box and the whole reality of HIV just hit me. It was like someone suddenly slammed my face against the window and changed all the rules. And then I met Thierry. I’m still not sure how it happened – as I thought he was completely out of my league – but after the meeting he gave me his number with a smile.

For days after, I spent countless hours staring at Thierry’s number in my phone. On crammed Tube rides to work all I kept thinking was ‘could I message him? Could something happen?’. Eventually, I texted him and was invited round. I had faith that something good might happen and he was also really hot!.

On a stormy evening in October 2012, I went to his flat complete with bullet points scribbled on my hand from hours of practising a well-rehearsed speech. I knew I had to tell him, but his reaction worried me. When he opened the door, he was just in boxer shorts – he wasn’t making this easy for me.

‘Erm, Thierry, I just wanted to tell you something before I come in,’ I said, shaking. He cocked an eyebrow in confusion. ‘I can leave straight away, it’s no problem, I know the taxi number already…’ I continued and then he interrupted. ‘What’s wrong Dan? Spit it out,’ he said, looking concerned.

‘I don’t really know how to say this, there’s no really nice way, I’m HIV positive.’ I finally blurted out and then came the pause. A pause that felt like eternity. I was expecting rejection but I had plucked up courage and had a good feeling about him.

‘Don’t be so patronising,’ he said finally. ‘Do you really think you’re the first person with HIV I know?’. His eyes sharpened and I felt myself apologising. This was not the usual response. ‘I don’t need you to tell me about how I should respond to HIV, as a gay man, as someone who observed Section 28, and importantly as a human being on this planet – I should work it out for myself,’ he said.

Mentally, I prepared myself to be shown the door (literally), but then he warmed, turned to me and grinned. ‘Now come in, get your clothes off and get in my bed.’ I blushed and was both relieved and shocked simultaneously. After resigning myself to a sensual-less life, touch turned out to be absolutely electrifying – as did kissing, licking, caressing, teasing each other, giggling and more.

Waking up after our night of outrageously hot sex I felt like a new human. But the surprises kept on coming. He fed me breakfast and then reached on top of the shelves for films about HIV+ activism. ​​ACT UP London is a diverse, non-partisan group of individuals united in anger and committed to direct action to end the HIV pandemic, along with the broader inequalities and injustices that perpetuate it @actup.london.