Hey, I’m D. I love being active and doing things that keep me moving. Health is my number one priority because if you can’t get your body moving, there’s a lot you can’t do. I’m fortunate to be able-bodied, and I don’t take that for granted. I love the beach, dancing at music festivals, and working out. Living in Tampa has been great for all these things because there’s plenty of places to go to year-round. Oh, and I’m HIV positive.

I’ve been living with HIV for a long time, but… I haven’t always shared my status with the guys I hook up with. Initially, I didn’t disclose my status unless someone asked—kind of a “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, but that weighed heavily on me because I felt like I was being dishonest. When you’re having sex with someone, it’s supposed to be pleasurable, not filled with guilt or fear.

The turning point for me was realizing that adhering to my values of integrity and honesty was crucial. It felt dishonest to lie by omission, so I decided that I’m going to disclose my status to all my sexual partners going forward. Putting aside some selfish feelings to do that is challenging for me though. Self-preservation is crucial, so it can be tricky for people to understand why they should disclose their status. For me, disclosing my status is important because it gives people the choice to decide if they want to take that risk and be with someone who is positive.

Disclosing my status has made me feel better about my sexual activity and how I choose to operate in the world. I want to share my energy with people who are either educated or willing to become educated. I’ve had bad experiences with people who aren’t open to learning about UNDETECTABLE = UNTRASMITTABLE and then they make assumptions about what it means to be HIV positive. It’s just something you have to deal with, but every time it happens, it gets a little easier. Sometimes I think, “Okay, I dodged a bullet.” It hasn’t made me less likely to disclose, but I know it might be different for others.

For me, disclosure is more about being positive and honest. More people should be talking about sexual health and disclosure. When I disclose my status now, guys often feel like I’m being vulnerable, and sometimes we feel closer afterwards.

Hey! I’m Khemani. I go to school in Tampa, but I’m originally from Coral Springs. It’s been a bit of a shift getting used to living here. Coral Springs is not too far from Ft Lauderdale, but it’s not a big city. I’ve always loved being around friends and family, and I’m really into art and music. I don’t paint all the time, but when I do, it’s something that really centers me. So, college has made it easier for me to be around all these things I love.

Now that I’m a student, being away from home has given me a lot more freedom. That freedom helped me take more control over my health, especially my sexual health. It wasn’t something we covered much in school, and it definitely wasn’t something we talked about at home. But being in Tampa, with access to the student wellness center and providers who actually care, made it easier to take that step. I think it’s important to take care of my sexual health.

I started taking PrEP when I realized I wanted to be proactive. I wasn’t super sexually active, but I still wanted to feel confident and protected for when I do meet up with guys. I was on daily PrEP for a few months, checking in with my provider regularly. During these check-ins I talked with my provider about what works and how I feel about taking PrEP. Since my activity level was low, we talked through different options that might fit better with my lifestyle. That conversation really helped me feel like I had choices and control over my health.

My provider also mentioned the injectable option, and I’ve seen it around, but I haven’t gone too deep into that yet. For now, I will stick to oral PrEP and continue to use condoms when I’m active—because I have this saying that I heard and it really stuck with me; prevention is better than treatment. I’ve been keeping up with PrEP and condoms, and it just feels right.

Taking these steps helps reduce my anxiety and makes me feel more in control. There’s a lot of versatility with PrEP, and I think that’s important. If one method doesn’t work for you, talk with your doctor, and there’s always another option.

Hey, I’m Sam, 59, and I wanted to share about something I’ve learned through exploring my sexuality. When I first started learning, I didn’t have good sex ed. I certainly didn’t have any education about gay sex. I grew up in the height of the AIDS epidemic in Brazil, and when it came about, I started my learning through participating in Gay groups, public health campaigns, and when I would test with my doctor. Things like that. To this day, every doctor’s appointment I have, every community event I attend, I learn a little bit more. Throughout my life though, I’ve had a lot of experiences that have shaped my relationship with my sexuality.

I’ve lived in the US for over 30 years now. During this time, I had a long-term partner for many years, and we just trusted each other 100%. We tested together, never used condoms, and at the time never heard about PrEP. Maybe we were oblivious to it. But now I’m single, and I moved to St Pete after the end of that relationship about 3 years ago. I love being here because I love the weather and being close to the beach, I just finish my work for the day and head to watch the sunset. St Pete has a thriving, bubbly energy.

Since I’ve been single, I have been playing with other guys, but for a lot of people, sex ultimately boils down to anal. I have always felt this moral emphasis on penetrative sex as the only method of play between men, but I know there is a lot beyond when it comes to transmission and connection. It reminds me of how I used to be vegetarian, and when I would tell people, I would get this response back which was “well then… what do you eat?” As if meat is the only thing that people eat. People seem to feel the same way about penetrative sex. There is this prescribed way to do things for us, but I believe that we can still be healthy without just doing one thing. I believe that trying different things is healthy. To me, part of sexual health is expressing yourself without guilt with other people.

I found that I’m less prone to play now because I feel this expectation to have anal sex, and there is added pressure to have sex without condoms, so, at some point, I decided to try something new. I like to try different sensual forms of play like massage, tantra, and connecting with guys in other ways. For example, I’ve found some communities locally to gather with to participate in nude yoga. When I do these activities, I get to play, connect with guys, and explore myself as a sexual being beyond just penetrative sex. Because of the experiences I have had with my doctors, and through connecting with these communities, I am able to speak my mind better, and I have more confidence asking for what I want.

I have been active in these communities for the past few years now, and penetrative sex isn’t something I actively look for anymore. I really enjoy learning about myself and exploring my sexuality without pressure to do anal or worry about sex without condoms. I feel like finding other forms of play with guys makes me feel more like myself. I can advocate for myself, and this contributes to many different aspects of my health, my physical health, my mental health, and of course my sexual health. If I was to share one lesson I’ve learned about my sexuality, I would encourage you to try to find out who you are as a sexual person. How do you want to express yourself sexually?  What does sexual health mean to you? There’s lots of stigma out there, but no one else can tell you how to live. Experiment and stand behind your choices, because it’s your life.

Hi, I’m FG. I’m from Cameroon, and I’ve been living in the U.S. since I was 11. I always felt like coming here was going to save me. Like, this was the place where I could finally be open and just be myself. I love people. I love being queer. I love cooking lasagna and having long, real conversations. Honestly, I love talking to people so much that I went to school for journalism in Richmond.

Growing up, I always knew I was different, but I was told very early what I couldn’t do—like not acting flamboyant, not being too much. I grew up in a conservative Christian environment where queerness just wasn’t talked about. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t okay. I carried shame with me for a long time, especially being part of the community.

After college, around 2020, I came out to my family and started changing the way I presented myself, but after coming out- the way people close to me responded to it- sent me into a really deep depression. I couldn’t function the way I used to. And because I was so afraid of intimacy, I kind of checked out. I would see HIV and STI testing ads on apps like Grindr and just ignore them. I didn’t want to think about it.

The first time I really started learning about sex and sexual health was actually when I was diagnosed with HIV. But even then, I struggled. This new diagnosis was at the bottom of my list of concerns. I had a hard time keeping up with my medication, because after coming out, my depression made me exhausted. Some days I would even skip my meds, because my depression made me too tired to get up.

A few years ago, after missing some doses I became detectable, and my provider told me I had to get back on my medication. Around that time, something finally shifted. My provider started sharing stories about people who were living with HIV and thriving—older adults who had full, beautiful lives. I started doing my own research too. For the first time, I could actually see a future for myself.

I realized that if I really believed health was important—and I do—I couldn’t keep treating myself like this. I had this moment in my head where I thought, if I don’t take care of myself, I’m not valuing my life. Getting there wasn’t instant. I started therapy. I got on psych meds. And honestly, self‑love played a huge part. Learning to be kinder to myself, learning that I deserved care, that’s what helped me really commit.

I’ve now been taking my medication consistently for three years without missing doses. I get my labs done. I talk to my partners about status. I ask, “When was the last time you got tested?” And now? I’m undetectable. Being adherent feels like bliss. It really does. It feels like a second chance—like I finally gave myself the care I needed all along.