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.

Hey, I’m Slade. I’m gay, I’m 25, and I’m working on my master’s in healthcare administration right now. I stay active, I take my health seriously, and honestly, I trust healthcare—but I’ve also learned that sometimes things get missed.

There was a time when I wasn’t interested in wearing condoms. I would have sex, and we wouldn’t use them, regardless of what we were doing. At the time, I didn’t think much about it—I just figured everything was fine until one day… something happened.

For about a month, I had a really rough time in the bathroom. Specifically, I had blood in my stool. It was terrifying, and I had to go to the doctor multiple times for them to figure out what was going on, and they started to throw out words like IBS and Crohn’s disease. I was so afraid of what might happen and that I had to now deal with some chronic disease.

Eventually though, I went to a different doctor who tested me and told me I had anal chlamydia. To make things worse, they shared my diagnosis with me in front of my mom. That whole experience was overwhelming, embarrassing, and stressful all at once.

After that, my mindset started to change. I realized that condoms could’ve saved me a lot of fear and heartache. I didn’t want to feel that out-of-control over my health again.

So, after that I decided to wear them whenever I had sex. One of the hardest things was actually getting the condoms. The cost mattered, but honestly, the bigger thing was embarrassment. Asking someone at the store for them felt awkward. So instead, I started grabbing free condoms from the clinic when I could, or using ones partners already had. Eventually, I realized I didn’t really have an excuse not to use them.

Now I keep condoms in my backpack, and I make sure not to store them somewhere hot. I’m still figuring out the best system that works for me, but I’ve already started using them.

Having condoms with me makes me feel more prepared, more in control, and honestly more empowered. For me, condoms just take away so much unnecessary stress—and that peace of mind is worth it.

There are times when my life gets really stressful. I’m a busy guy. I work in hospital administration, I just finished my master’s degree, and I’m also in substance use recovery—about three years now. Recovery is a huge part of my life. I go to meetings, I lead meetings, I play kickball with people from my groups. I’ve got a lot going on, and honesty is the backbone of all of it.

When I first started taking HIV meds, I knew how important they were. Every doctor told me the same thing—if you miss doses, you can develop a medication‑resistant strain of HIV. I understood that… but in my head, I also thought, well, it hasn’t happened yet.

There were times I’d miss half a week of meds. Life felt overwhelming, and I figured I’d deal with it later. But honestly, every time I missed doses, it stressed me out—because I knew what could go wrong.

Things really shifted when I started dating my partner. I became way less comfortable with the risk I was taking. He’s really on top of his health, and he’s kind of a role model for me. He takes his meds every day, checks in with himself, checks in with me. Seeing that made me think, if he can do it, I can do it too.

Around that time, my labs came back, and my viral load went from undetectable to 23. Damn. It wasn’t huge, but it was enough to prove that missing doses wasn’t harmless. I also realized I was worried about something else—I was afraid that if he asked me whether I’d taken my meds, I might have to lie just to save face. And that really didn’t sit right with me, especially coming from recovery, where honesty matters so much.

Once I realized it was time for me to get back on top of my meds, one of my biggest challenges was just logistics. I stay at his place a lot, and sometimes I’d forget my meds when packing my stuff. Like I said before, I’m busy, and planning every little thing isn’t always easy. So instead of trying to rely on memory, we made it simple. I kept extra meds at his place. He also reminds me, and honestly, I don’t mind—it feels like support, not pressure.

Now, I’ve been taking my meds consistently for months. And for the first time in a while, I’m actually excited to get my blood drawn at my next lab appointment. I really want to see that “undetectable” result again.

And the best part? If my partner asked me today whether I took my meds, I could look him in the eye and honestly say, yeah—I did.

One thing I’ve learned over the years is that recovery doesn’t happen by accident. Whether it’s staying sober or taking care of my health, those are choices I have to make every day.

I’m a gay Hispanic man living with HIV, and I’ve been undetectable for many years. I’ve got a science background, and one day I’d love to become a mathematics professor. I also love the beach. I used to live in California, and being close to the water is one of the things that drew me to St. Pete today.

Not too many years ago, my life looked very different. I was using meth, and even though I generally stayed on top of my HIV care, I knew my substance use was making it harder to take care of myself. When I was using, taking my medication wasn’t my first priority.

One of the biggest challenges was hookup apps. When I was using them, it became easy to find people who wanted to “party.” Before long, I found myself slipping back into habits that weren’t good for me. The turning point came after I experienced a psychotic break that led to a short-term hospitalization. It was one of the scariest experiences of my life, and it forced me to take an honest look at where my choices were leading me.

After leaving the facility, I made a decision to focus on my recovery. I was fortunate to have health insurance that connected me to a good treatment program, and I stayed with a friend who was strongly against meth use and supported me in getting sober. Eventually, I got active in recovery groups. Today, I have both a sponsor and sponsees. I attend meetings, chair meetings, and stay connected to a community that understands what recovery looks like.

Sobriety and staying on my meds are daily choices. They don’t just happen on their own. It takes effort, and I have to seek support when I need it. Trying to do it all by myself never worked.

Now, I’m continuing to work on my sobriety. My life feels full again. I have people I can count on, goals I’m working toward, and a future I’m excited about. Recovery has taught me that all things are possible when you’re willing to keep showing up for yourself, one day at a time.

My name is Syed. I’m originally from Bangladesh, and I grew up in a religious family. I’ve been carrying those experiences with me my whole life, and they still influence how I see the world today. One day I hope to work in medicine, specifically in infectious disease care. Outside of that, I love fashion, I like working out, and I try to stay focused on taking care of myself.

One thing that’s important to me is remembering that we’re all part of a community. I value other people, but I also value myself. I’ve learned that I deserve love, respect, and to feel safe.

When I first became sexually active in college, I didn’t know much about sexual health. Nobody had really taught me about it, and a lot of what I learned came from conversations with other people. Back then, I wasn’t always speaking up about what I needed during sex. I would sometimes go along with things instead of having clear conversations beforehand.

There was one experience that really sticks out. I met this guy, and during the encounter I felt like I was performing for him instead of sharing an experience with him. He wasn’t very engaged, and he kept pressuring me. I remember feeling uncomfortable and scared because it seemed like he didn’t really care how I was feeling. When it was over, I kept returning to how wrong that situation felt.

After that experience, I started realizing that I needed to do a better job of speaking up for myself. In college, I started learning more about sexual health. I heard people talking about condoms more often, learned more about using lubrication, and started paying attention to conversations about HIV and STI prevention. The more I learned, the more I realized that protecting my health isn’t something someone else can do for me.

However, sometimes I’d hear friends talk about how they didn’t use condoms, and I’d wonder if I was being too cautious. I remember thinking, am I being annoying by bringing this stuff up? But then one of my friends actually got an STI, and I realized that their choices didn’t have to impact my safety. At the end of the day, my safety is my responsibility.

Now, I communicate much more before I meet up with someone. I try to get to know people better, ask questions, and be clear about what makes me feel comfortable. I talk about things like testing, if they want to use condoms, and ways to feel more comfort and pleasure, like what lube to use. I pay attention to how someone responds when I talk about sexual health because that tells me a lot about whether they’re someone I can trust.

The biggest impact this has had on my life is that I feel more empowered. I know what I want to talk about with partners, and I feel more confident speaking up for myself. If something doesn’t feel right, I’m more comfortable stopping and walking away. For me, that’s what taking care of my sexual health looks like: knowing my worth, knowing my boundaries, and feeling confident enough to stand by them