Living with HIV: my journey, my voice

In 2007, I parted ways with my long-term partner of seven years, the Butler of my surname (I was christened James Fleming, not Jim Butler-Fleming). After our breakup, I lived with him for an additional four months before finally moving out of our home and leaving Bristol behind. The heartache from our split lingered, and I hadn’t started exploring new sexual encounters until after I moved out. With nowhere else to go, I returned to my parents’ home while I figured out my next steps.

It was here that I reactivated my Gaydar membership and began chatting with guys online, actively seeking sex. One of these encounters was with a lovely man who managed some arable land. He had a gorgeous farmhouse and two incredibly loyal and beautiful labradors. While I'd love to say we didn’t sleep together on our first meeting, those who know me would chuckle at the idea, especially since I was in the midst of my "slaggymcslagface" phase, we most certainly did and it was electrifying. We hit it off and began seeing each other regularly, enjoying all sorts of fun together. He wasn’t the only one I was shagging, but he was definitely the most frequent. A few months later, after a longer time than usual not in each others' company he mentioned he had started taking some new medication that was making him quite unwell. With gin flowing, I brushed it aside and didn’t think to ask more.

Fast forward a few months: I had moved out of my parents’ place and was settling into the Leicester area. There, I met a fucking hot guy with whom I developed an intense connection. He was a CNC programmer in the steel industry and wasn’t local to the area. It's also worth pointing out that this guy was the first not-a-one-night stand that I had practiced safe sex. That New Year, we traveled to Hull to celebrate. Once we returned to Scunthorpe in the early hours, we began to undress each other. When I took off his boxers, I was greeted by a vibrant display of neon body paint reminiscent of a Neil Harris' Art Attack. "Looks like someone had a good time in the toilets!" I joked. We laughed, poured our drinks, and had one of the best experiences of my life (to this day). A few days later, I was back in Lincoln, working at the social club as a relief steward for my dad, who was the main steward. A week later, my "boyfriend" texted me, asking me to call him as soon as I could. Curious, I stepped outside the club to give him a ring.

"I’ve tested positive for gonorrhea, so you need to get tested," he said. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself: fucking Hull!. So, I called Lincoln's Clinic 8 and scheduled an appointment for a test.