I've always been a solitary person. When I was much younger, I would take a book to the farthest corner of the schoolyard so no one would talk to me.

I used to be lonely. I grew out of it. But until then, I was a desperate sadboi, pathetic and manipulative.

See, I'm good at understanding people. Call it empathy or simply being observant. I can look at a person and usually know what they want and how they think. So naturally, this makes my life somewhat paradoxical. I don't like people, yet I love them; I'm fascinated by them, and as much as I hate being around them, I'm bored and sometimes sad when they're not around.

Anyway, all these qualities, combined with my situation and environment, molded me into a very manipulative version of myself. I understood people, what they wanted, how they thought, and how to bring them to my way of thinking. And, being the desperate sadboi I was, I didn't always use my powers for good. Often, I would manipulate a person or situation just to see if I could. Other times, I lied because I thought it would make things easier and I could get away with it.

For example, my relationship with Rufio. I cheated on him and lied about it. And I'm sorry. Not that my apology or guilt changes anything. But I am sorry. I wasn't a very good person at that time in my life. I didn't care about other people. I had great affection for Rufio and all the other men I 'loved' at the time. I said the words 'I love you,' and I meant it, but in hindsight, I was unable to love anyone. I was still thinking in survival mode. Every relationship I made was calculated. I wanted someone who could 'fix' me or 'save' me, but ultimately I wanted someone to fill the hole I felt in myself. I had to learn to love myself, accept my flaws and weaknesses, and see others, not in terms of how they might benefit me, but how I might benefit them, or simply appreciate the things that make them unique.

But I wasn't ready to think like that.

A few weeks after the Humdrum adventure, August's ex, Travis messaged me on Facebook. He asked how I was doing, and wrote that his friend Otis had just died due to a rejected heart transplant, and he was heartbroken. I expressed sympathy, and then he invited me over.

My first instinct was apprehension. August was my friend. I'd met Travis at social gatherings, but I didn't know him well, and August didn't speak highly of him. But Travis was wealthy and influential in the Castro scene, and I wanted to be popular, so I reluctantly agreed and walked the half mile to his house.

I knocked, and Travis finally opened the door after some difficulty, looking flushed. He wore a big smile and welcomed me inside. I completely forgot to be on guard. How could he be dangerous? He was so pitiable. Something about him felt like a façade, and it threw me off. I was a great liar. Travis was not. It made me wary but also fascinated, the way snakes and spiders fascinate me. I was expecting something a little more somber, but whatever.

"Do you want a drink?" he asked.

"Uh, sure. I don't drink much, so a small one, please."

"Follow me," he said playfully and sauntered to the kitchen. While mixing drinks, he boasted of his new kitchen renovations: black marble countertop, stainless steel appliances, voice control systems, and whatnot.

I thought it was a tasteless demonstration of almost-wealth and wondered why he hadn't mentioned Otis, his dead friend. Wasn't that why I came here, to console him? He rambled on about his home decorations as he handed me a drink, and we moved to the living room. I sipped my drink and coughed a little. Hard alcohol was new to me and exciting.

He crossed his legs on his couch, wobbling his head confidently.

"My friends and I are what you might call the 'A-Gays,'" he began. "Dozens of boys try to get in our social circle; we're very popular."

"That's kind of pretentious. What makes you so special?"

"We're rich, in our thirties, and we know everybody worth knowing. If you wanted, I could get you a VIP pass into Badlands; the owner and I are close friends."

"Thanks, but bars aren't really my thing."

"Okay, okay… So I saw on Facebook that you're friends with August," and as he said this, he looked sideways, like he was being sly.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Yeah, he's one of the first people I met in San Francisco. I've heard you two have issues, but he's my friend, and I don't want to get put in the middle of your thing. I hope you understand. We can be friends, but I'd rather we not talk about him."

"That's fine. I just think you should know he's not a good person. Right now, he's being sued for giving my friend HIV; and he cheated on me when he did it."

"He told me you two had an open relationship."

"Well, yeah."

"Then was it cheating? Your friend was having unsafe sex with August. It can be assumed he was having unsafe sex with other people too. There's no way of knowing who gave it to whom; even if there were, would it make a difference? It happened. And no one forced your grown friend into raw-dogging a beautiful twink."

"I know August. He would hide it. It's something he would do. I'm only telling you to warn you. You need to be careful."

"I am careful. August and I use condoms. He's on meds, and he's shown me his medical reports. He's undetectable, which means he's untransmittable. I'm safe. Besides, I trust him. He would never endanger me. You seem pretty bitter he broke up with you."

"You're goddamn right, I'm bitter! He gave me HIV and cut my life in half!" Then he went into another diatribe about his health, which he thought was fascinating, but I didn't.

I interrupted, "Even if August was patient zero, he's 19, you're 35, and you encouraged him to sleep with your friends. Sex is a numbers game. The more people you sleep with, the likelier the chance of catching something."

He blushed and smiled wistfully. "Well, fine, that's true. I used to drive August to his trick's house." Again, he looked sideways at me. His face was pink. "I like when the boys I'm dating sleep with other people; it's like saying, 'Look what I have, and you can just borrow it.' I'm looking for a fuck-buddy, Sebastian. Not a boyfriend, but someone I can fool around with and buy things for. I can be very generous."

Yikes. Where did my drink go?

"Um… you just referred to your ex-boyfriend as an 'it.' He's also my good friend, and we sleep together. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in having a sexual relationship with you. We can be friends, though."

"That's cool. You finished your drink! Do you want another one?"

"Sure."

Again, we returned to the kitchen, and he retold the fascinating story of its renovation. I silently debated whether to stay or go home. Deciding to push my luck, I changed the subject. "Last week I was in a car accident! My boyfriend, Rufio's car was totaled."

"I was in a car accident once, but we won't talk about that! Ha ha."

"It sounds interesting."

"No, no. I thought about what you said earlier, and it's fine. After August, I made a resolution not to date boys younger than 24 anymore. They're just immature, and they're kinda stupid – no offense. It's nothing personal, but I think around 24, something happens to boys' brains, and they become smarter, more capable of maintaining a healthy relationship."

I was 20. Trying not to interpret that as the insult it strongly resembled, I said, "I've met plenty of young guys in healthy relationships. You're generalizing a lot of people. Makes me think you're projecting yourself onto others."

He blinked a few times, unable to think up a good retort; surprised, annoyed, and impressed that I beat him, his eyes twinkled. My ego flared. He annoyed me, but I liked that he thought I was impressive. I'd stay if only because he thought I was remarkable. That, and he was offering free vodka. This is fun, I thought, smug and self-righteous. I asked for another drink. Meanwhile, the room was beginning to sway, and, I imagine, so was I.

"I want to show you something," he said to me. "Follow me upstairs to my room."

I won't lie. I knew what he was about, but full of myself and vodka, I thought I could out-maneuver him. I was wrong. The thing he wanted to show me was his collection of nudes he'd downloaded off people's online dating profiles. My initial reaction of disgust was soon overshadowed by the thought, "Wow, these are hot!" And being drunk and looking at nudes put me in a desirable position for a predatory older gay.

The morning after, I woke up with a furious hangover, furious at myself. Travis woke up as I tried to leave quietly.

"So I was thinking we could go shopping," he informed me.

I pause for a moment, knowing I would regret this:

"Alright. Let's go."

I know. I wish I had scruples, too, but I like nice things and couldn't afford them. Plus, this asshole took advantage of me. I wanted something out of it. Anyway, rationalization aside, we went shopping. Somehow he spent 500 dollars on underwear, shoes, swimming trunks, a delicious meal, and a sex toy, making me promise he could use it on me later. I lied and said yes. Travis thought he was driving us to his house, but first, I dropped him off. He threw a tantrum, insulted me, and begged me not to go. The walk home felt good. Revenge is fun, I thought, until Rufio called, crying and brokenhearted.

Travis had called him.

Between heaving sobs, Rufio asked me if I cheated on him with August, if I had HIV, and if I infected him. I ran to him and told him everything. I did cheat on him with August. I used a condom, but that didn't matter. He asked that I give him space to focus on his studies.

Not one to be outdone, I posted on Travis' Facebook wall that he raped me. While many disagree, I maintain that was a truthful statement. I had told Travis I was not interested. Then he plied me, an inexperienced adolescent, with alcohol and manipulated me until I relented from the pressure. That is not enthusiastic consent.

Travis' response was predictable: he told anyone who'd listen I was a lying slut and a meth addict. That's how I made my reputation in San Francisco. For months and years later, strangers meeting me would ask if they were true, all those awful things they'd heard about me.