I love at least five black men with HIV/AIDS, and that’s just within my own head! I love Othello, the closeted pop star who tests positive, then plots to assassinate a homophobic US Senator in Uprising, my first novel.
I love Derek Mayfield, the young man who tests positive, then changes the lives of two straight white teenage brothers in Cancun in Bridge Across the Ocean, my second novel.
I love Kordell Christie, the upstanding, HIV-positive businessman who gets caught up in a wicked thriller with some wicked freaks in The Devil Inside, my third novel.
And I love my crazy little Bearcat, aka Marcus Colemen, the UCLA cheerleader who dreams up two lifetimes of romance and flying football stadiums in my fourth novel, Walt Loves the Bearcat.
In my younger days, I dreamed of fatherhood. My books are like my kids. Not only am I happy with how they turned out, I adore the four protagonists, all black males living with HIV/AIDS, but more importantly, living lives full of the dreams all humans dream, namely the pursuit of truth and love, as seen on TV and in the movies.
I love my four men and the man who created them, which means I love five black men living with HIV/AIDS, just within my own head.
To think there was a time when I wasn’t sure I could love one black man, with or without AIDS.
I wonder how many more black men living with HIV/AIDS I can love.
How many black men living with HIV/AIDS can you love?