Fall of 1990, in the isolation wing of St. Luke’s Hospital in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania I am holding the hand of a twenty-four-year-old man, Joey, as he faced death in less than twenty-four hours. He had asked me to pray for him but my reluctance to pray aloud and my overwhelming emotions at the moment silenced me. I didn’t know Joey that well, and I was not an AIDS-Buddy for anyone let alone Joey whom I had met two months before that night. I had attended several funerals or memorial services since moving to Allentown to work for Air Products and Chemicals. Some of the services were for people I had met briefly or knew through my volunteer work teaching a workshop called “ Eroticizing Safer Sex for Gay Men .” I was at some funerals for men I had never met but attended because their family was not attending, or they had lost all their friends out of fear of contagion or association or through death. I was under constant pressure from friends who were Gay activists or from leaders