The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Any Doctors in the House?

After living in this city for nearly two years, I finally found a doctor! This may seem an odd statement, but I'm picky when it comes to doctors. I'd prefer my doctor to be a gay male. One who isn't going to judge, and doesn't blink an eye when I bring up some of the issues that gay men experience that straight people don't go through. It took two years, battling insurance companies, and finally getting a referral from my gay gastroenterologist to find a doctor I could work with.

Thankfully, I found this doctor, as I woke up Jan 1st with a head cold. Happy new year...blah...blah...blah, I woke up feeling sorry for myself and took some Tylenol, hoping that a few minutes in the shower would help sooth my sore throat. Post shower, I was back in bed, drinking hot tea, listening to the radio and contemplating when I should schedule a doctor's appointment, when I received a telephone call from my FFB.

Now some people have BFF (Best Friends Forever), some have EX's, some have a BF (Boy Friend)...me? I have a Former Fuck Buddy (FFB), who I've nicknamed "architect boy". We haven't spoken to each other in a while (at least 8 months) and I figured he was just calling to see what I was up to.

"Happy New Year!" He exclaimed.
"Ughh..." I sniffed.
"I was thinking of you today. I'm going to be in your neighborhood...".

I was really not in the mood to have him come over, let alone we've ended the "Friends with Benefits" actions back before the summer began. And then he surprised me.

"I'm going to a party and thought you might want to come with me. I submitted your picture and they were interested in meeting you." Now I can be dense at times, but I fully knew that this "party" was a sex party (I just can't bring myself to say orgy...It sounds too 70's). The thing is...I'm not that innocent...but still have some uncharted territory, and my resolution for last year was to try 12 new things. This would have qualified.

I pondered if I should accept the invitation and was about to decline when Architect Boy asked a question.
"Don't you want to see the inside of the (Famous building on Central Park West)?"

I shocked myself and said "yes".

He agreed to meet me at my apartment and we'd walk to the party together. At this point I realized how neurotic I can be. I changed outfits 4 times, trying to find the perfect ensemble for a sex party...when in all reality most clothing items are just left at the door. But I wanted to make a first impression!

We arrived at the door, and identified ourselves to the doorman, who muttered something under his breath, not realizing that I could still hear him. Apparently he knew what kind of party the residents were having. I felt his eyes of judgement (slut) as I got onto the elevator and we rode up to the apartment.

The door opened and we entered what cold only be described as a labyrinth of an apartment. Seriously...with an apartment valued at $3500 a square foot (Thanks Google!), I was amazed at the size of it. The living room, television room, and anywhere else a television was, porno was playing for viewing audiences. What guy is watching the porn at a sex party? Isn't that what the "live" factor is all about. Wandering the apartment were around 40 guys.

One of our two hosts of the party gave us a short tour of the apartment (kitchen, bathroom, living room, dining room, and here's the master bedroom) where he offered to take our pants and hang them up. I entered the room with my friend and my jaw hit the floor. There, on the bed, was my gay physician getting what can be described as his gag reflex checked. He's the other owner of the apartment.

Today I've decided...I think I need to find a nice lesbian physician. A nice virginal lesbian...with a wicked sense of humor.

Patrick - 10:16 AM -

---