I don’t know how he does it. When I woke up this morning there was this insanely handsome, six foot three man lying nude in my bed. With perfect hair. Seriously with perfect hair. How does that happen?
I had to do the oh-so-fun-get-up-ten-minutes-before-he-does-brush-my-teeth-and-try-to-calm-that-damn-cowlick–before-he-wakes-up routine while he was lying there, sound asleep and looking perfect with Ken doll hair. Did he get up ten minutes before I did to fix his hair and clean those ever so lovely eye boogies that I always forget to remove? He must have.
Wait – I should back up a bit.
As soon as I arrived in Provincetown, Massachusetts, I picked up my key, hopped on my bike and rode to the beach. Ahhh, I felt like a new man. Thank god for the healing power the sun, my complexion started looks amazing!
The next morning my friend Brian, from Philadelphia, came into town and our next couple days went pretty much like this: Biking in the morning, laying on the beach all afternoon, then off to tea dance and finally out dancing. I may or may not have gone way off my diet and ate pizza, burgers, French fries, cookies, ice cream and deep fried macaroni and cheese balls. I may or may not have been in other beds besides my own. And I may or may not have peed in the ocean. So what, who cares I am on vacation!
On our nights out on the town, I noticed more and more people that I knew from both Philadelphia and New York. And by “knew” I mean that I have either dated or slept with. They were everywhere. It was like Ptown knew I was coming and held a convention of all my ex-flings. Complete with speakers, presentations, and even some home videos. I was so touched!
Note to self: you are a floozy when you go to another state and you are inundated by more than a handful of your past flings.
One night, Brian and I were dancing at the A House (which stands for The Atlantic House and not any other variation of which you may or may not have been thinking) and all of a sudden this extremely tall and extremely handsome man starts dancing next to me. Brian, the good friend that he is, did the my-friend-met-a-boy-I-best-not-be-a-cock-block-dance out of there.
As we danced, we tried to make chit chat but I couldn’t hear him at all. I could barely make out that his name was Chris. I don’t know if it was because of his height and sound has problems traveling that far down or if it was that he was one of those dreaded soft talkers. I lead Chris off the dance floor and prayed that it was just because of the thumpa thumpa of the music.
Hand in hand we walked onto the back patio of the bar and there we stayed for another hour conversing. No soft talker was he, thank god! As we talked, I couldn’t stop staring at him. He was way too attractive. Seriously. Tall dark and handsome with the most perfect blue green eyes and a hefty laugh. What more do you need? Then he tells me that he too is from New York City and to seal the proverbial deal he says those four little words that would make my surrogate Jewish mother so happy: “I am a doctor.” A doctor! Forget Disney World, Provincetown is where my dreams really do come true!
As our conversation continued he slyly mentions that he has his own room and puts his hand on the small of my back. I played it coy and pretended I didn’t understand his meaning. I did not want this just to be some meaningless tryst. In my mind, I saw our romance bridge the gap from the dance floor down the east coast all the way to New York City where we are destined to get married (which we can do now), live in a charming little walk-up in the West Village with a our dog Bebe and play doctor for eternity.
All my long term dreams went out the window when he kissed me. My only thought was: Lets gets out of here, but my place is closer!
I knew I had to do the deed, so I pulled apart from another nearly perfect kiss, looked up into his blue-green eyes and said, “I would really like you to come over, but before anything happens you must know that I am HIV positive.” As I felt his hands withdraw a little and my heart sunk a little. Then he put on his best doctor’s face on and said:
“Well, that definitely changes what I had plan for us tonight. But I still wouldn’t be against getting naked and cuddling.”
Getting naked and cuddling? Isn’t that just sex? I was confused. But since he was a doctor and knows best, I acquiesced.
We did get naked. We did cuddle. We did not have sex. This was all fine. To be honest, this allowed us to actually talk and to - what is that called? – oh yes, get to know each other.
When I woke up, I got us both a cup of coffee, some muffins and came back to the room and there he was with the most perfect hair. I was completely amazed by the perfectness of that hair. After failing miserably at trying to tame my own cowlick, I joined him in bed. We talked and cuddled a little more. He then gathered his belongings and left before the streets were filled with tourists to notice his evening clothes.
In the end, he gave me his number and told me to keep in touch. I am hopeful we will meet each other again in New York for a proper date and have the chance to play doctor; I mean, I have the lab coat and a stethoscope in my closet waiting to be put to good use! But somewhere in the back of my usually optimistic mind I feel as though my HIV status may have been too much for this doctor to handle and that unfortunately this will be the last time I see him and his perfect post almost-coital hair.
