The Epitome of Promiscuity

The Epitome of Promiscuity

 I had the opportunity to take care of a famous Broadway producer, who in his seventies required open-heart surgery and a simultaneous aortic valve replacement.

At some point after full recuperation he presented to my office in a panic because the twenty-five-year-old man he had been living with was diagnosed with AIDS. He was also dying of a rapidly accelerated, aggressive strain of the virus; at a time before modern anti-viral drugs had become available.

I do not make value judgments on sexual preferences, but certainly found it curious that May-December relationships are not exclusively limited to old rich codgers and young blond bimbos, so I suppose then that logic dictates: why not be gender neutral on this issue, too?

My producer was upset on multiple levels including the fact of his genuine feelings for his young lover and his obvious fear that he too could have become infected. He lamented:

  • I told him over and over again he would get himself in trouble if he kept having all those random sexual encounters with the young bucks.

Obviously jealousy was not an issue in this relationship, either.

Interestingly, and perhaps miraculously the first HIV test came back negative. However, because the virus can be latent, he wanted to come in every six months to be tested.

HIV testing requires a special medical form that ensures patient confidentiality by coding a personal identification number instead of by the patient’s name. The code number is then kept in the medical record to match up with the number coming back on the final report.

As I got to know his proclivities better, it became apparent to me that this person was himself not only homosexual but was also bisexual and probably somewhat promiscuously indiscriminating himself. In recounting some of his many and varied sexual escapades I could not help but react sarcastically one day by asking him if had ever screwed door knobs or animals.

He said:

  • No. But that’s an interesting thought.

Although he truthfully was a very nice, generous person, because he was so sexually jaded I nevertheless politely declined an invitation to visit him at his winter home in Puerto Rico out of fear for my own safety and  certain still intact virginal orifices. Yes, I would consider a visit but only if I could only be that proverbially vicarious fly on the wall.

After about three years, he remained HIV negative, but insisted on continuing biannual testing. At that point, the medical form for blood testing changed to include a new litany of queries to be checked off. After the usual demographics I came down to the section requiring a statement as to sexual persuasion, so I asked him how I should classify him, wanted to know if I should label him heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual.

  • Why, none of those. I’m none of those.
  • What do you mean? You have to be something.
  • The medical form is wrong, completely wrong. They need to make it over.
  • And why is that, pray tell?
  • Because they should add a new box that simply says ‘Sexual.’ That’s what I am. Just sexual.

I said: “OK,” then checked off all three boxes, while immediately visualizing him on a sodomizing romp through a men’s bathhouse, a whorehouse and then a barnyard, I concluded by asking him to please not further elaborate.  

He never did test positive for HIV, but died of natural causes many years later.





Some guys have all the luck

Some guys have all the pain

Some guys get all the breaks

Some guys do nothing but complain

(Rod Stewart)


Poster Graphic

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