1. the act or state of expecting sex or the state of being expected for sex.
2. (usually plural) the expectations that you place on the abilities of new sexual partner: something looked forward to: whether feared or hoped for.
3. an attitude of expectancy or hope of having sex.
The first time we have sex with someone we have expectations. We all have standards and we all our own set of criteria to judge people, both physically and performance-wise: six pack, good kisser, length, girth, cleanliness, strong arms, breath, bubble or flat, and most importantly do they have the ability to press all our buttons and make our toes curl.
Within an hour of sending Josh the “I am HIV positive” email, I received the following:
"I am also having a great time with you and I very much appreciate you being upfront with me about your HIV status. I'm sure it's not a fun thing to have to do, but please, rest assured that it doesn't change anything. Let's definitely talk about it - but don't you worry your pretty little head about it. ;)"
Just like Angela Bassett, I could finally exhale.
Quickly thereafter we made plans for our next two dates. A quiet night at my apt in Astoria, including a movie and greasy Chinese food. In other words: sex. We also planned to have a picnic in Prospect Park, Brooklyn, which is close to his apt. Which means…anyone? Anyone? If you answered sex, you get a gold star.
I started fantasizing. Maybe because I was abstaining for the past couple weeks or maybe because I really like sex - we will never know. But my overzealous fantasies raised the bar for all my sexpectations.
Usually I attract the jock-type and Josh is not. He is a complete goof ball. Andrew, my last serious relationship, was a competitive swimmer and competitively self centered. I cannot tell you how refreshing it is to be with someone who would make an ass out of himself just to make me smile. And outside of being slightly nutty, he is smart, sweet, genuine, has a background in theatre and to top it all off he works as a gay rights activist. So, I don’t care that his biceps are nonexistent because I am attracted to him. I am attracted to every part of him, even his chest that is flatter than my 5 year old niece’s.
That is why I was devastated that he did not live up to my sexpectations.
There was length and girth. His arms, though small, were strong. He washed in all the right places and his breath was minty fresh. However, as part of the activist's uniform Josh maintains a very handsome yet very scruffy face. Unfortunately, kissing Josh was like washing my face with a Brillo pad. Now, I love to kiss. I love to share that most intimate of moments and I have been told I am quite good at it. To put it mildly, it hurt to kiss him. HURT! I wish I could recount the rest of our tryst, but I don't remember much of it. The only thing I could focus on was my dermabrasion.
Afterwards, Josh tentatively brought up my status. I expected him to berate me with that list of questions we typically hear. Do you know who gave it to you? Are you on any medications? Are you healthy? But Josh only asked one thing, “How long have you been positive?” He asked with such a genuine kindness that I didn’t feel attacked or judged. And whilst he was doing so, he looked at me with understanding instead of pity. I thought, "Oh, to hell with my face" and I went back in for another kiss and I fell asleep wrapped in his small, but strong arms.
I decided not to cancel our picnic in the park. Everyone deserves a second chance. Maybe my sexpecations were too high. Maybe if I asked him, he’ll shave. And maybe, just maybe I didn’t live up to his sexpectations.