Unfortunately, the second chance  with Josh did not go so well.

Let me clarify: the date itself was good. The picnic in Prospect Park was fun, disgustingly hot, but fun. We then headed back to his place to prepare for a small barbeque with two of his lesbian friends. But before the girls arrived, he managed to mangle my face again. This time I was able to focus on everything else and it was adequate at best. This was not for lack of trying, bless his heart. He was trying so damn hard that this time my phallus was just as chapped as my face.

I spent the next couple days hemming and hawing about what I should do with Josh. I had to ask myself, how important is sex? There is only once answer to that question. It is very important!

I made up my mind it’s time to have the talk.

The following Friday Josh came over to my apartment. He greeted me with a kiss. I tried to avoid a direct hit and went for his cheek. Alas, I was thwarted. He grabbed my face and planted one right on the lips. He kissed me again. I was confused; he wasn’t clean-shaven and it didn't hurt. He looked at me, coyly smiled and said, “So…I trimmed my scruff, just a little shorter and I moisturized my face like crazy. How does it feel?”

He kissed me again and I heard the Hallelujah chorus running circles in my head! I cannot believe that he did that without me even asking him to. Maybe I did mention that I was a little sore after the last time, jokingly of course. That was the first time my heart did a little flip for Josh.

Yes, with one good kiss he melted my resolve. I am a sucker for a good kiss. (That might have been the wrong choice of words…or maybe not)

The rest of the night we snuggled on the couch and had a West Wing marathon. That was the second time my heart did a little flip for Josh. Anyone who wants to have a West Wing marathon with me is a keeper in my book!

As I was making breakfast the next morning, I got an idea, “Josh, what are your plans today?”

“Not much, I have to finish a little work, why?”

“I have to head to the gym, I will be gone for roughly two hours why don’t you stay here and do your work and when I get back we can hang out for the rest of the day.”

Josh smile and acquiesced. I set him up at my desk and prepared for my daily trip to the gym. Right before I was about to head out the door he got a call from a friend. I wasn't eavesdropping…well not that much. This is what I heard him say: “He is locking me in his apartment. I am not sure if this is like Auschwitz and he is going to tattoo numbers on my arm or we are turning into lesbians. Either way, I like it!”

After I did my best Margret Simon impersonation, chanting “I must, I must increase my bust," I came back to my captive Jew boy. He stayed with me the rest of the day. We did laundry, watching more episodes of The West Wing, had carpet picnics and we even had shower sex. Wouldn’t you know it; it was leaps and bounds better than the previous times. Don’t get me wrong there is still room for improvements, but it was better. This gave me hope.

Sex is important; I would be lying if I said it wasn’t. But a good relationship is based on more than that, isn't it? Josh and I already have the beginnings of the good relationship, now we just have to work on the good sex!

Since I am trying to be a better communicator, here is my thought: how hard would it be to say to Josh, something like - “Because I really like you and the time we spend together, I need you to know that sexually it isn’t really working.” In my mind he would feel no shame and not be insulted. He would respond something like “Ok…what is wrong and how can we fix it?” After the conversation, I imagine we would spend another weekend locked inside of Auschwitz working until we got it right!

Maybe this work will really set us free. 

Sex·pec·ta·tion                        /sekspek'tāSHən/

n

   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.

Hmmmm….Nah.

Art comes in many forms. A writer plays with words and structure. A painter plays with color and light. And a loner plays with himself. Being HIV positive, my art is in the telling. I have to be able to tell my prospective partner about my status in a way that does not evoke fear, shame, or embarrassment, for either of us. This is an art form I do not possess.

The first time I had to utter those words "I am HIV positive" to a prospective partner, it was disastrous. So disastrous that the only way that I could get through it was to my cover my face with a pillow. Ridiculous, I know. Since then I have made strides in my ability to say those four little words. But ever since my gym crush's  bizarre reaction after I told my status during a horrible Halloween hookup, I made the decision to try tell prospective dates via electronic communications.

Some might call this the easy way out, but I feel that the benefits far out way the negatives.

The Benefits:

The Rejection. You don’t have to physically see the guy who makes your stomach flip, the guy you have been flirting with for some time, reject you. There is no awkward moment of picking up your discarded clothes and being shown the door to do the walk of shame. And not the kind of shame that that phrase conjures.

Technology. With the ever growing world of technology, your options of communication are limitless: Email, Grindr, Manhunt, OkCupid, Texting, Facebook or Twitter (I would avoid this unless you have a Weiner complex.)

The Negatives:

The Rejection. This makes it much easier for your prospective partner to reject you. He does not have to see your face during the rejection. This allows him to see you only as the disease and not as a person.

The Perception. This can seem like the cowards approach.                          

The One Night Stand. The electronic communication plan does not allow for one night stands. If you are truly desperate and do not wish to divulge your status face to face to a one night stand, you could always ask for their number and text them at the other side of the bar. I fear this act would be more of a turn off then the knowledge of your HIV status.

Depending on my mood, I will either tell someone before we meet or I will wait until after we have gone on a couple of dates. I opted for the latter with Josh, mostly because I had to abstain from any sexual activity. I am not one who likes to fail. I pride myself on being a bit of a know it all, but when my doctor called and told me that I failed my gonorrhea test, I was elated. Elated not to feel like a Petri dish of STDs. Elated not to have a white, yellow, or green discharge from my penis. Elated not to have swollen testicles. Elated to be able to set up my fourth date with Josh and by fourth date I mean sex, because I knew that during our next date our relationship would evolve past the goodnight kiss and into the land of carnal knowledge. So I pulled out my MacBook and composed this email:

 ` "I am really having an amazing time with you (and your Jew fro) but before anything goes any further, I need to tell you that I am HIV Positive. I am always upfront about my status."

 I know that this may be cowardly and that revealing my HIV status over an email is more like baby steps than strides from how I started, but it's something. It is something that I always do. I think that is the most important thing, the telling.

I cannot count how many times I have heard the phrase, "I am sure there are other positive guys out there you can date." This is typically from someone who is trying to politely turn me down and indirectly, they are trying to alleviate some of their guilt for being prejudiced.

I have often heard similar things from my friends when I complain about my disastrous dating life. They go on to tell me that, "It would be so much easier for you to date someone who is positive. Then you wouldn't have to worry about being rejected because of your status." My response goes a little something like this: a 5, 6, 7, 8

                        It isn't true, not for me

                        It's true for you, not for me

                        I hear your words

                        And in my head

                        I know they're smart

                        But my heart, You, douche bag

                        But my heart

Well, that would be my response if we were living in a land of that was created by Bernstein and Sondheim. Alas, we do not, but the sentiment still sings true. I think that the act confining myself to only one group would be quite limiting.

I feel the same way when asked if I would date outside of my race. My typical response is: "I like guys. Period." Granted, we all have preferences and types, but these superficial ideals are all thrown out the window when we end up at the gym, snapping fingers and dancing back to back with our Tony.

Are we, those who are different from the masses, supposed to find love only within our subgroup? Don't get me wrong, I think that it is great when that happens; it does make things easier. But I must ask: When has dating ever been easy? When has love ever been easy? There are times when I can be easy, but ask anyone who knows me, spending time with me isn't always a walk in the park.

While sometimes my dating choices are lead by my penis, most times I follow my heart. Case in point: recently I started to date Joshua, a Jewish activist. Now, I am circumcised and I can belt out "Poppa, Can you Here Me?" with the best of them but I am still very much a goy. This did not prevent either one of us from wanting to set up a date. Even still, it took us an extremely long to time to actually have our first date. Josh decided that it was more important to spend time in Albany to stand up for marriage equality. Geesh, some people have no priorities?

Since then we have had three dates: A brunch; a movie -- during which when I leaned over to whisper in something in his ear, he thought I was going in for a kiss and laid one on me, adorable; and a concert. With each date I grow increasingly more fond of him. Could he be the one? Should I invest in a yarmulke? Would I have to go through a bris?

I still haven’t told Josh that I am HIV positive.

I hope that when I finally get the nerve to tell him he will still want to keep on keeping on and not tell me that he is only looking to date other boys like himself: A light haired, Jewish boy with blue-green eyes from Wisconsin who spends his days fighting for civil liberties, oh and HIV negative. If I took Anita's dating advice and only stuck to my own kind, how the hell would I ever date? I mean, are there others a positive, Puerto Rican, Slavic, musical theatre performers, paralegals from rural Pennsylvania living in New York City?

You can also find me on my own website/blog www.positivelydating.wordpress.com/

Editor's Note: We are maintaining anonymity so that Positively Dating can keep on dating!

Let’s get one thing straight, dating is hard. Hard for everyone. Uncomfortable, agonizing, unpleasant, awkward, and well…just plain hard.

Imagine, if you will, going on a first date. It is the most amazing date that you have had in some time. He is sweet, charming, smart, funny, attractive, and most importantly, he has biceps the size of cantaloupes. At the end of the date he reaches over, grabs your chin and pulls you in for a gentle kiss. Your hearts starts racing and immediately you picture your wedding, your lovely two-bedroom brownstone, your 2.5 kids and of course, his perfectly chiseled ass in your bed. Shortly after the date ends he sends you a text, “Had a great time, let’s get together this weekend!”

The second date. Can it be that he is even more attractive and charming than you remember? The wine pours and the conversation turns flirty. The dirty kind of flirty that almost crosses the line but still remains playful. After walking out of the restaurant, he puts his hand around the small of your back and draws you in close.  His pelvis presses gingerly up against yours as he kisses you deeply. He kisses you deeply for the next ten minutes. This kiss shakes you to the core. If you are anything like me, you would probably stammer a little and trip over your own feet. After you apologize for your clumsiness, you say your goodbyes and you both leave sporting red faces. A product from your competing 5 o’clock shadows.

The next day you are giddy like a schoolgirl. Skipping around your apartment singing show tunes. Right in the middle of belting out your best rendition of  “A Wonderful Guy” from South Pacific, “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love with a wounderf….” It feels as if someone just kicked you in the gut. You haven’t told him you’re positive yet. You know that once he hears this news it will probably be the end of the…well, those red faces. FUCK!

For better or for worse: This is our world.

When I first moved to New York City, slightly over a year ago, I was ready. Ready to start dating again. I was finally over my last long-term relationship, which ended three years ago and I was ready to get back out there. I forgot how hard dating is. So I made a dating decision: I will go on at least one date a week. Practice makes perfect. Some weeks I make my goal, some weeks I do not, and some weeks I am an overachiever. Dating is like a numbers game, you have to play the averages. I was good in math at school and we learned that the more you play the game the higher your chances are to win. I am determined to win. As God as my witness, I will not go dateless again!

To aid in my goal, I have enlisted the services of the ever-popular dating site, OkCupid. And since it is never a good idea to put all of your eggs in one basket, I also use a gentleman’s socializing network, or two. Yes, I am referring to both Manhunt and Grindr.

I thought that being in a bigger city than Philadelphia, guys would be much more open to date someone who is positive. Oh was I ever wrong. I have had more first dates and subsequently more rejections than I can count. - oh, and one gonorrhea test, keep your fingers crossed that it comes back negative. But through it all I still remain a hopelessly optimistic romantic in search of my Jane Austen happy ending.

Join me as I try to navigate the rocky terrain of dating positively in New York City.

Positively Dating can also be found on his own website/blog www.positivelydating.wordpress.com/