It probably goes without saying that I have trouble with terms like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘girlfriend’ and… well, that’s it. I don’t mind boyfriend as a word – I just don’t know what a boyfriend is. I don’t know when casual dating becomes a relationship. Everything’s a relationship.

I’m mentioning this because Matt’s confusing me. We’ve been dating for a few months now, but in a very free-and-loose way. Dating in New York is like dating with a touch of the ADD, with dinners and drinks and the likelihood, if not certainty, that there will be sex. But this dating needs to fight for attention from your work, your friends, your city-wide errands, the occasional taxi jam or delayed subway train, and a flood of events/shows/exhibitions to experience. It’s hard to carve out enough space to let a relationship grow in this city.

Matt and I seem to be bound by sexual chemistry and geographical convenience. When I walk home, the trek takes me through some of my favorite neighborhoods where I can sit, caffeinate, and get some work done – spending the night segues nicely to my regular schedule. And when we’re apart, we do our own thing, and it would never occur to me to introduce him to friends, or invite him along when I rush through a museum or browse a bookstore. We keep most conversations limited to text messages until we meet up and chat face-to-face (which I prefer). We don’t really email. We don’t do “couples” things, which I can safely say neither of us enjoys. And while I do spend the night, and I love spending the night, it’s really just to maximize our sex time. In my mind, it’s a sexual relationship. The sex is fantastic. The sex is why I’m in it, really, because it’s very good, and very, very satisfying. But beyond that, there isn’t much depth, and I’m assuming he sees it the same way.

The thing is, I’ve seriously misperceived relationships like this in the past. I was once involved with someone for about a year, and like this it was mostly sex. I saw him every Tuesday evening, the only night I had totally and completely free. I’d trek it out to his place, walk up the five flights to his spartan studio. He’d pour me a whiskey and we’d sit in his quasi-dining-area nook and empty our brains in a long, rambling chat. Then we’d fuck, and sleep, and I’d wake up to him tumbling out of bed, dressing for work, and then leaving with a mumbled apology. I’d roll out of bed hung-over, piece my clothing together, and then stumble my way down the five flights until I hit Chinatown during its morning awakening. It was the same routine, over and over. It never moved into anything substantial.

Then, one day, he asked me why we’d drifted, and the question baffled me. Drifted… from what? I’d just assumed that it was a non-relationship, or maybe a sexified friendship. But I’d been wrong, and I handled the situation horribly.

I might be too comfortable living in the moment. The thing that made me a good mistress or a good fling or a good callgirl was, or is, my tendency to approach sexual experiences without expectations. And that can be good. In fact, it’s usually good. But the problem is that I have no expectations ever. And for a relationship to work, we should expect something. I just don’t know what. Or when. Or whether I can reciprocate.

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A friend just wrote, “i don’t believe it’s really the lack of expectation… i think neither of us assumes we’re entitled to anything. out of anyone, out of the world. [...] i think while the seeming lack of expectations on your part may present itself as sort of the focal point, it’s a disguise for a different thing, which is perhaps you haven’t yet felt ready to give, and maybe more importantly—receive, the trust and emotional intimacy that i’m sure you’ll one day feel really good about. maybe it’s a question of timing, maybe it’s the person, maybe it’s both.”