Six Unsexy Questions on Being Ace by Julia Alora
“I was told it was a phase, that I needed therapy, …that I could be fixed”
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{deep breath}
Please don’t be offended, but I’m not interested in your genitals. Any of your genitals. I’m sure they’re all great — each as beautiful and unique as the person they’re attached to — but they just don’t…do it for me, you know? Or maybe… you don’t know since asexuals only make up 1% of the population, which is the same percentage as people with serial killer tendencies, so it is about as likely to run into one as it is the other. Lucky for you, I’m here to answer six unsexy questions I’ve been asked about being asexual, and there’s not a serial killer here… probably.
1) “What is an asexual?”
We’re the A at the end of the queer alphabet (sorry allies, that letter isn’t there for you). Simply put, an asexual person does not experience sexual attraction. They might still feel romantic, aesthetic, intellectual, and platonic attraction, just not the one regarding slimy crotch maneuvers. There’s actually a whole grayscale rainbow of people who literally do not fuck around: Asexuals (or Aces) like me, Demis, who feel sexual desire with people they’ve formed close bonds to, Aros, who don’t experience *romantic* attraction, Autos, who are sexually drawn to themselves (not cars), and graysexuals, who are somewhere between sexual and asexual.
Asexuals, much like serial killers, look just like anyone else. They can be stylish, or wear comfortable clothes, or extravagant costumes, or nothing at all! Asexuals can even look sexy. Confusing, I know. A black ring on the right middle finger is the agreed upon signal to others that an individual is Ace, but I have yet to meet a straight person who knows that. We’re mostly ‘invisible’ as far as sexualities go.
2) “When did you realize you were Asexual?”
I realized this in 2015 when I was dating five people at once and was simply not enjoying sexual contact with any of them. For a long time I was waiting for my clitoris to perk up and sort of point me in the right direction. When that didn’t happen I dated a string of straight men, then a few women and nonbinary folks, then some men again, all the while feeling more and more like something was 'wrong’ with me for not enjoying sexual intimacy with them. I felt like an alien who had mistakenly taken the shape of a human female, bombarded by confounding sexual actions I had no way of comprehending or reciprocating.
I’d heard the term asexual a few times, but didn’t fully understand it until I moved to Portland and spoke to a friend who’d had similar experiences. They'd been feeling lost and confused in a sex-focused world. After doing some research and introspection, every awkward unsexy moment in my life made sense. I simply hadn’t been considering it a possibility, that one could exist in this world without that 'key', seemingly necessary component.
3) “Do asexuals date?”
Yes! I still crave intimacy; I’m a cynical panromantic and would die without enough cuddles. But, since running into an asexual I vibe with at the coffee shop is about as likely as meeting a cute murderer looking at leather working tools in the craft store, many of us, myself included, date sexual people. This can get awkward pretty fast, as I’m still not sure when the appropriate time is to tell someone who is interested in me that I’m asexual. It’s not as easy to slip into conversation or blurt out in a personal essay as you might think. Do I bring it up on the first date at the expensive restaurant they took me to, thereby assuming sexual intent? Or a month in when I want to cuddle naked, but they’re interpreting nudity as a welcome sign on my vagina?
I began to feel like an angler fish, luring partners in with misinterpreted friendliness, only to spring upon them the fact that I’d rather devour every detail of their life story than let them fuck me. At the same time, I was falling into traps because of my own assumptions. I’ve always been terrible at picking up on sexual intent, flirting, and innuendo, but apparently when someone asks you to “Hang out” they actually mean, “Date.” (Did you all know this? No one told me!). It can be getting lunch at Whole Foods, or walking around the block, or sitting silently at a movie, but as unromantic as it is, it’s still a date. I’ve been on WAY too many dates that I had no idea were dates. This makes it doubly hard to make friends, as I have to make it absolutely clear that I am not asking for a date when I want to hang out with them. “Wanna get platonic tacos?” is the best non-sexual pickup line I’ve come up with, so far.
4) “So… do you have sex?”
Sometimes! I’d been told most of my life that sex was the BEST. That someday I’d grow up and have a bunch of it, and it’d be fun and pleasurable and fulfilling. But I was always… a bit grossed out by the whole thing. Unwashed penises and sweaty testicles, the smell of vaginal mucus… not to mention all the other various fluids and stenches involved… it was never appealing, even as my friends were rapidly becoming more and more obsessed with the idea. Still, I tried my best to find a way to fuck that didn’t lead to me bursting into tears halfway through because I feel as valued as a cum-stained sock. Sex is way better when you’re turned on, I’m told. When you’re not, and there’s an erect dick coming at you, things go from “mostly enjoyable” to “difficult” real quick.
I always try to be honest with my partners, so I don’t fake orgasms, and let them know that despite their best efforts they will not be able to make me cum. Usually though, this statement is taken as a challenge, and I’m forced to politely lie there as my clit is licked numb or have to endure an added three minutes of dick jamming into my aching vag. Because clearly, their genitals are the ones that will magically unlock the floodgates of pent-up orgasms…
Since I’d been told sex would hurt sometimes, that women usually didn’t orgasm during sex, and that “practice makes perfect”, I subjected myself to one uncomfortable experience after another. Sometimes I’d feel a sickly, almost pleasurable sensation, like pressure on a bruise, and for a long time I believed that this was what I’d been searching for, that that pain was the most enjoyment I’d ever be able to get. Realizing that I could exist as someone who didn’t want sex, that it was okay to do so, ended my search for sexual gratification, much to my relief. Sex is fine, but intimate connection and play is way more appealing to me than getting jabbed by a meat stick for eight to twelve minutes.
5) “What’s the worst thing about being asexual?”
The worst thing is all the misconception attached to a sexual orientation that isn’t widely talked about or positively portrayed by the media. Unfortunately, there’s a lot of stigma in our society towards people who aren’t into sex. If someone is wound up and cranky, they just need to “get laid.” If someone isn’t having sex, it’s because they’re undesirable. And nothing, if decades of rom-com tropes are to be believed, is worse than being stuck in a sexless relationship. I was so sure that something was wrong with me that I put myself in painful situations to ‘fix’ it. I was told by peers and loved ones that I “just needed to find the right man” or that I “hadn’t been fucked correctly.” I was told it was a phase, that I needed therapy because my sexuality stemmed from trauma, that I could be fixed with some damiana tea or “lady Viagra.”
The second worst thing is not feeling like I’m good enough. That no matter how much I love someone, I will never be as good of a partner as a person they could regularly have sex with.. The fear of being a disappointment, of inevitably being replaced once someone with a sex drive comes into the picture, still makes me feel like I’m wrong for being who I am, even now that I realize my sexuality is entirely valid.
The third worst thing is being sexualized all the fucking time. Being a woman is like playing an RPG where every wise old man offering a quest just wants to grope your chest, every person calling for help on the street wants you to fuck them in an alley, and your reward for kind deeds is yup, you guessed it, more offers for bad sex. I just want to be friendly without that inevitable recontextualization. I want to compliment people, hug them, dance with them, look at them and smile, without it being a signal that I want a dick in my mouth or a make-out session with a muff. I want it to be known that my actions are sincere, and never sexually motivated. But, unfortunately, the best I can do for now is wear my ring when I remember to and shout “I’M ASEXUAL” at anyone who tries to ask me out.
Sometimes, I almost wish I was sexual, or back in the confused stage of my life where I thought I was straight… but I’ve never felt more at home in my body, more accepting and loving of myself, than I have since realizing I was ace.
6) Last question, and it’s an important one — “Do you masturbate, and if so what to?”
Ah, I maybe should have put this one sooner, but yes, I occasionally masturbate (about once or twice a month). I started when I was nineteen because my friend called me a prude for never having masturbated in the shower. This was before I realized I was asexual, so I tried watching various porn and looking at sexy pictures like I was some sheltered thirteen-year-old who had just discovered his penis. It didn’t work. It was music, actually, that brought me to orgasm the first time. When I separated my mind from the anxiety surrounding sex, I could follow the crescendo to climax. After that, I experimented with imagining different experiences. One of my favorites is a vivid transformation into a bird. My arms become wings, feathers sprout from my skin, and my lips pucker into a beak. As my mind shrinks with my body I feel myself shedding concerns about the fucked-up world, losing my fear of the future, and finally being free from all the bullshit of human sexuality. But… the sad reality of this scenario is that even birds mostly sit around yelling “Fuck me, Fuck me!” And I’d still be the weirdo chirping,
“Wanna get platonic worms?”
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Header Image by Jacob Fredrick