Asexual Perspective: Let’s (Not) Talk About Sex, Baby
“Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we’ll ever do.”
The conversation turned to sex like I knew it would. With this group, it was inevitable. Trials and tribulations of failed dates, unwanted dick pics, and unbelievable orgasms.
This isn’t a foreign concept. It’s natural for girlfriends to swap stories of their sexual escapades. Who better to vent to and laugh with than friends who truly understand? Those who have been through the dramatic cycle of dating and relationships. Isn’t that part of the reason why Sex & the City was so popular with young women?
Our job, as listeners, as sisters in arms, is to agree with whatever she says. We’re to play devil’s advocate, but find a way to loop it back around to total agreement. That he’s the problem.
“He ghosted me. I should give up, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“But he said he’s really busy. It happens.”
“Screw him.”
“What if he apologizes?”
“You deserve better.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks, guys. I knew I could count on you. He sucks.”
Sound familiar? I’m certain most of us have been on the giving or receiving end of a conversation like this. Guys too. Women aren’t alone in needing moral support when it comes to relationships.
And it goes without saying that the dating and relationship field is full of drama.
It’s also advancing. Thanks to dating apps, we can be rejected with the swipe of a finger and not even know it. People recount horrific dates in group text conversations. DM pickup lines become screenshots, which are then shared across social media. With all of this current technology, the potential for heartache is at an all-time high. I spent a great many days and nights consoling friends because of Tinder, Bumble, and Hinge.
Join the community today ↓ to get blogs, news, and announcements delivered right to your inbox!I’m happy and willing to lend an ear. My advice, if asked for, may not be the best, but it’s viable. Although rusty in the dating and relationship field, I share words of wisdom I’d hope to hear if I found myself in a similar predicament.
I can’t help but laugh as I write this. That wasn’t bound to happen anytime soon. I haven’t been on a date in… I’ve lost track. I do know that I haven’t been in a romantic relationship for over 20 years.
I’m asexual and as an ace woman, the idea of sex and, sometimes, relationships, does not appeal to me. You ever have one of those days where you’re like, “Meh. Not feeling it today?” That’s how I feel about sex. All the time.
In May 2019, I hadn’t yet identified as asexual. I’d known for a long time that I had a different perspective on sex, relationships, and romance, but couldn’t put a name to it. And when a group of girls from my taekwondo school decided to do a girls’ weekend, I knew it was inevitable that sex would enter the conversation.
Sex talk doesn’t bother me. I can sit and laugh at the stories and innuendos. I’ve been known to come up with a few good zingers myself. But too often, I’m terrified someone will ask me the wrong question, and that weekend, it happened.
NOTE: I’m replacing my friends’ names with names from Buffy the Vampire Slayer to protect their privacy.
“I want to hear from Jess,” Willow said. Her declaration cut off Tara, who was showing off a shirtless picture of a guy she slept with a few months ago.
“Yeah,” Anya chimed in. “It’s Jess’s turn.”
Tara put her phone down. “Yes, girl. Spill.”
Shit.
“You fly under the radar,” Willow went on. “The other day, Oz thought of a guy to introduce you to, but he wasn’t sure. He asked me, ‘Is Jess even into guys?’ And it made me realize we don’t know because you’re always so quiet about that sort of thing.”
Shit. Shit.
“She’s right,” Cordelia added. “Tell us what kind of dick you’ve had, Jess.”
If the floor had a way of opening up and swallowing me whole, I would have welcomed it. The panic didn’t show on my face. I’m known to wear my heart on my sleeve, but when needed, my poker face is top-notch.
Whatever you do, don’t tell them the truth. Lie. Come up with something. Something believable. But say something. Now!
My voice took on a calm and steady rhythm when I answered, “For starters, I’m straight.” Internally, I’m shaking worse than a frightened Chihuahua. At least my voice sounds confident. “And I’m sorry to say my sex life is pretty boring by comparison. I’ve only had sex twice. Once with my high school boyfriend and once with a guy I dated briefly in college. Nothing earth-shattering. Just your average sexual experience.” I face Willow. “Tell Oz I’d love to meet his friend.”
I really didn’t, but I’m used to agreeing to things I don’t want to do.
Willow smiled. “I’ll let him know.”
The lack of juicy details from me forced them to switch targets. Eyes turned to Anya. I’m in the clear, and I hold my elongated sigh until I’m alone in the bathroom.
You’re good, I told my reflection. It wasn’t over the top. They know you’re not the most adventurous of the bunch. They’ll believe it.
That night, while I lay in bed, Tara passed out on the twin-sized mattress to my left, I wondered how I managed to lie so easily. The fabrication didn’t carry an ounce of disbelief. It was imperative to sound convincing. What bugged me most was how I could lie to my friends.
I joined the martial arts school in March 2017. It’s where we all met. Two years later, we put together our first-ever girls' weekend. We talked about doing one for months, and one of the things I did during this relaxing, bonding trip was lie.
But how was I meant to tell a group of sexually active twenty-somethings I’m a thirty-two-year-old virgin? A virgin in every sense of the word. The extent of my sexual experiences was what went on in private between me and myself. Even that wasn’t a lot.
I know why I lied. I was terrified. I feared their judgment. Their assumed reactions are as clear to me today as they were then.
“What do you mean you’re a virgin!?”
“Girl, you need to get laid!”
“I didn’t even know that was still a thing.”
“Are you waiting for marriage? I didn’t know you were religious.”
Imagine the responses I would’ve received if I then said how sex doesn’t interest me.
A scene from the HBO show Euphoria comes to mind whenever I think about telling the truth to someone. In the pilot, Kat (Barbie Ferreira) is a virgin. She meets the new trans student, Jules (Hunter Schafer), in summer school. When Jules learns about Kat’s virginity, she says, “Bitch, this isn’t the 80s. You need to catch a dick!”
When Jules slammed her locker shut in that scene, I flinched the first time I saw the episode. I grew small. Shrank inside of myself. It felt like she was yelling at me rather than at Kat. The entertainment industry has made strides in representing LGBTQIA+ characters, but asexual characters are still lacking.
Angela Chen, author of Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex, mentions that the only three well-known asexual characters on television in the 2000s were Varys from Game of Thrones, Raphael Santiage from Shadowhunters, and Todd Chavez from BoJack Horseman. She writes,
“BoJack has ended, and so have Game of Thrones and Shadowhunters. There are now zero asexual characters on prime-time television, according to the GLAAD Media Institute, which tracks queer characters in television and started including asexual characters a few years ago.”
The last thing I wanted was five faces of shock glaring at me all weekend. Being a virgin wasn’t an issue for me. I knew it’d be a tougher pill for them to swallow, so I kept my mouth shut and spun a fictional tale. I’m a writer after all.
That wasn’t the first time I lied about my virginity. Most of the people who know me know by default. The few I select to tell are chosen based on how well I can predict their reaction. If I can avoid the subject altogether, I do. When I can’t, I gauge people’s maturity levels. I study their responses to certain topics and make an educated guess.
I’m not saying the people I don’t tell are immature imbeciles. Everyone has different maturity levels. Maturity is not about whether you laugh at fart jokes. The maturity level I scope out is the one where you can respect a friend or family member’s lifestyle choices, including their sexual orientation, and not make them feel like shit because you don’t get it.
I had to determine where my friends’ maturity bar was. Would they respect me for telling the truth? Or would they make a huge deal out of it? Ask me a ton of questions I didn’t have the answers to. I suspected the latter. Again, I didn’t know I was asexual then. Had I known, perhaps I would’ve felt more confident. Because then I could have explained it to them.
Cat’s out of the bag now.
Why couldn’t I trust my friends, of all people, with the truth? The complicated answer is I don’t know.
There isn’t one specific reason why I feel the way I feel about telling some people and not others. A part of it stems from the fact that your sex life is your business. Sex is one of the most intimate and private things you can share with someone.
Intimacy is vulnerability. It’s hard enough for people to be vulnerable. If you choose to share your sexual experiences, it’s your right. However, many people prefer to keep what happens in the bedroom private. People don’t need others shaming them for what they’re into.
I have no issue being a virgin. My friends might not understand. You might not understand, and that’s fine.
That girls’ weekend was meant to be fun and relaxing. I didn’t want voices hounding me, telling me I should have sex. If I wanted to, I would. That’s not the point.
Asexuals are not prudes. We don’t look down on others for having sex. It’s an unfair misconception that we all despise sex. Many asexuals are in committed relationships and do have sex with their partners.
In today’s oversexualized culture, it’s rare to find anyone willing to admit they’re a virgin. But there are plenty of us who are. It doesn’t define us, and it’s not for you to judge. If you’re curious, ask questions because ace liberation begins with understanding something you don’t understand. And I’m happy to share my knowledge with you.
Author’s Note: While this piece is written from the perspective of an asexual, I am not the only ace voice on the internet. If you’re interested in learning more about this complex orientation, I encourage you to seek out more ace voices. You can find a comprehensive (and growing) list of fiction and nonfiction books about asexuality.
If this post resonated with you in any way, please consider buying me a coffee. A little caffeine goes a long way for a writer, and I will be forever grateful for the fuel. ☕️