When my friends tell me about their latest sexual exploits, I nod and giggle along, mildly embarrassed that I’ve never had sex, but also comforted by the knowledge that I don’t want to. You really like it when he does what? Can’t we talk about something else – something that I actually know about? I go through waves of feeling there’s something wrong with me – why can’t I be a “normal” young person with a “normal” sexuality? But what does that mean?
I’ve only dated one person I’ve actively wanted to sleep with, and that was in the days before I knew what asexuality was. Maybe I’ll meet someone else or maybe I won’t – sexuality is an ever‑changing thing – but it is a struggle to convince myself that either way, it’s OK.
Telling people (which happens rarely) results in confused looks and reductive comments about how it’s a case of waiting for the right person to come along and awaken your inner sexuality. Trust me, it’s not that. My inner sexuality, as you so charmingly put it, is there – asexuals are generally perfectly capable of having sex – but, right now, it’s dormant. I don’t judge you for wanting to have sex, so why is it OK for you to write me off as weird?
For now, I’m happier with people not knowing, although I do wonder how much more shoulder-shrugging my mum will accept in response to her insistent questions about meeting “any nice boys”. Asexuality remains largely untalked about, even in the LGBTQ+ community, but trust us, we exist, and you probably know someone like me. Our experience is valid, and I refuse to believe otherwise.
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