Sexuality has always been a difficult topic for me. I have a rather crass sense of humor, and I don’t mind joking about being a phone sex operator, a shoe dealer for foot fetishists, a professional dominatrix, or about running a Craigslist dirty panty warehouse. (N.B., I have done absolutely none of those things.)
But you know how some people spend years trying to figure our whether they’re gay or straight? I spent a few months trying to figure out whether I was asexual.
And, well, I’m not. Sex just doesn’t seem to hold the same importance in my life as it does for other people. I never really think about it unless there are certain circumstances. Generally, those circumstances involve finding a person who’s interesting enough to have sex with. And even then, true sexual attraction takes some effort with me. I have to truly enjoy my conversations with the person, and have some sense of (dare I say it? mutual) caring and trust.
I didn’t know there was a word for how I felt until I described it to my best friend, who suggested demisexuality and gray-asexuality. The models don’t fit me perfectly (what definition ever does?), but it’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only person to experience this.
But it’s also kind of a burden. I feel that my degree of sexuality complicates matters for me. I’m perfectly capable of feeling and acting upon sexual attraction, but it’s not in a noticeable way. An ostensible lack of sexuality is not appealing to any of the men I’ve ever known. I’m not unattractive, and I’m generally a pleasant person, but that reads as “decoration.”
Also, I am an introvert by nature. It takes a lot of time and patience to get to know me. I don’t open up to people very easily, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have thoughts or feelings. Just a fear of being judged—and the more I care what someone thinks, the longer it takes, it seems.
I don’t feel sorry for myself, though. There is something in this struggle worth holding on to.
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