Asexuality: A Brief Introduction

I’ve had dreams where naked women throw themselves on me, and I tell them that I’m really busy and I’m supposed to be somewhere. I’ve had dreams where women are very obviously coming on to me, and I completely miss it. I’ve told women in dreams to put their clothes back on, because they look cold. It’s like the part of my brain that generates dreams didn’t get the memo that I’m asexual, so it’s still sending out these prompts for sex dreams, but the rest of my brain doesn’t process them, so they always end up weird.

Many asexuals say that they’ve never had sex dreams of any kind.

You think that “sexy” clothes just look uncomfortable or cold and can’t understand why anyone would wear them.

Tight pants look like they’re going to squeeze the life out of someone, and if it’s a guy wearing them, you know he’s gotta be in pain. Heels look like a broken ankle waiting to happen. Shirts that expose the midriff have to be freezing in this weather. All that lace is just going to leave a weird pattern in your skin. Thongs seem like they’re going to cut you in half like a wire saw.

And I never got the point of make-up, either.

You don’t really fantasize.

Everyone else seems like they undress people with their eyes.

Everyone else seems like they dream about having their way with the quarterback or the head cheerleader.

Everyone else seems like they would “hit that”.

But not you. It’s not that you won’t, because you think it’s sinful or something like that. It’s that you don’t. Your mind just doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t spontaneously imagine leaping into bed with someone. Maybe it’s even that you can’t. Maybe you’ve tried to devise erotic fantasies and have failed. You tried to undress someone with your eyes once, but you couldn’t even figure out how to get their bra off. And if you can make it to the hot & heavy, rather than picturing the perfect mix of ecstasy and passion, you get bogged down in the details and end up distracted. You spend so much energy trying to maintain the fantasy that you lose whatever pleasure you were hoping to get from it.

You don’t like sex.

Some asexuals don’t like sex. They don’t want to do it, they don’t want to see it, they don’t want to hear it, they don’t want to think about it. At the age when most people were hearing about sex and thinking “I’d like to try that”, they were thinking “You want me to do what with WHAT? No. Just. No.”

While not liking sex doesn’t necessarily mean one is asexual, many asexuals don’t like sex and discover that they’re asexual when they’re trying to find out why they don’t like sex.

A lot of non-asexual people feel this way, too, when they first hear about sex. Let’s face it, the whole process is a bit icky, after all. However, for most people who feel this way, those thoughts are pushed aside once sexual attraction kicks in. But for the aversive asexual, sexual attraction never comes along to override these feelings.

The “ick factor” isn’t the only reason people don’t like sex. Some asexuals don’t like sex because they find it uncomfortable or boring. There are thousands of reasons that someone might not like sex.

You like sex, but it doesn’t feel “right”.

I don’t mean this in an “Oh, it’s sinful and dirty” sense. I mean it in the sense where something seems off, like starting with the wrong hole when buttoning up a shirt or walking with gum on your shoe or using a shopping cart that always pulls to the right. At first glance, it seems like everything’s okay, but the more you think about it, the more things feel off.

Perhaps you physically enjoy sex. Maybe you like making your partner feel good. There are things you might really like about sex, but at the same time, there’s something missing. When you watch your partner’s reactions, it’s clear that there’s something there that you’re not feeling. It’s impossible to put your finger on it, but you know there’s something there. Some intangible spark is behind their eyes, and you’re acutely aware that spark is missing in your eyes.

This was how I felt when I had sex. It physically felt great, but emotionally, I was not connected to the moment and to my partner. She wanted it, she was into it, she had been craving that moment for months, while I just didn’t have any of that.

You had sex because that’s what you were “supposed to do”.

You never were really interested in having sex, you never felt a drive or biological desire to have sex, you never saw anyone and wanted to have sex with them, but you thought you wanted to have sex because “that’s what people do”. Later on, you got a partner, they wanted to have sex and you went along with it because “that’s what people do”. You kept having sex because “that’s what I’m supposed to do”. It felt more like an obligation or a chore than the expression of love it was supposed to be. At first, you may have even wanted the experience, but as time went on, you grew tired of it.

When you encountered the naked body of someone for the first time in a sexual situation, you looked at it like a real-life anatomy lesson, rather than an object of desire.

This one happened to me. I was in my bedroom with my first (and so far, only) girlfriend. Following her lead, we were fooling around a bit. She was wearing short shorts and sitting on my bed. She sat me down on the floor in front of her, spread open her legs, and pulled aside her shorts.

I think that most young men in this situation look upon it with unbridled glee. It’s a milestone in their life, something they’d been working toward and dreaming about, often for years. Instantly, their mind fills with ideas and opportunities and a thousand fantasies, any number of which could come true within the next five minutes. For many men, a sight like that is like being invited into the playground of their dreams and told to run wild.

So, what went through my mind?

“Oh, so that’s how it all fits together!”

There was no explosion of sexual urges, no endless stream of desires. I didn’t really even feel compelled to touch anything. Instead, I was busy looking over the terrain like it was a road map, full of places I’d only heard of in passing. I wanted to identify all of the bits and pieces that I knew were supposed to be down there and see how they were all oriented relative to one another.

Needless to say, I now look at this event as one of the big red flags that should’ve clued me in that I was asexual years before I realized I was.

You focus on the motions, not emotions.

When dealing with sex and physical closeness, you put an emphasis on trying to make the right moves, like touching the right place in the right way, as if following a set of instructions, instead of focusing on the emotional aspects and going with the flow. In some cases, the pressure you feel to push all the right buttons may make the experience highly mechanical and unpleasant.

“If I try it, maybe I’ll like it.”

So, you haven’t had sex. You’re not terribly enthusiastic about it, either. It’s not that you’re against it, it’s just not all that interesting to you. But everyone else seems to like it, so maybe you will too, if you just gave it a chance. Maybe you just need to try it out and you’ll see what the fuss is about.

I call this the “Green Eggs and Ham” hypothesis:

You do not like them, so you say. Try them! Try them, and you may. Try them and you may, I say.

The idea that maybe you’ll become interested in sex if you try it out is a compelling one. The thinking goes,