When we last spoke, I discussed how, despite running a blog about kink and sexuality, I have never actually had sex.  And in the time since we last spoke, I remain a virgin.  However, I have spent the better part of a year doing a lot of research and soul-searching, and have come to the realization that I am asexual, and that on the asexuality spectrum, I fall somewhere between sex-averse and sex-repulsed, while still feeling romantic attraction.  I also recognize that there is probably nothing that I can do to change that, because that’s just how I’m wired.

Before coming to this conclusion, however, I did my research, looking at it from every angle that I could think of.  I started by looking at it from a fear perspective, but I came to a dead end, because I felt like I couldn’t make get close enough to it to even worry about being afraid of it.  I also felt like the various “solutions” that I found online about a fear of sex didn’t address the issue.  I have engaged in some sexual touching with my partner, after all, but it was with a gloved hand.  So it was pretty clear that it’s not a phobia, so that’s out.  I also looked into the possibility of low libido, and what that involves.  One of the big questions that those ask is whether or not you masturbate.  I do masturbate on a somewhat regular basis, usually once or twice a week, which helps to relieve stress.  Another big question that typically gets asked in that situation is whether or not this is a recent thing, and in my case, it isn’t.  I’ve always been like this.  Nothing has changed as far as libido goes.  Similarly, I looked into Hypoactive Sexual Desire Disorder, or HSDD.  That again didn’t check all of the boxes, as that requires the condition to cause some amount of distress, and I’m not distressed by it.  The only distress is caused by external factors, in that my partner makes sure that I know that she is not happy about the lack of sex in our relationship.  Me, I could go my entire life without copulating and be just fine.  In short, it’s none of those things.

Asexuality is about the only thing that checks all of the boxes.  Sex really doesn’t factor into my life all that much.  I have never looked at someone and thought, wow, I would love to have sex with that person.  I also cannot imagine any situation where I would want to engage in sexual intercourse with someone.  My stance on sex really boils down to sex-positivity for other people, i.e. as long as everyone consents, I’m happy for you, but I personally have a very strong aversion towards engaging in the act of sex myself.  I also realized something: I have no idea what sexual attraction feels like, since I don’t experience it.  My partner and I have a good relationship for the most part, as there is lots of hugging and other ways that we show our affection for each other. We do sleep in separate beds most of the time, but with the occasional “sleepover”.  But we love each other very much, and act like a married couple.  We just don’t have sex.

That whole idea of being repulsed by sex actually led to a very awkward conversation with my mother one time when it comes to my partner and me and our sex life.  I was visiting my parents one time, and my mother and I were going somewhere in the car, and she asked me if my partner and I had sex.  I didn’t appreciate the question, since my sex life, or lack thereof, was none of my mother’s business.  But I also felt like refusing to answer would just bring the question back in the future.  So I simply said that no, we do not have sex.  Would you believe that she didn’t believe me and thought that I was just being modest?  I had to explain that no, we really don’t have sex, that it was my decision not to, and that I had no interest in it.  Then she told me, “Oh, your father is the exact opposite.”  I so did not need to know that.  It’s like, yes, I am aware that such a thing happened in the past, because obviously, I exist, but I don’t need to know anything else about it.  I put an end to that discussion pretty quickly after that, because I didn’t want to go any further down that thread.  Hopefully that’s the last that I get inquiries about that, because I never want to discuss sex with my parents ever again.

Coming to the realization that I’m asexual has certainly made a few things make sense.  Back in high school, I briefly dated a girl who said on one of our dates that I had no sex drive.  She wondered if maybe I was gay.  I knew that I wasn’t gay, but I didn’t quite know how to process that comment about lack of a sex drive, because I didn’t know that I was supposed to have one.  Now it all makes sense.  Of course I don’t have a sex drive, because I’m asexual.  Similarly, it explains why I can’t be bothered to get that vasectomy that I’ve been thinking about for quite some time, which I have always considered to be a prerequisite for sex.  On one hand, I find it difficult to justify going through with it because I fail to see the point in doing it if I’m never going to engage in the activity that it’s supposed to help with.  But then I also realized something else: I was unconsciously using it as a way to build a wall between myself and sex, as in, no, we’re not having sex because I haven’t gotten that vasectomy yet, therefore sex is out of the discussion, and to actually get it done would remove that barrier and make it harder to get out of any conversation about having sex, since sterilization, i.e. my prerequisite for sex, would have been fulfilled.

Now, I feel like I’m being more honest with myself, and recognize that it is just an innate feeling of repulsion towards sex.  In other words, sex is yucky, and you can’t imagine ever engaging in it yourself, and it is okay to feel that way.  It also explains what I tend to get off to and why I consume the sorts of content that I do.  When I’m looking at porn, I’m typically looking at women getting tied up.  It’s all about the physical act of being tied up.  If there is any sexual penetration or other playing with genitals, I will probably turn it off.  Don’t play with their boobs.  Don’t undress them.  Just tie them up, gag them, and then let them wiggle around for a while in that state.

Reconciling asexuality and kink was a bit of a challenge for me at first, because it took me a while to break the mindset of relating kink to sexuality, at least directly, i.e. how can you be asexual when you’re kinky as fuck?  Then I realized that it’s not so much a people thing, but it’s an activity thing.  Kinky activities turn me on, but the idea of sex or being turned on by people just doesn’t turn me on in the least.  Show me a photo of a very attractive woman, and I am not going to be turned on by it, regardless of what they are (or are not) wearing.  But show me a photo of someone being tied up for a photo shoot, and then you have my attention.

Similarly, if I’m being tied up, myself, I mostly enjoy the act of being bound and then existing in that bound state.  That’s what turns me on.  Anything else is just a bonus.  Bondage really is the end-all for me.  It’s not foreplay or anything else leading to sex.  It’s all about the bondage.  That’s it.  I get incredibly turned on thinking about bondage and the act of being tied up, and sex doesn’t factor into it, like, at all.  I don’t want to be tied up and fucked, nor do I want to tie someone up and fuck them.  Similarly, I admit that when I am the top in a scene, it has its challenges.  My favorite part is the tying itself.  It’s kind of like, “Okay, you’re tied up.  That was fun.  What, you mean I have to do something with you while you’re in that state?  I just can’t enjoy your being tied up?”  I feel like the times when I top, it feels half-hearted.  It’s kind of like I’m just going through the motions, but not really feeling it myself.  I like tying other people up for a scene, but then for the rest of the scene, I feel like I’m all thumbs.  That then makes me feel badly because I feel like I’m not performing as well as I ought to, and I don’t want to let the other person down, and those lingering thoughts just make everything all that more difficult.  On the other hand, being the bottom is easy.  You just get tied up and then just get to exist for a while in that helpless state, and then whatever we discussed to have happen after that plays out.

In any event, my being both asexual and kinky as fuck has led to some very interesting visits to my local adult toy store over the years.  I typically show great interest in the BDSM implements that they have and consider how they would fit into my own repertoire, while I am thoroughly amused by a lot of the other stuff that they sell there.  Considering that sex itself doesn’t factor into my life, I tend to look at many of these toys from the perspective of an outside observer.  These elaborate toys that I see for people to use simply to have sex do nothing for me, and I just don’t see the thrill in them.  I admit that I admire the artistry in some of the more exotic looking dildos, taking that general shape of a dick and being very creative in its presentation, but I don’t see the fun of it in the sexual sense.  Just from the artistic side of things.  The other stuff, I really want to laugh about some of it, but then I have to remember where I am, and that for others, this stuff that I find ridiculous is deathly serious, and I do not want to offend.

Meanwhile, in recent months, I really have come to accept my asexuality.  I definitely struggled with it, in that “what is wrong with me?” kind of way, but now that I have accepted it, I take it in stride.  Now, what I struggle with is how much I want to be open about it vs. its being just about me.  When I was diagnosed with autism a few years ago, I was very open about it, writing a long piece discussing the diagnosis and what it means to me, and how getting a diagnosis as an adult would change things (or not change things).  Part of me wants to use the flagpole holder that’s on the front of my house to fly a big asexuality flag during pride month.  Or perhaps place a little asexuality flag in the flower bed in front of the house as more of a garden-sized thing with the asexuality colors, temporarily replacing a pineapple “welcome” flag that I usually display as a sign of hospitality (not for swinging – just good old fashioned hospitality).  But then I question whether or not I want to go there so publicly and broadcast it to all of my neighbors.  After all, what does my sexuality matter as far as they are concerned?  Answer is, it’s not really relevant.  And since it doesn’t affect them in any way, why do they need to know?

However, I did recently test the use of a black ring as a symbol of asexuality, where one wears a black ring on the right middle finger.  When I went on a trip to New York with a friend where I was crossdressing, Jennifer sported a black ring on her right middle finger:

Jennifer wears a black ring on the right middle finger, symbolizing asexuality.

The ring was made of silicone and came in a pack of four, and the whole pack cost me fifteen bucks on Amazon, which was reasonable enough.  It was very simple and innocuous, and I doubt that anyone else noticed it other than my friend, and only then because I brought it to his attention ahead of time.  But the way that the ring made me feel was worth many times more than what it cost me.  It was a physical manifestation of so much that I have battled with over the years, all wrapped up in a small little band around the finger.  It was about my being asexual and recognizing that there is nothing wrong with that.  It represented my being honest with myself about who I am, and that I am who I am, and that it’s not a disorder or a problem to be corrected.  After all, I didn’t choose to be asexual.  I imagine that things would be simpler if I could just have sex like so many others do.  But that’s not who I am.  My lack of interest in sex doesn’t mean that I’m gay or anything else that I’m not.  It just means that I’m ace.  And that’s okay.  It also symbolizes that it’s okay that I never want to have sex, and that I shouldn’t try to force myself into it, because I’m just not wired for sex.  And that is fine.

The only sticky part about all of this is with my relationship.  I may be asexual, but my partner is not.  She wants to have sex – with me – and has not been subtle about it.  The only thing that has caused me any distress is that part, because I have no idea how to deal with that.  Sex is kind of disgusting, and I’m worried that if were to I force myself to do it despite my aversions to it, that it’s going to cause me a lot of emotional trauma from forcing myself to do something that I know I don’t want to do, almost as though I violated my own body without its consent.  That might also leave me feeling resentful towards her for participating in something that I had no desire to participate in, especially if it’s unpleasant, and that’s a result that I don’t want, either.  I can’t help but think that if I wasn’t asexual, this would be easy, because then we would just have sex and that would be that.  But no, I had to be born asexual and sex-repulsed, but our relationship predates my realizing that I’m ace.  I’ve attempted to negotiate with her about alternatives that would scratch that itch for her and allow me to avoid that which I am grossed out by, but so far, she has not budged.  She wants full-on intercourse, and I feel like I just can’t go there.  She also has taken my not wanting sex as a personal rejection, when it’s actually anything but.  If I were to have sex, it absolutely would be with her, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  And her attempts to pressure me into doing it with her just make me want to do it even less.  It’s quite a dilemma.  I love my partner very much.  I want her to be happy, and I don’t want to disappoint her, but this is a road that I feel that I just can’t go down and still remain true to myself.  Sex is just not for me.  I don’t want it, and the whole thing just comes off as nasty in a bad way.  So that’s something that she and I need to work through.  I suspect that we’ll figure something out, but I don’t yet know what that something will be, or when we figure it out.

All I know is that the realization that I’m asexual has brought me a lot of peace.  Sex is just not part of who I am, even though I’m kinky as fuck.  It’s an interesting combination, for sure, but I am happy to know what I am, and I’m proud to embrace it.