AsexualityArchive - Asexuality - A Brief Introduction

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, how can you really know if you’re not interested if you don’t give it a shot? Well, the answer is that you really can know. After all, you don’t actually have to hug a saguaro cactus to know that would be unpleasant. So, if you’re certain that sex is not for you, then don’t feel pressured to prove that you don’t like it by going a few rounds.

On the other hand, if you feel this way and you’re open to the experience and the right situation comes along, then go for it.

Maybe you’ll like it, maybe you won’t, it doesn’t really matter either way. I felt this about myself, and I did try having sex. Of course, what it lead to was…

You had sex and thought “Is that it?”

That’s it? That’s all there is?

Weren’t there supposed to be fireworks and standing ovations? Wasn’t my life supposed to be changed forever? Wasn’t it supposed to be the single greatest experience of my entire life?

What was supposed to be so great about that? Why do some people devote their entire lives to pursuing that? How could that possibly be responsible for ruining the careers of so many politicians? How could so many people consider that to be the very meaning of life?

I don’t know, I guess it was kinda fun, a little bit, sorta. Bit boring, though, too.

I mean, seriously? Is that really it? What’d I miss?

Meh, whatever.

You don’t like masturbating.

Maybe you’ve tried it before, but it didn’t work out and you didn’t get anywhere. Maybe you never saw the point. Maybe you do it, but you look at it like any other bodily function, like a sneeze or a shiver. Maybe you think it’s gross or disgusting or repulsive. Maybe you do it and wish you could stop. In any case, you don’t look at it as something pleasurable and fun. And it’s not out of a sense of guilt or shame or anything like that. You just genuinely don’t enjoy it.

You masturbate, so what would you need anyone else for?

You might look at other people and how they talk about sex and about what person X did for them last night, and think, “Huh, I can do that by myself. I don’t need any help.” You’re perfectly fine taking care of yourself and really don’t mind making reservations for sexual pleasure as a party of one. When other people talk about masturbation as if it were some sort of consolation prize for a distant runner up, you’re a bit confused, because it certainly doesn’t seem like a terrible thing to you.