Warning: Severe lack of intellectualism ahead. Those expecting the over-analysis they’ve come to suspect from this Willendork, (or adverse to the concept of emotional spillage), may wish to seek their blog fix elsewhere for the moment.
Once, when I was thirteen and a practicing band geek, I was on a bus in the ridiculously early hours of a Saturday morning, riding to a music competition with friends. One of my best friends at the time was sitting behind me, wrapped around her then-boyfriend. (Shockingly, I’m sure, they have not stayed together since our junior high/ middle school years.) Perhaps more genuinely shocking to the non-asexual readers in the group was that there being together *at the time* made no sense to me. From the time my friends began to foster the first of their blossoming crushes, I was fundamentally the girl who Did Not Understand: I did not understand why we had to chase down some boy during recess, only to refuse to speak to him, only to ask his friend to speak to him on our behalf, only to run giggling away before he could answer. (For starters, I thought the girls were more interesting. But only for starters. And only when they were not being so lame in their infatuated tendencies over the aforementioned boys.)
Regardless, the girl sitting behind me was one of my best friends, and I knew her to be a smart, self-aware young woman who would not be inclined to start dating, as a middle-schooler, just because it was all the rage. So, understanding that I probably looked as bizarre to the two of them as they did to me, I turned around and quite openly stared at them, until inevitably, she was forced to laugh at me.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” I prefaced, “because it’s going to sound really horrible, but I have a question, and I don’t mean it as a slam, it’s just seriously a question… because… I don’t understand.”
“Ok,” she laughed.
…This is the point, in retrospect, where I start feeling seriously sorry for her boyfriend, an eighth grader whom I barely knew. I’m not sure how (or if) he managed to make sense of the conversation my friend and I were so comfortably having, sans the context of my personality, even (especially?) once I’d clarified that my question was indeed, “Why are you doing this? Why are you dating?” My point was one I considered mature at the time: we were in middle school, and therefore there was no effing point. There was less point, for me, as someone who hadn’t even considered the possibility that she was gay but was uninterested enough in boys not to expend much effort in being straight. Still… I presumed in the moment that even if I did care, I wouldn’t be compelled to date, and I didn’t understand why anyone else was.
My friend’s response, which I’ve shared with a handful of people in recent years, usually surprises folks (in that, “really? teenagers are insightful?” sort of way.) She told me that she simply dated to determine what she wanted, what she expected and needed in a relationship, and to learn how to exist in one. She had witnessed and lived through enough crap with her mom’s relationships (with her father and post-divorce) that I think she had reason to take these questions seriously and seek out answers to them. And roughly a decade later, it strikes me that — in my life — all of those questions, and questions that extend from them, which she hadn’t begun to explore at that time, remain unexplored and unanswered… which is not to say that I wish I had started dating in middle school, or that, even in a carefully-crafted-by-Nancy-Garden scenario, where I had been self-aware/ out/ and around other lesbians sooner, I would wish that I had chosen to do so. I spent my pre-teen and teen years doing other, and in some instances rather important things (saving my own life, for instance), but I find myself frustrated now, not — so much — with the idea that I’m “behind” — (that’s something I had to get over, when I wasn’t able to start college until the year most of my high school classmates graduated from it) — but with the idea that I have no sense of the viable way to begin answering those questions, a problem I believe now has less to do with my age and my lack of experience and more to do with my sexuality (or asexuality) itself.
I’ve been thinking about the idea of the late-bloomer, (a term I’ve always hated quite a bit), and how the most recent reason it fails for me is that, if I were a late-bloomer (which, for starters, would require that it weren’t a ridiculous term), I would — at the time of my late-blooming — seek out sex with the same excitement (presumably) as other “bloomed” people do. Whether that was ravenous, nymphomaniac-esque excitement or something a bit more tame might vary, but basically I would move forward, as one moves when motivated by an undercurrent of sexual desire. And if I were asexual (a non-bloomer, for the sake of this increasingly forced rhetoric), I would move forward with my life without a great deal of interest (beyond intellectual interest, perhaps) in sex, and eventually be good with that. But as whatever I am, as a shall-we-say Venus-sexual, straddling these two labels and trying to make sense of herself through whatever lens seems to provide the best insight in a given moment, how do I move forward? How do I move forward to answer the questions my middle-school friend was able to begin answering, not only about relationships but about myself as a sexual being, when I seem to be so split between universes? As a “sexual” person, these are experiences I (almost) want to have, these are pleasures I want to try, these are sensations I want to experience. As an “asexual” person, I can’t even seem to stay in my body long enough to experience them. The “sexual” side of me seeks out information, is curious (actually, that’s not fair; all sides of me are curious) and wants to go further. It says, “yes, ok, now we know more about how sexuality manifests for people and what kinds of sex they engage in, but what about us? ‘Wut r we in2?’ as the folks in the chat rooms would say?” Meanwhile, the asexual side (if it were so easily split as this), is totally weirded out by sexuality online. “Blogs are all well-and-good, but what is with these let’s meet to fuck and let’s cyberfuck, so on and so forth all over the Internet?” The asexual side is intellectually curious, and the sexual side is like, “hi, I’m not sure you’re aware of this, but you also have a body.”
I’m not sure if you’re (still) aware of this, but what it comes down to is: I’m only one person. I’m only one person and the inability to bring my body on board with my intellectual curiosity has recently begun to annoy me. I understand, to some extent, that — to whatever degree I find anything sexy — (emotional) intimacy is “sexy” to me. Emotional connection, closeness, people who are genuine, people who respond to me being genuine, there’s a spark in that for me, and I’m beginning to open to a place where I can “sort of almost kind of in a way” conceive of that spark growing into something physical, with someone, at some point. But if emotional closeness is what “turns me on” (another phrase I’m not overly fond of), much more significantly than breasts and butts or even, say, geekiness and face-painting, what forum exists for me or someone like me to casually explore that aspect of myself? My explorations of the Internet turn up cybersex chat rooms which push me closer to a what-the-fuck moment than an impulse to join in the virtual fucking, or — at the opposite pole — fascinating intellectual discussions by people who might as well be their avatars or their IP addresses, given the lack of physicality involved in their interactions. What happens to those of us who cannot comfortably divorce our bodies from our brains (or — as is more accurately my reality — have long since divorced our bodies from our brains, and are struggling to instate a trial reconcilliation)? Where do we go to answer the questions that strictly-sexual people can answer through hooking up, and strictly-asexual people can answer through a vitalizing conversation (if they feel the need to answer it at all)? David’s notion of sexual drag suggests that there’s such a thing as asexual “hooking up;” maybe there needs to be asexual pr0n and asexual erotica as well. (One of my “all-time” favorite searches leading to this blog is the recent “cuddling erotica.” Maybe it needs to actually exist.) If you are/ I am a person for whom emotional intimacy is the main motivator for physical (and potentially sexual) intimacy, how do you practice? How do you explore your options, the way my middle school friend explored it in the safe comfort of actually being thirteen, or the way that people attracted to other practices can explore in Yahoo forums? Does a driving motivation rooted in emotional connection automatically limit you to a life outside the hooking-up culture, an “all forms of sex must be rooted in established relationships” lifestyle which (while totally understandable) requires significantly more opportunities for relationships than I’ve personally experienced, if one is going to sort out the answers to the “what do I want/ enjoy/ need/ expect?” questions? Do you become incapable of answering any of those questions in advance of your first relationships? I am studying-oriented. I like to come to class (and love) prepared. Is that so out there?
Maybe not. Google searches reveal that people (mostly at AVEN, — surprise) are indeed exploring the oxymorons of asexual erotica and pr0n. And I think I’ve stumbled across an asexual sex party as well. I don’t know how helpful any of these options are to me (as much as I love a good cat picture, asexualporn.com doesn’t have much to say to the physical portion of my a/sexual self), but their existence remains comforting. Maybe what I need right now is simply the reminder of orientation as I understand it, as the position from which one comes at the world. (Queer little lesbian that I am, I could back into a relationship with a boy, unlikely as that seems, and despite the probability that I would choose not to pursue it. Still, I would — given my orientation — be backing into that relationship, in a way a heterosexually-oriented woman would not.) The asexually-oriented people who are confusing the general population by exploring (sexually) explicit genres from an asexual perspective offer me some comfort, if not in what they’re creating, than in their simple decision to explore. Maybe I can manage to back into sex, turn around to say excuse me, and end up finding my place in that world.