A is for Asexual
by Julia Feuerborn
Missouri State University
Julia Feuerborn is a recent graduate from Missouri State University where she studied Creative Writing and Theater. She has been on the staff of Moon City Press as a reader for both Fiction and Nonfiction. Quirk is her first publication.
So…like a plant?
I am Asexual.
Not like the plants—believe me, I’ve heard that many times before. In this case, asexual is a sexuality, meaning a person who does not experience sexual attraction. So let me repeat, I am not talking about the asexual reproduction plants do. That is a different type of biology. And I’m terrible at biology.
I’ve known I was asexual, or “ace” for short, for over six years now. As I was exposed to more through the internet and high school, I started to realize I was somehow different than my peers. All my friends from middle school had started to hyperfocus on boys and dating, so I focused on that as well. My friends and I lamented over how none of us had boyfriends or had ever been kissed. We whispered crushes in the late hours of the night, snuggled up with fuzzy blankets and popcorn, wishing these crushes would ask us out. Slowly, my friends started getting their first boyfriends, first kisses, first dates. I was happy for them. They wanted me to get a boyfriend as well, so I told myself I did want one.
One day in the summer before sophomore year, my best friend Allysa and I went to the pool, where we ran into her boyfriend and one of his friends. Allysa and her boyfriend were being all gross and coupley. I was left alone with the friend, who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was flirting with me. I was having none of it. I turned down all his advances, tried to keep away from him, and was outright rude. Later that night, I found out I wasn’t mistaken. Allysa texted me saying the friend had asked for my number. So I did the only reasonable thing.
I had a panic attack.
I’m still not quite sure how finding out a boy was flirting with me triggered my first ever panic attack, but I can’t deny that it did. In retrospect, the panic attack was also the result of me ignoring thinking about my sexuality for months. To shake me out of the hole I had fallen into, I turned to my trusty friend Google to search what was wrong with me. I searched the most ridiculous, specific searches Google has probably ever seen, something along the lines of Somebody likes me and I’m freaking out because I don’t want them to like me is there something wrong with me?
Out of that word vomit, Google somehow pulled up a page with the title in all caps “ASEXUAL.” I clicked on the link, not knowing at the time this one simple action would change how I’d define myself for years to come.
You just haven’t met the right person yet.
I hate hearing those words.
It’s bad enough having to explain my sexuality whenever I come out to people. But having someone completely dismiss me as just going through a phase? That, to put it frankly, hurts like a bitch.
Every ace person is different. Asexuality is it’s own sort of spectrum, like homosexuality itself. Not everyone is one hundred percent asexual, just as not everyone is totally gay or straight. And asexuality doesn’t look the same for every person. My friend Emma has known she’s ace for longer than I have; she’s currently in a relationship and has been for a long time. She’s happy this way.
I’m on the extreme end of asexuality (I’ve stopped trying to find a specific label and now just go with the umbrella term ace, because at some point you have to stop hyper analyzing yourself and just go with it). One label I can define myself as on the ace spectrum is “sex-repulsed.” Some aces will tolerate sex or even enjoy it despite not experiencing sexual attraction. Not me. I want nothing to do with sex. As of right now, I don’t see myself ever really getting into a relationship. That includes all kinds of romantic relationships: hook ups, dating, and marriage. Generally, I find that I’m not attracted to anyone, regardless of gender. If I’m not attracted to someone, why would I bother being in a romantic relationship with them?
Surprisingly, there are quite a few people who have a problem with this.
See, I am asexual, but I’m also a woman. And women are typically pushed to be in relationships. Our entire identity is resolved around not being single. Just read any tabloid magazine; they all have articles containing advice on how to find The One. We’re taught that we have no value as a single woman and need to find our next relationship pronto before we get too old to get married, have babies, raise those babies, have grandbabies, yada yada yada. When I was a child, I thought I wanted that life. My mother certainly pushed me towards it. But as I’ve grown, I’ve come to realize I wasn’t meant for that lifestyle.
Relationships make me nervous. Not in the fun I like this person and want them to like me back kind of nervous but in the don’t think about me in a sexual way, don’t even look at me way. This most likely is tied to the importance of sex in today’s society. Again, those tabloid magazines and advice columns are all about looking sexy (to get a partner) and hot tips for sex (to please said partner). Just glancing at those titles make me want to gag. As a result, their message because ingrained in my mind: relationships mean sex.
But if I so much as mention to someone how I will probably never get married, they start to get defensive. They demand to know why I won’t get married and try to convince me it’s worth it. I’m sure for some people it is. I don’t think it would be for me. Yet these people feel cheated about the choices I’m making for my life. I know where their offense comes from. It’s the expectation to get married and have kids. A lot of people do this. Even in the queer community, people get in relationships, get married, and have kids, though said kids are usually adopted. It’s frustrating how, even in a community meant to support me, there are expectations for me as a woman that I have no desire to meet.
In this world, if a man remains single, he’s a bachelor. If a woman is single, she’s an old spinster. I’ll probably be a spinster, but I don’t mind.
Will you never have sex, then?
I’m always a little bit shocked when asked about sex. I remember as an eighth grader being taught that sex was evil, thanks to good old “Abstinance Only” sex education. In highschool, boys were applauded for their “body count” while girls were shamed for having lost their virginity. It was a ridiculous double standard I never understood. The abstinence only mindset must have taken a stronger hold on my teenage self than I thought, though. I didn’t even think about sex until I had to confront my sexuality and realize it was something I didn’t want.
In the adult world, sex seems to be all people can think about. Those tabloid magazines I so despise often have little articles titled “Ten Hot Tips to Spice up your Sex Life!” There are sex scenes in numerous movies and TV shows (and honestly, I can’t be the only one made uncomfortable by those scenes), though some scenes aren’t explicit. There is a hyperfocus on sex in our society; it’s an unavoidable topic in the adult world. Which sucks, because it’s a topic I’d like to avoid.
I understand the world will not cater to me. There’s an extent to which I can handle talking about sex, and that’s where health is concerned, as it’s very important for people to be familiar with. Yet this fixation on sex is what, in my opinion, leads to the dismissal of asexuals. In a world where sex is uplifted to the ultimate level of a relationship, people can’t connect with asexuals. We’re labeled as broken. We’re told we can’t have relationships because nobody would want a partner who won’t have sex.
The hyperfocus on sex in our society does actual harm to our community. I’ve heard horror stories of people who have come out as asexual only to be raped by the person they trusted. This rape is excused as a means of correcting the asexual person, since something clearly must be wrong with them. We are assaulted and attacked in hopes of “fixing us.” As a woman, I’m terrified of rape. As an asexual woman, I’m deathly afraid of being raped to “correct” my sexuality. If I were born in another time period, I have no doubt I would have been forced into an unwanted marriage or a mental institution to change my sexuality. I’m very lucky to live in this time period.
Maybe you’re just broken.
Maybe I am. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. Maybe every asexual person has irreparable damage done to them that makes them feel this way, however unlikely that may be. But I wouldn’t want to “fix” being asexual. Nobody will ever make me feel guilty for being the way I am. I’m proud to be ace. In fact, I like to talk about it to spaces where people may not be familiar with the term in the hopes that I find someone who might be asexual but doesn’t know it. Maybe then I can prevent someone from discovering who they are through a panic-attack-induced Google search.
Interview With The Author
1. What was your inspiration for this piece?
Whenever I am asked to write a personal essay, the first topic that comes to my mind is my sexuality. Asexuality is different than heterosexuality, homosexuality, and everything in between because it operates on the basis of experiencing no sexual attraction. A complete lack of sexual attraction is something a lot of people have trouble understanding when I come out to them. I write about my sexuality so people can learn more about it and so people like me can find themselves in my work.
2. What is your creative process? (How do you go about writing or creating?)
During my college career, I have become well acquainted with outlines. I used to despise them in high school, but I found writing with no direction took longer and produced a messier story. Now I try to map out the major events in a story and let the rest come naturally. Sometimes, a story will not get to the end or even ends differently than the way I intended when outlining. Usually the unintentional ending works better with the story, though, so more often than not I keep it. I’m also a major perfectionist, which makes my writing process extremely slow as I won’t move on until a sentence or beat is just right. But being satisfied with a story when writing it makes editing a lot easier since I won’t finish it until I like the story.
3. What are some influences on your artistic process?
If it wasn’t already obvious, the queer community tends to influence my work greatly. I am one of those people who will watch a show or read a book for the promise of a queer character. Yet it is hard to find works specifically about asexuality. Not many shows or books have characters who are asexual, and, if they do, these characters are often treated as a joke or like something is wrong with them, which is incredibly invalidating for the asexual community. My desire to see myself in other works makes me want to write about my sexuality more. If nobody else will write about asexuality, then I will.
4. Is there anything more you’d like our readers/viewers to know about you or your work?
As mentioned in As is for Asexual, asexuality is different for everyone. My experience as an asexual person is astronomically different than many other asexual people I know. There is no right or wrong way to be asexual. And asexual doesn’t have to be a permanent label, either. If labelling yourself as asexual for a year helps you along your journey towards self-discovery, then by all means, use our label. We don’t mind.