The Captains Log 7.30.2017

Asexual or Late Bloomer? A Look at My Life in Reverse

Disclaimer: This entry candidly discusses human sexuality and my personal experience. It is not lewd, but if you are squeamish: read at your own risk.

Growing up sexuality was always something that was alright to talk about in theory, but highly taboo to practice. Deviation from the heteronormative sexual paradigm was frowned upon, and all sexuality was forbidden until marriage. While my parents weren’t religious zealots, they felt they had high standards, and that we should keep them too. Having sex before marriage was always likened with ample character flaws.

Like in many American families, a woman’s virginity is seen as an actual thing, not just a concept, that is positive and to be lauded. While at the same time the social world they thrive in aims to cultivate the opposite. Our advertisements/commercials, and even our children’s cartoons hypersexualize the female figure and hope to push the viewer to liken their product to sexuality- assuming here that sexuality is a ‘tops’ experience in peoples lives, one they look on favourably and value highly.

Despite the constant bombardment with mixed messages about sexuality, our schools also often failed to bridge the gap between those two words (of hyperchastity and hypersexuality). They often lazily taught us about how the birthing process worked, while boys and girls were separated from each other per the assumed sensitivity (or “grossness”?) of the data, and gave us STD horror stories. Even in college my human sexuality courses failed to divulge adequate data. I learned more in the LGBTQIA related clubs or jobs I took part in in high school and college than anywhere else.

Fun fact: I’m asexual. Or at least I thought I was for the large majority of my life. I’m not quite sure how I’d label myself now as I’m sort-of in an existential limbo over some recent experiences. I never experienced sexual attraction growing up. I was even a late bloomer at to wanting to be in a relationship for any reason other than gaining more value in terms of social status.

My Welcome to Sexuality

It wasn’t until college that I first had sex, or expressed any real interest in it. Maybe it was the perceived freedom from my family’s overbearing rants about how the Creator of the Universe wouldn’t approve, and how sexuality is something that should be kept only to experience with your life partner (the life partner that they were supposed to choose for me, no less).

I first explored my sexuality as ‘an experiment’. I’d never experienced sexual attraction, I had minimal desire to be sexual for my own gratification, but with all of the hoopla that is constantly paraded about how amazing sex is, I wanted to find out for myself. The first person I ever slept with was a friend of mine. It was after one of our weekly get togethers to wind down from classes. A night of binge drinking, making rock music, playing games, and watching movies would wind down to everyone pairing off, heading home, or crashing on one of multiple couches.

While usually Id crash on a couch or head back to my dorm a few blocks away, there was one night where I wasn’t interested in that. I wanted to see what made sex so interesting. I chose a male friend of mine, awesome guy, very open about most things. The first time I tried anything I didn’t throw myself all the way in, I “tested the waters.” I suppose I was only a few years behind the average person in my age group, but when you haven’t don’t more than kissing it’s probably best not to try everything at once.

It was awkward, but fun, and he knew that I had never done anything sexual before so there was no pressure – especially since I was the one that petitioned him to do it. While most of what we did was makeout, we did evolve as far as fellatio that night. It wasn’t all great- I threw up the first time, when you’re inexperienced and with a well-endowed partner, trying to do what you studied from pornos to prepare you probably isn’t your best ticket to success. Showers were made for a reason, and we laughed it off. After that we went to bed.

The next day I wrote down notes about the experience- I still have them somewhere on an old computer- detailing how I felt about it (physically, emotionally, and mentally) and comparing that to the perceived standard, and the actual standards I seemed to encounter from reading those teen oriented columns that worked like ‘Dear Abby’. I wasn’t really impressed with what sex had to offer from that first experience. To me it just seemed like something to do.

I endeavoured to “go all the way,” which I did- again with a friend. I recorded my experience the same way as I did the first time, compared and contrasted my experience with others’, and still felt unfulfilled. I figured that it was possible that because I had never experienced attraction to any of these people outside of friendship that maybe that was the issue.

I took a beat to assess some things, like the fact that most people experience sexual attraction around the time theyre in middle school. I had no orientation toward either gender, and still didn’t. I only dated boys, and had sexual experiences with boys because as a female bodied person that was what I was “supposed” to do. All of this started to concern me so I spoke to my doctor about it. As I had always felt comfortable within the LGBTQIA community, my doctors office was a place that was a safespace for queer people.

While I had identified as questioning up until this point, I think I had started to see some definitive patterning enough to say that I was asexual. I spoke to my doctor about the implications of this, and how sex was never really a satisfying experience, and how I definitely had never had an orgasm. All of these things were swirling through my head, and I couldn’t help but think that my “experiments” only hastened to make all of these issues bauble about like fish eyes in soup. My doctor reassured me that I was within the bounds of normalcy and that asexuality wasn’t something to ashamed or worried about. (What I was told about orgasm was a bit disheartening though- they told me that until I was experiencing these issues well into my 30s anorgasmia was basically normal, and there were no
interventions they could offer me.)





Next I turned to the internet and explored asexuality further in depth than I had previously. From finding solace in the forums of AVEN to David Jay’s documentary I felt I could adequately stop calling myself questioning and say that I was asexual. While the idea of being a late bloomer was always a possibility, I didn’t really think much of it until recently. I had never experienced sexual attraction, I hadn’t even really seen a use for sex outside of ‘just something to do’ despite having a relatively healthy libido. I went along in the world like this for a while. I even started the first Asexual support group in my city and was featured in a newspaper for it. It was great. I finally had a place that made sense, I finally had a label for my experience that made sense, I was more comfortable but I still wasn’t satisfied.

There were aces that enjoyed sex, I wanted to be one of them. Looking back on it, a large part of my reasoning for wanting that was because I didn’t want to fail. I didn’t want to fail at the standards society expected a woman to meet- I was already beautiful and smart, but I wanted to want to do all of the other ‘womanly’ things like having a significant other (which, always included the aspect of having a healthy sex life). For a while I abandoned the idea that I could be in a relationship with anyone that wasn’t also asexual. There were asexual dating sites but no one really ever used them. You can’t have a dating site without an active population.

So, I kept along with my pattern of friends with benefits, partially because of being dismayed against ever having a suitable mate, partially because I still wanted to figure out sex (mainly the orgasm that I might not have for at least another decade), and partially because I didn’t care- I was young and free. I could do what I wanted, women’s liberation already happened so it wasn’t so far out of the scope of normal that I’d be ostracized for participating in this veritable, modern, right of passage.

In a Chaotic Universe Anything Is Possible

In the winter after all of this I met someone. It was a chance encounter on a rare night where things just all seemed to line up. I went to an event alone, something I’d never do. I got stood up by one of my FWBs who funny enough tried to booty call me later (that highlighted for me that for him, it was mainly benefits and not friendship. That ended there.) It was an anti-christmas party that I found on Facebook by happenstance, I suppose. An acquaintance from the Ballroom Dancing club I joined, yet scarcely visited, had liked the event and it showed up somewhere on Facebook slightly out of the scope of places Id usually look for events to attend.

I showed up alone, and just walked in. It was at this neat art space called The Mausoleum. As spooky as I am, of course I had to attend something there. The inattentive doorman saved me an ID check and the possibility of being turned away (I found out later that the event had been 21+). I got some drink tickets, walked around a bit and looked for people with whom to mingle and sipped the boxed wine I got a glass of. There weren’t really any people that seemed my style of person except for some of the performers that I noticed lingering away from the general populace. I thought about sitting but there was just one two-seater couch stage left. Everyone sorta tossed their coats there. I did the same, and then picked a spot near the front of the stage, adjacent to a group of Jewish guys talking about the high holidays- a conversation I nearly wanted to jump into.

A few people performed, I recorded nearly the whole thing on my favourite camera at the time (sadly, recently stolen at the college I ended up transferring to). While some of the performances were lackluster (like one of the dance artists), the themed video that featured the Mausoleum’s host, and the main band for the night kept a literally constant smile on my face.

The bassist for the band had been wearing a sick red tunic. He looked so heavy metal. I made a point to talk to him at the end of the night- I needed to know some more interesting people. At the end of the event, they dropped balloons from the ceiling and everything sprang into an excited frenzy. That was enough for me to slink away to be with my cute winter coat on that couch in the corner. To my luck no one was there. Shortly after sinking in, the drummer from the band came to sit away from the raucous display of winter-themed joy for the same reasons I did.

At this point in my life I didn’t talk to strangers, or if I did I didn’t really care what they had to say, nor would I remember what they talked about for more than a minute or two. This person was different. I was present for that conversation. The first time in a very long time that I had been present with anyone. While most people had always been ultimately off-putting in some way, this person was the opposite- I wanted to know them. But at the same time it almost felt like I already did. When he stood up to leave, I did too- for some reason I felt like I was supposed to do the “gentlemanly thing” where guys stand up when a woman comes in to sit at or leave a dinner table. While I was aware that things were strange, I had no idea how strange things were going to get for me.

It had turned out the party wasn’t quote over and that the bad was to play one more song. I couldn’t tell you what that last song was, but I could tell you what that conversation was about, or how I felt, or how confused but bubbling with joy I was on my walk to the subway home from that event. That was a telltale sign there, I was almost skipping to the subway, instead of hailing a cab like I’d usually have done if I was out in the city alone at night.

That person was different. Unique. We went on to late develop a relationship with each other. I will say that that was also the first person that I ever experienced some level of attraction to. When we hung out for the first time, we went to china town and got dessert. The whole time, I felt compelled to touch him. Not in any kind of sexual way, but I felt that I had to be close to him, that for some reason I had to have my skin against his. I just really wanted to hold his hand. When we were out walking through Chinatown, I nearly got what I wanted- we linked arms and honestly that was the most romantic thing that could have happened in my book. It was charming, and cavalier, and something I always valued in my idealizations of what I’d want a significant other to be like.

I have wondered since then if that is what people felt when they were in middle school and first figuring out their sexuality. If maybe I was actually just a late bloomer, instead of this person being an exception. I haven’t quite felt this way since, in any semblance, so I’m not sure how to read into all of that.

It was a very short time before we learned that he met, surpassed, and created new favourites on that list I made as a kid. I had found someone that I didn’t think could exist. Of course, this is real life and I tried not to idealize him instead of taking him for what he was. While I didn’t do that, he was still on a pedestal, to me he was perfect and I still view him that way. One of the rarest people I’ve both ever encountered or heard of.

Birth, Death, Rebirth, and Moving On

While I was fine with having an arranged marriage before I ever experienced any level of attraction to another person, I was not fine with it in the slightest after finding a person that I never thought would have even existed. This opened a huge landslide of drama and trauma from my family, which led to some terrible mental health issues for me, and caused ample hiccups for this relationship (this is another story in itself but this ranged from issues with culture, gender roles, and racial prejudice).

One thing I will mention was that sex was an issue for me still even in a loving relationship. While some research suggested that women often had issues reaching orgasm when they didn’t feel comfortable in the highest regard possible (i.e. outside of marriage), being with my ideal person didn’t alleviate many of my worries. I had some performance anxiety and while he had no complaints, and was beyond supportive, Id still often end up in tears, with a headache, or otherwise stressed out because I felt like some kind of failure. I felt inadequate because I couldn’t reach the standards that were set out for me by my society, my family’s culture, nor my own personal hopes. Per his suggestion I even saw a therapist about it (and other things). Nothing really sorted that issue for me.

After a couple years and some complications piling up, we went our separate ways. This left me again, back where I was before him. At odds again with the world, and particularly with sexuality and the concept of romantic relationships. While I still wanted one, and wanted a place where I could continue to explore where I stood on the line between an asexual with a libido, an allosexual person in denial, and just a late bloomer; I went back my old pattern, using FWBs to explore the questions I had left to answer.

This time though, it wasn’t experimental, I wasn’t collecting data. I was just reaching for a place where I could enjoy myself again. This probably wasn’t exactly healthy, but my favourite life gurus all pretty much suggested a lot of self focus and “getting back on the horse” after losing an important relationship like I had.

I binged in every way possible for the first two months after the breakup, I figured I’d need a(n un)healthy way to try to calm the torrid emotions I was feeling, and to help train my brain back down to the state of relatively low baseline that I had before this relationship spiked my system from here to the edge of the Milky Way. If being in love has the same effects on the brain as opiates does, then Id need to train myself down from the high unless I wanted a mental health crash worse than what had manifested with my intervention.

After a few more months, and the end of my binge on alcohol, sex, and psychedelics (both used for fun and for therapeutic reasons), I managed to slow my life down to a functional pace. I abandoned the whirlwind for the lackluster world I left behind a few years prior. I started dating someone, marginally against my preference to be alone, and settled into the next phase of my life.

Things are good, I suppose. I’m not distraught every day, and when I do spend time with my long-distance boyfriend I rarely end up as upset over sex as I used to. While I may end up with a headache from stress once in a while, or opt out of sex completely despite feeling physically aroused, I’m not stuck in the logic loops, and trapped in negative thoughts about how well I was doing as I had used to. Maybe that is part of growing older, maybe that’s maturing. I think it’s just because I care about so much less than I used to, that It doesn’t matter as much to me anymore if I reach anyone’s standards or not- even if they’re my own.

Orgasm is still elusive, attraction is still rare to none, but recently there have been some changes that make me wonder if I may be a late bloomer after all. Maybe I’m just starting from where everyone else was at in middle school and high school because as a kid I was always focused on the things that people in my current age group seem to care about- their careers, knowledge, building a legacy. Maybe I’ve just been living in reverse and that’s okay.

New Fascinations

Recently I’ve started having sex dreams. Stuff that my peers have been telling me about since maybe 5th grade. None of my sexual dreams actually involve the act of sex, but they hint at it, they allude to it, and they go as far as getting to the point where it would be just about to take place before id wake up. This happenstance also coincides with my breasts finally filling in all the way (while my cup and band size hasn’t changed, I can finally fill a full cup bra instead of the demi cups I always had to purchase to avoid looking like my chest was deflated). With hormonal changes still happening, and the adult brain not being fully developed until age 25, who knows.

Maybe I just hadn’t quite finished puberty yet. I suppose time will tell.
Maybe when I’m 35 I’ll finally know what’s up, like my doctor suggested.
Being in limbo isn’t so bad.

~

P.S. Here’s a bonus, thought of this after I chose my title.

(Pixabay and Wikimedia.org provided the images in this article. Clicking them should link to the original source)