This post by kiryacos got me thinking about a topic I’ve always been quietly fascinated about. So I decided to be a little less quiet about it and ask some questions with permission to post everything that follows.

Four hours later, this is what I’ve got.

As a DISCLAIMER, it turns out Kiryacos was right after all. As indicated in my title, even when it’s not all about sex, it’s all about sex. Maybe you disagree with that as a blanket statement. Initially, I did.

Then I had a little chat. These are my thoughts after that chat.

--

Asexuality is one of the letters in the LGBTQ alphabet that some people don’t think belongs in the alphabet soup. Those who argue against asexual inclusion have multiple reasons. Some of them are:

• Asexuals are just homosexuals who are hiding in the closet and using celibacy as a front to deny their truth.
• If asexuals exist, they don’t need support for being celibate since no one is persecuting them for who they love.
• Asexuals should have their own club because their needs are separate from queer people.

These, and other arguments, fall pretty flat with me. I know firsthand asexuals exist, and from time-to-time I get to talk to a friend about it on a very personal level. And because of those talks, I do know asexuals need just as much support, or maybe more, than someone who is queer or straight.

To explore why, let's go back in time a bit.

IMAGINE THIS:

You’re young again—12-ish—a normal kid doing normal things...when all of a sudden things get weird.

Friends start pairing off. They become obsessed with pressing lips together, sticking tongues in each other’s mouths, and trying to touch parts of the body adults always make you swear you’ll protect in the name of virtue.

You find this behavior weird, but…whatever. As long you don’t have to do it, you’re fine.

Your friends start dating, and that’s fine. They start crying a lot…fighting a lot, and that’s when they come your way with the stupidest questions, then act like you’re brilliant when you offer the simplest of answers.

Suddenly, you’re a genius for stating the obvious.

Then, one day, you graduate from "genius" to "chaperone." Your friends' parents have collectively noticed that, in rooms full of hormonal teenagers, you are composed and responsible. You act like a rational human…you're a teenager they trust. They begin to get the impression that if you attend parties with their teenagers, their kids will be safer.

So suddenly you’re going to parties. Everyone’s making out—maybe more, but you don’t make it your business unless someone makes it yours. You don’t want to see anything you don’t want to lie about, so you stick near the food, talk to people, redirect people who try to flirt with you to more interested candidatea, and put a mental timer on when you see friends go into bedrooms.

You have a deal with them: they don’t have sex when you’re around because you won’t tell a lie that can be debunked by a pregnancy. Your friends can kiss and fondle all they want, but if they’re using you for cover, Tab A-into-Slot B ain’t happening.

You want it that bad? Find different cover.

A few years later, friends start getting married. Some of them are good matches. Some of them are quite bad. Some of them are just raw hormones saying “I do.”

Gradually, friends stop calling. They’re married now. They have lives. They’re starting to have babies. Things get busy. You get it.

You get new friends, but you can sense that these new relationships are less substantial than the friends who have gone other ways, and that your new friends are feverishly focused on finding a mate...and you're pretty sure their friendships are props to that end. There's a sense that you’re more there to give them street cred to people they want to day than to create an honest bond that will last through time. Once the bodies start slapping, you’ll become optional. You know the drill at this point.

On the home front, your siblings start to get married. People start asking when you’ll join "the club." You have no desire to join the club. It literally doesn’t cross your mind, other than to predict when your friend’s boyfriend will choose to pop the question.

Some people try to date you. You try to reciprocate. When they try to hold your hand, you’re not quite sure what their motivation is. Sure, it’s a sign of affection…or attraction. You’re not that dumb. But do they genuinely find the contact pleasurable somehow? Or is it simply a social cue that they like you?

And if they do find it pleasant, exactly which part is pleasant to them? The warmth? The pressure? The grip? You’re pretty sure it’s not the sweat because that would be weird.

Playing around a bit, you lightly drag your fingertips across their palm. Their breath hitches ever so slightly and they hurry and look up as if to check to see if you know what you did. You release their hand and pretend to find something interesting enough to pick up and talk about.

You act like nothing happened, but you know they like the fingertips on the palm thing. It definitely makes them want to bang you. All the signs are there, but if you let them see that you see, things are going to escalate quickly, and you didn’t mean to open that door that wide. You were just curious if they really liked holding hands, or if it was just some cultural norm, like grabbing a napkin for a child with an ice cream cone.

Maybe it’s both?

The next time you’re with your family, another sibling announces their engagement. People start sending you sad looks, but you’re not sad. You actually work really hard to stay single. You haven’t met a person alive who remains interesting once they’re horny.

You’ve kissed people. Sure, you have. You’ve done more, too.

They want to slide their hands up under your shirt and explore? Sure. You have a pretty good body. You’re active. When you look at yourself in the mirror, you get why people would like a body like yours. You may prefer it for its functional purposes, but you know that no one who is attracted to you really gives a shit about how you train your body. Only that it’s well-formed.

You have a best friend you spend nearly all your time with. You really like the idea of being friends with them rest of your life. That wouldn’t be the worst marriage. So, one night, when they make a move, you roll with it. When you feel their hands get sweaty and shaky, feel the heat of their crotch pushed up against you, and see them staring at your lips while they breathe through their mouth, you go with it. You kiss them.

It’s weird. The flavor is an acquired taste and you have opinions about the viscosity of their spit, but you do your part. You’ve seen it all. You know the basics…in fact, maybe you’re moving too fast.

You try to connect on this hormonal level, but the thing is…the friend you like so much is essentially gone. They’ve been reduced to a person who looks at you with foggy eyes and one-track mind while randomly tossing out canned lines they must say to anyone to anyone in your position.

For something so allegedly intimate, this is the most impersonal thing you’ve done with your best friend…nothing about this feels personal. It feels like reading See Spot Run and declaring it Oscar-worthy and groundbreaking.

But it’s not.

Over the years, you’ve talked about everything with your friend. They know how you are…or they knew. Your friend has checked out now. You’re dealing with a generic script. They’re way too turned on for anything else.

They. Want. To. Fuck. They want to come...and you can tell they have some mental fantasy that they’re going to blow your mind and show you what you’ve been missing your entire life.

But the thing is, you’re not even remotely turned on. Just as if you had a pacemaker in, your heart is steady. Slow, even. You know what all the primary and secondary arousal indicators are for your body. You’ve read up on them. None are present. You’re letting your friend do anything they want—even directing their touch from time-to-time, if you think it will help.

But...nothing.

Damn. You thought it might make a difference if you really cared about the person.

It doesn’t.

You let things go down to the skin. Why not? Maybe it will help. But you’re more aware of the spit drying on your neck and shoulder than you are of the feverish work of their hand between your legs.

They know the signs of arousal, too, and they know you’re not there. And the more they try, the more your cooperation turns to annoyance.

You remember you’re doing this for the sole purpose of trying to fit in. You live in a society based on partnerships, so you need a partner. But if the partnership is based on this, is this really something you want to sign up for? Is this something you want to put someone you love through? To have them spend their lives feeling rejected and undesired on this level?

It’s clearly important to them, which means you want it for them. But you're both literally standing in the middle of the reality of how it would be if the two of you were to be together.

Your friend is frustrated. You can tell. They try harder to turn you on. They’re so close themselves. You can feel that just as clearly as they can feel the fact that you’re still chilling out.

Their pride is hurt. You can tell already that this is going to screw with your friendship.

Here you talked yourself into doing this with the thought that if you could make it fly...that maybe you could have a partner like everyone else. But even though you have them on the edge of Game Over, the fact that you’re not in the same space is a mood killer.

You’ve done the kissing and the touching and the grinding and even tried to thrown in a few noises to throw them off, but they literally have the proof in their hand that you’re not really turned on.

You ask if they want to come. They say they want you to come first.

In the end, neither of you come and you leave.

The next day, they don’t call. You call, they don’t answer or call back.

A week later, they’re back with their ex. Three months later, they’re engaged. You’re not invited to the wedding because you’re an ex now, and that’s not appropriate.

You’re sad, but you blame yourself. That’s what you get when you miscalculate.

After this, you try practicing with strangers—ideally people you’ll never see again—with the exclusive intent of finding something turns you on. Such a thing doesn’t seem to exist, even though you spend a lot of time trying to figure out why everyone you know is so fucking obsessed with exchanging a teaspoon of liquid between two bodies.

It’s literally madness. People are at their most debased and least interesting when they want sex. You really prefer to let them get their rocks off on someone else and come to you when they have something interesting to do or talk about. They get to zone out with each other and rub and grunt until they go blind, and you get to interact with the active part of their brain when they’re up for more interesting stimuli.

Everyone else thinks they’re getting the better end of the deal, even though everyone thinks you're weird or broken or the byproduct of some fucked up abuse. But you weren't abused. This is just how you are. It just so happens that everyone considers the way you are "broken" in some way or another.

The years go on.

--

<Personal Note:>

It’s here where I’ve learned that asexual people actually do need the support of a community.

Why?

Because we live in a society that deals in pairs and moves through established roles and phases designed around these partnerships. And if a person knows they cannot bond with another person on a mate level, and allows everyone they know to pair off with someone who can, this leaves them alone across time.

And not only are they alone every day, but on holidays…birthdays…vacations.

These days are easy to manage when a person is young. Teens? They’re definitely covered. Twenties? Check. Thirties? Things start getting a little sketchy, with some years sketchier than others.

Forties?

It just makes sense that, by this time, everyone an asexual person knows is focused on more pressing things than their perma-single friend.

Asexuals can be a bit like that extra screw that came with your dining room table. When you first saw it, you were glad you had a spare, just in case one of the others got lost and you needed it. But as it turns out, you didn’t. But you never know when a screw will come in handy, so you keep in your junk drawer—just in case—and really only think of when you open the drawer and get a pen.

When you see the extra (metaphorical) screw, you think, “Man, I should call so-and-so and see how things are going?”

Then your kid says something to distract you and you move on.

You try to join your friend for their birthday, but things are busy. At Christmas you say you should get together, but you don’t. They just moved, so you don’t have their address for a card.

Next year.

You see pictures online of them taking trips alone and press “like” and comment that their life is so cool. Maybe you’ll reconnect when things are less busy, but for now, other things take priority.

And the thing is…this is exactly how it should be. You can’t and shouldn’t feel guilty because you no longer have time to act single with your single friends. That’s irrational.

The asexual person knows this, too. They’re smart. They get that people want to spend holidays with their families—that they’d rather it was just them and their kids on Christmas morning.

They get that.

And their birthday can’t be your priority. They get that, too. And if people are going to take vacations, they’re going to go with their families. That’s a no brainer.

But still, the asexual person loses more and more footing with their peers with age.

</Personal Note, Back to Asexual POV>

--

You would make more friends your own age, but the older you get, the more obsessed people get with marriage, not less. In fact, the ones who claim not to be obsessed are the worst.

So it’s kind of just you these days. And you can’t feel bad about that. All the people you could have married are in marriages that are so much better than anything they would have had with you. You’re naturally objective mind is very happy for them. It’s happy for your siblings, too.

But when you look around, you know everyone pities you. Some say it with their eyes, some say it with their mouths.

Your mom cries about the fact that you may never know the joys of being a parent. You don’t want to be a parent. At all.

But as time passes, you do start getting a little sad…lonely, if you’re going to be honest.

Humans are social animals, and the fact is that no one wants to invest in a deep relationship that doesn’t have a viable path to marriage (or an affair), and everyone else is busy with their families.

You have a career, but no one to talk to when it stresses you out. You have goals, but no one who cares if you succeed or fail. You have dreams that no one ever asks about. You have friendships that only appear until a need is met. Then those friends get busy again.

At least half the people you know think you’re gay and living a double life, but it’s hard to get offended at that because those people actually think you’re less screwed up than the people who know the truth. So you let rumors be rumors. Whatever.

Somewhere around your mid- to late-thirties, you hit this spot where you start the day alone, end the day alone, and only have functional interactions in between.

Every so often, you have to fill out a form that asks you who your Emergency Contact is. You don’t know who to list.

When you narrowly avert disaster one day, you realize that no one would notice if you didn’t come home, except your pets…who would starve without you there to feed them. They’d miss you if you didn’t come home, but it would take everyone else a few days, at minimum. Probably a week…or a news story for them to figure out what happened. But there kind of isn't a way around that.

One day, some married friends contacy you and seem interested in hanging out again. You meet up with them to catch up. Turns out they want a threesome.

Are you interested? No?

Surely, you must be. When was the last time you got laid? Do you prefer men or women? Or both? Because they both like you. You can have either any way you want.

Alone? Together? Do you want to watch? Be watched? Oral? Have you ever wondered what a penis feels like? Do you want to stop wondering?

None of this turns you on? Perhaps you just need therapy to get you there. They’ll pay for the therapy, if that’s what you need. They care about you. They want you to know what it feels like to come. Whatever configuration you need, they are up for. They care about your happiness.

Every time you bring up the fact that you’d rather just hang out…talk…have a friendship, they bring up therapy.

You know it’s not the best thing to hang out with them, but when they’re not asking if you want to have sex, you enjoy spending time with them.

So you keep hanging out when the opportunity arises. The alternative is seclusion and you’re self-aware enough to know you’re already kind of becoming a hermit. You can’t be turning down social engagements just because the people you’re hanging out with regularly ask forward, descriptive questions about what they hope you might be into.

So you hang out.

One night, you’re hanging out with the husband and talking about all the stuff you’re dealing with . He’s listening and nodding, but in the middle of describing your dilemma, he abruptly excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he comes back, sweat beads his face, a single drop of sweat sliding down one temple. His breathing off, his pupils blown. There is a 100% chance he just jacked off, but you pretend not to notice.

This isn’t healthy, but it’s literally the healthiest relationship you’ve got. It’s this, or hanging out with animals…which you already do plenty. You need to figure out how to human.

You get invited to an old friend’s birthday party. It’s a friend who was so into you back when you were teens that you had to stop hanging out with them. But that was then and this is now. They’re married with kids now.

You go to their party.

“Have you heard of polyamory?”

You’re actually not surprised to be asked this…or that everyone at the party is practicing it. And they’re fascinated by you. They know sex and seduction, but they can’t get a read on you. They find excuses to touch you randomly in conversations, looking for an in. You act your version of normal. Because this is normal. People have been feeling you out like this all your life.

“Are you gay? Straight? Bi?”

Everyone in the room is waiting for you to answer. You play coy.

“You just said you can tell what anyone is, so you tell me.”

They’re annoyed.

They ask two more times throughout the night. Everyone starts to assume you’re into something super kinky. They start sharing their kinks to see if you perk up and opt in. You say their kinks are cool by you, but you’re not interested.

By the end of the night, your friend confesses they’ve always had a crush on you. You knew that.

They stand too close and say their crush hasn’t faded in 20 years…and the bedroom’s right over there…and it’s their birthday.

They want you to finish that sentence. Or kiss them. Either would do.

But you do neither.

This is life now. People who reach out to reconnect are almost always feeling you out on a sexual angle. If you don’t want to rub bits, they disappear again.

Therapy comes up in conversations multiple times—especially when you explain why you’re not interested.

You’re not against therapy, but you’re also baffled by the hypocrisy of the people talking down to you. The more they talk, the more it just seems like their sex toys aren’t cutting it anymore. They want next-level sex, and you might be a novelty at first, but things will get dumb and complicated and petty fast. Can't they see that?

Plus, they both seem have some fantasy where they’re going to magically turn you on before they turn your world upside down. But that literally isn’t going to happen. Not even with drugs. You’ve tried that, too. They gave them to you.

And underneath all this, you start to feel resentment building.

You want to ask all these friends who think you are not mentally well for not wanting to be a sexual accessory to their marriage if they think they are offering you a remotely fair deal. Because if you were going to do the whole sex thing, you wouldn’t be doing it with two people who put each other first, followed by their children and their families next, then maybe you coming in on the Top 10 of their priority list.

No, if you’re going to do the sex thing, then you need a partner…someone you can talk to. Someone who cares if you achieve goals. Someone who will talk you through stressful work situations. Someone who will go on vacation with you. Someone who gives a permanent shit on a daily basis.

You have zero-fucking-interest in the threesome positions they’ve googled or the “therapy” that will get you there.

On a high note, your best friend who married his ex is doing great. You hang out with them about once a year now, and you couldn’t have picked a better mate for your friend. They have great chemistry, a great family, and laugh you under the table every time you hang out. They’re really, really happy.

You made the right choice letting your friend be with someone who makes them feel desired every day, and you’re at peace with that.

In fact, you’re at peace with all the good marriages you see around you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you are incapable of creating the dynamic they’ve created the way they’ve created it. You could create something else, if someone was open to it.

But, so far, no takers. And that’s where things are...

**

I think I’ll stop this endlessly long post there.

The voice reading over my shoulder says I’m leaving out a lot of details and angles. That’s true, but I also think this angle demonstrates the original point that: even when it’s not all about sex, it’s really all about sex.

Kyriacos decidedly won that point.

I also think it’s a decent representation as to why there is a place for asexuals in the LGBTQ support groups. Because, from what I’ve seen, asexuals are one of the least-emotionally supported and least understood demographics we have in our society.

They have no disabilities to claim socially, no special interest groups who care about their challenges, and very little social understanding or support—up to and including skepticism that they even exist…because asexuals are really just people who need to come out of the closet and admit they’re gay, right?

Or if only they’d explore more sexually. Maybe S&M is their thing, or exhibitionism…maybe they just need to do it in front of a group of people to get turned on.

I can now tell you from experience that if you want to see more clearly from an asexual’s point of view, type out the things people say to them…type out what you would ask them yourself, and ask if it sounds like a reasonable corner to back another person into.

Because as I’m typing now, some of this stuff is hard to spell out, even though I know it’s accurate.

I’m glad I sat down and did this because I thought I understood asexuality from conversations I’ve had over the years. I thought I had processed it. I’d gotten to the cognitive place where I’d asked myself if I thought there is anything unnatural or even unscientific about some people being hardwired not to reproduce—or even fake it.

Easy answer: No. Asexuality pretty much happens in every species, especially when overpopulation is a consideration.

But mentally making space for asexuality to exist is different than writing an experience of it out. So if you struggle with wrapping your head around this topic (or any topic), I would recommend this exercise for you. Don’t just think or talk. Write it down and look at it.

See if the other perspective becomes clearer.

If around 10% of the population can be hardwired to be gay, and another 2-5% are wired to have mis-matched brains and bodies, why should the statistics that say around 1% of people self-reporting that they have no interest in breeding whatsoever be so outlandish?

I think it’s a reasonable question, just as think it’s reasonable not to plague asexuals with sexual requests in an attempt to prove our own prowess.

If you’ve read this far, thank you. If you’re an asexual (a.k.a. Ace), I hope I did right by you. Everyone is different. This is just the story I know.

Peace. And may we live and let live, so long as it harms none.