It's Asexuality Awareness Week
Oct. 26th, 2013 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fufarawI really only learned about asexuality in the last five or six years. I mean I knew it existed, but I thought of it as celibacy, as a choice one made. But once I started to read and research, a whole lot of my life started slotting into place. As when I learned about ADD investigating my son’s symptoms, or when my org. made everyone test Meyers Briggs, or I had a couple of Aspberger’s evaluations, discovering more about asexuality was an Aha! moment.
I don’t think I’m weird or abnormal anymore. I know there are reasons for the way I perceive the world and react to it. I’m grateful for the knowledge.
But I am aware that some of you look at me funny when I react predictably (for me) to something others are upset or puzzled or angry about. From where I sit, I just don’t get it.
I never had sexual fantasies. The dreams and fantasies that get me off emotionally are ones of meeting people I admire, scientists, writers, activists, artists of all stripes from Muppeteer to sculptor to actor to musician, and finding a cozy corner to sit and talk through the night, looking around at dawn and feeling guilty for cheating, hollowed out by the experience, but exalted, too.
I have had one sexual partner; I married him. It was my incredible fortune that he was attentive, inventive, experimental, and focused on my pleasure. He wooed me with gallantry, humor, devotion, sentimentality, hilarity, shared interests, and a focused beam of affection and admiration for a long time before he moved our relationship toward sex. I trusted him—and still do—more than any human on earth, and for me, the sun rises and sets with him, even when he exasperates me.
I have always admired, appreciated, even loved the human form. It’s been a detached sort of love, though. I used to “collect heads,” of people I found attractive. My mental gallery of this actor’s face in teak, that athlete’s flank in bronze, her breast in marble, his hands in a pale wood, lightly stained to enhance the shadows. The curve of an ear, a buttock, the way her hair fell, a forehead, shadowed eyelids. It was all appreciation and fondness for…parts, with an utter disregard for gender, race, age, ethnicity, or personality.
The other side of the coin is, I fall in love so easily with personality. I hang on a turn of phrase, the sound of their laughter, the way their mind processes information, turns it, makes connections, and presents it as a stunning conclusion. With their voice, or the sound of the instrument they play, the words they combine in a song, a poem, a paragraph. I want to pat their eyelids and cheeks tenderly with my fingertips, share their air in a moment of communion. I want to make them smile, laugh, with the depth of perception we share, or perhaps rage at the same things.
I love a person, the identity who lives inside the flesh robot they inhabit, regardless of whether that cage has a penis or breasts or comfortable padding or bony protruberances. I fall in love with the light behind the eyes, the brain and the personality that lives there. The shell, the container, doesn’t matter to me, though I want it to be healthy and comfortable for the wearer. And although touch—hugs, the texture of hair in the light and between my fingers, the warmth of skin and the way muscles move, the heat of breath, the smell of the back of the neck, the inside of the elbow, the cleavage, the beat of a heart in close quarters—is part of experiencing that person, none of that leads, for me, to the act of, or even the desire for, sex. I fear I disappoint expectation sometimes, but sex has no place in the amazing sensations both physical and mental I feel for those whom I love.
So when I read or hear people argue about who can or can’t marry, who a person can fall in love with, want to be with, who is sexy or attractive, I am puzzled. As if that matters. I understand if a person feels trapped in a body they can’t be comfortable in, and I want them to be free to be whom they want. It makes no sense to me that any human can’t love whom they love, as long as we’re all past the age of consent and nobody is being hurt.
Seriously, I don’t get it. What is gay? What is bi? From where I sit, which has always felt like the fringes of human experience, those are mysterious distinctions. So intellectually, I understand those distictions matter mortally to people who inhabit them, and who are restricted by stupid laws and conventions because of them. Intellectually.
Emotionally? Why should they matter? I regret the existence of such conventions; they get in the way. They don’t help. They hurt people.
So there you have me, in all my weirdness. If I make a comment that seems senseless or naive or uninformed, this is why. I don’t know how else to be, but I’m still exploring, and reaching for understanding.
I don’t think I’m weird or abnormal anymore. I know there are reasons for the way I perceive the world and react to it. I’m grateful for the knowledge.
But I am aware that some of you look at me funny when I react predictably (for me) to something others are upset or puzzled or angry about. From where I sit, I just don’t get it.
I never had sexual fantasies. The dreams and fantasies that get me off emotionally are ones of meeting people I admire, scientists, writers, activists, artists of all stripes from Muppeteer to sculptor to actor to musician, and finding a cozy corner to sit and talk through the night, looking around at dawn and feeling guilty for cheating, hollowed out by the experience, but exalted, too.
I have had one sexual partner; I married him. It was my incredible fortune that he was attentive, inventive, experimental, and focused on my pleasure. He wooed me with gallantry, humor, devotion, sentimentality, hilarity, shared interests, and a focused beam of affection and admiration for a long time before he moved our relationship toward sex. I trusted him—and still do—more than any human on earth, and for me, the sun rises and sets with him, even when he exasperates me.
I have always admired, appreciated, even loved the human form. It’s been a detached sort of love, though. I used to “collect heads,” of people I found attractive. My mental gallery of this actor’s face in teak, that athlete’s flank in bronze, her breast in marble, his hands in a pale wood, lightly stained to enhance the shadows. The curve of an ear, a buttock, the way her hair fell, a forehead, shadowed eyelids. It was all appreciation and fondness for…parts, with an utter disregard for gender, race, age, ethnicity, or personality.
The other side of the coin is, I fall in love so easily with personality. I hang on a turn of phrase, the sound of their laughter, the way their mind processes information, turns it, makes connections, and presents it as a stunning conclusion. With their voice, or the sound of the instrument they play, the words they combine in a song, a poem, a paragraph. I want to pat their eyelids and cheeks tenderly with my fingertips, share their air in a moment of communion. I want to make them smile, laugh, with the depth of perception we share, or perhaps rage at the same things.
I love a person, the identity who lives inside the flesh robot they inhabit, regardless of whether that cage has a penis or breasts or comfortable padding or bony protruberances. I fall in love with the light behind the eyes, the brain and the personality that lives there. The shell, the container, doesn’t matter to me, though I want it to be healthy and comfortable for the wearer. And although touch—hugs, the texture of hair in the light and between my fingers, the warmth of skin and the way muscles move, the heat of breath, the smell of the back of the neck, the inside of the elbow, the cleavage, the beat of a heart in close quarters—is part of experiencing that person, none of that leads, for me, to the act of, or even the desire for, sex. I fear I disappoint expectation sometimes, but sex has no place in the amazing sensations both physical and mental I feel for those whom I love.
So when I read or hear people argue about who can or can’t marry, who a person can fall in love with, want to be with, who is sexy or attractive, I am puzzled. As if that matters. I understand if a person feels trapped in a body they can’t be comfortable in, and I want them to be free to be whom they want. It makes no sense to me that any human can’t love whom they love, as long as we’re all past the age of consent and nobody is being hurt.
Seriously, I don’t get it. What is gay? What is bi? From where I sit, which has always felt like the fringes of human experience, those are mysterious distinctions. So intellectually, I understand those distictions matter mortally to people who inhabit them, and who are restricted by stupid laws and conventions because of them. Intellectually.
Emotionally? Why should they matter? I regret the existence of such conventions; they get in the way. They don’t help. They hurt people.
So there you have me, in all my weirdness. If I make a comment that seems senseless or naive or uninformed, this is why. I don’t know how else to be, but I’m still exploring, and reaching for understanding.
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no subject
Date: 2013-10-26 11:47 pm (UTC)I thought asexuality meant you weren't interested in sex at all and sex itself isn't arousing.
As for the rest of this post there is nothing I don't agree with you with. People are obsessed with labels. If people ask me I say on flexible, but most of the time I let them assume on the basis I have children. It's no one's business who I spend my time with.
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:31 am (UTC)* aromantic: lack of romantic attraction towards anyone
* biromantic (also ambiromantic): romantic attraction towards men and women (but not necessarily at the same time), or romantic attraction towards two or more genders – the romantic aspect of bisexuality
* heteroromantic: romantic attraction towards person(s) of a different gender – the romantic aspect of heterosexuality
* homoromantic: romantic attraction towards person(s) of the same gender – the romantic aspect of homosexuality
* panromantic: romantic attraction towards person(s) of every gender – the romantic aspect of pansexuality
* polyromantic: romantic attraction towards multiple, but not all, genders. The romantic aspect of polysexuality.
* andromantic, gyneromantic, and ambiromantic: romantic attraction towards person(s) expressing masculinity or femininity or intersex/third gender-mixing (respectively) without implying the gender of the individual experiencing the attraction; often used by asexuals with a non-binary gender identity. The romantic aspect of androphilia, gynephilia, and ambiphilia.
* demiromantic or demisexual: a person who may identify as a "grey asexual" because they may feel sexual desire once a reasonably stable/large emotional connection has been created.
I identify as a biromantic demisexual, which is "grey asexual", but on the spectrum.
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:39 am (UTC)So do you enjoy writing fanfic?
I think I'm hypersexual or something. OMG SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH ME. I feel sexual attraction first and romance emerges from it. I have a friend who is definitely demiromantic but she suffered a trauma when she was younger . . .
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:51 am (UTC)But not everything needs a label. From what I understand, most people react with physical arousal--either attraction or repulsion--first. It's far more common to be sexually attracted to someone *before* you work to find out about them. There's nothing wrong with you--well, not that, anyway.*g*
There's been no sexual trauma in my life. It's just the way I am, and I'm good with it.
You may have noticed that the fic I write is in response to some imbalance or injustice in the world. The only sex I've written is character-driven, and most of it is pretty darn warm and fuzzy, and between committed partners.
...now you're all turned off, aren't you? Sorry?
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 12:55 am (UTC)Vernacularly, it means to be attracted to someone, often to the point their faults and failings are obscured by desire, and the wish to believe they have all the qualities you hope to find in a partner
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Date: 2013-10-27 12:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:02 am (UTC)OMG! I WOULD TOTALLY READ THE HELL OUT OF AN asexual!Jensen/Jared fic. I should've prompted that at the meme! WHERE WERE YOU?????
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:12 am (UTC)One would almost have to bring it up at the beginning of a relationship before things progressed beyond leaning in for a kiss. Some people don't kiss--they get nothing from it and see no point. Others do, but draw a line at kissing, or mild groping.
To make it personal, others, like me, enjoy sex quite a lot--after a long while building a relationship with a trusted partner. Sex outside that relationship? Never ever considered it. We joke about "my list" of free passes, but it would never happen. I just don't feel that sort of attraction, no matter how attractive the person might be. All-night brain-sharing conversations? Oh yeah, that's it.
And I find it really really difficult to write to prompts. I never have done.
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 01:16 am (UTC)I'm not interest in polyamory. Strangely enough I rarely read any moresome fic. IN fact I can count on 1 hand and they were only by authors I admire, but I never actually search it out. It doesn't interest me.
Polyamory is a big turn off for me. Not sure why.
no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 05:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-27 06:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-10-28 04:43 am (UTC)Finally got the gas fireplace to work, and the kittiez love it. They spend hours in their little fleece baskets in front of the fire.
My current sadness is that when I had the chimney rebuilt a few years ago, the guy only put flashing on one side, and water has been coming through and the plaster around the fireplace is damaged. I have no idea what kind of damage is inside the walls. I had someone else look at it for me, and he took pictures. Now I have to call the original guy and get him to fix it and tell him not to charge me. I hate situations like that; I'm really bad at it. Also, I have no idea about how much it will cost to do the walls. :(
On a possibly upbeat note, I have a companion ticket, and I'm taking my mom to Vegas next month. She's very exicted; I'm very good. :)
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Date: 2013-11-02 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2013-11-02 10:43 am (UTC)