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Thanks! (re fics)
Insofar as being demi, the long answer is, I actually am still not sure.
(Cut for The Saga Of B’s Sexual Identity, which is sort of boring and navel-gazey, but there you have it.)
I started having all kinds of what I have since figured out were pretty normal, you know, feelings and urges and things at puberty, but I just never— actually wanted to do any of those things with an actual person? Some of it was shyness, surely, and awkwardness, and I was the kind of person that guys would dare each other to fake ask out, and that sort of nonsense, so I was just extremely withdrawn about it and never even kissed another human with romantical intent (my family kisses on the mouth in affection, so I did that a ton, but I knew it wasn’t at all the same thing) until I was nineteen or so. Whereupon I was very sweetly, very aggressively pursued by a lesbian who was very into me, and also, who I liked a lot. I mean, like, we were instant best friends upon meeting, our senses of humor meshed so perfectly, I just wanted to be near her at all times forever and always. And once I realized that she wanted to touch my, you know, uh, boobs and stuff, I was like, that seems like it might be an okay thing to have happen?
Even then, though, I was sort of– hesitant about actually– you know. Sex. It was sort of. It was. I didn’t get it. I wanted to get it. I wanted to understand it. I wanted to want to do it. I totally wanted to do it in my head, but that’s a really different thing than actually touching another person in, you know, those kinds of places. Ahem. And it’s not that I was a prude, I just honestly could not fathom how one would actually go about doing this sort of thing, even though– I mean, mechanically, it wasn’t hard to figure out, but how did you– you know, go through with it, with another person?? It was a bit of a mystery to me.
The other girl (she was eighteen, and not much more experienced than I was, but much surer in her desires; to this day she’s a gold star lesbian, married and widowed and with kids via elaborate custody arrangements and judicious turkey baster use) decided that this was because I was actually straight, and not at all attracted to women, and unhelpfully clung to that belief for the duration of our relationship, which was more a year and involved transatlantic pining, and to this day I’m super annoyed at how that went down, because I still love her a great deal but she didn’t have to be quite so biphobic, you know? But on the other hand, it wasn’t fair for me to treat her as an authority on the subject. She just knew what she wanted, and I didn’t, but I still shouldn’t have given her opinion quite so much weight.
We wound up having a pretty reasonable relationship overall, for what it was, and I figured out what the deal was with sex (it turns out that other people’s boobs and uh, stuff, are awesome, and being in love is great, but it sucks when you get threatened with legal shit over being gay, and there was a lot of really scary and shitty stuff because it was the nineties and it’s probably still bad now but it was pretty crap then, and I almost got thrown out of school, and everyone was terrible about it, there was an awful lot of “many of my friends are gay! but what you are is totally unsuitable and you must heavily modify your behavior to avoid disciplinary measures and people beating you up which would definitely be your own fault”), but when we eventually broke up due largely to geography (and there was no way for both of us to have the lives we wanted and also ever, ever, ever see each other again), I still wasn’t exactly sure how to be attracted to people, and now I was convinced that I was really straight and I had to find a boy to be attracted to, and let me tell you, that’s not easy at twenty; older dudes are skeevy and dudes your age are idiots. I was celibate for like, a real long time, and eventually dated an idiot whose sense of humor I sort of liked, and the sex was pretty great once I got that far. I like sex, kind of a lot; I have a pretty healthy sex drive. I just mostly don’t want to have sex with most people, and it’s not a decision, I’m just not into it.
And it’s not even like– eating when you’re not hungry, or something. It’s like– eating things that aren’t food. The idea of having sex with a person I’m not Overinvested In is kind of like the idea of eating a tree branch. I probably could, it would take some doing, it might wind up not being unpleasant, maybe the thing’s even edible, I just would never in a million years think of eating the damn thing.
Naturally, at this juncture, I hit upon the excellent idea of becoming an ethical slut and just sleeping my way through everyone interesting in college, but it turns out in practice I wasn’t actually into basically anybody. So I didn’t actually sleep with very many people, and of those, didn’t actually… get very far with basically any of them. It was so rare when I was actually attracted that I’d get way too invested, like, immediately. And lesbians were sort of… either mean to me, or I just didn’t figure out what was going on. (There was one girl who tried to date me, to whom I wasn’t attracted, and I just– didn’t get what was going on at all, did not figure out that she was into me into me, and to this day I feel like a total turd because I was so awful to her totally by accident the entire time. But I was just– lesbians weren’t into me! Why would she be into me! I did not know how this works. I was also an asshat to several interested boys but honestly boys that age are such turds that they mostly deserved it; most of them dealt with being attracted to me by just being assholes to me, and so I don’t feel bad that I was an asshole back. Some of them were so obvious that even I figured it out; others, it’s only now looking back that I can realize what was actually happening.)
To sum up, I have no idea how to date. I don’t actually know how to do it. My final year of undergrad, a roommate’s former roommate came to visit and was so cool I kept in touch with him and corresponded extensively, and got again way too invested, like, immediately, and then I literally visited him one time after graduation, hooked up with him, and then moved into his house pretty much without permission. I mean it was awkward and super sketchy of me. I basically broke in, with furniture.
But this coming week is the fifteenth anniversary of that initial hookup visit, and it’s worked out pretty well all told. He’s only like…. mmm maybe the fifth person I’ve ever made out with? And most of our courtship was via email. Then there was like, an hour of awkward handholding, and then we just went straight to banging.
So in the end, I don’t really know if the demi label works. I have a much higher sex drive than dude does, but I literally don’t notice other people; I aesthetically appreciate hot people, I get non-actionable crushes all the time on people. And I write a lot of porn. But I’m not in the porn. And that’s actually a big component of the porn, for me– I’m not in it, it’s not about me. I don’t think about myself having sex much. It’s not a thing that I do, so much?
I think the word for that is autochrissexual, but I don’t feel like that label totally applies to me either, because I do have a fair amount of sex, as myself, in my actual life, and as far as I can tell that’s really normal, I wear cute underpants and am my usual awkward self and it works out not exactly like the movies but pretty much like anybody’s sex life, as far as I can really judge. It just has a disconnect from my really active fictional sex life, which doesn’t involve me at all.
And even beyond that– I write a lot of porn that’s not shit I’m into at all. Which I think is fairly common– a lot of us pornographers write shit not because it’s particularly hot, but because the story dictates it. I don’t watch gay porn, usually, but I don’t not either.
I don’t know if any labels fit me that well, but I also know I’m not broken, which is what I thought I was– and that is such a universal experience with people on the ace spectrum that I can’t help but identify that direction, a little bit. I just also feel weird about it when I am such a prolific pornographer.
So, I guess, I figured I’d claim the demi label and use it, because it’s as likely as anything else. It doesn’t sound like what it is. I’m not partly-sexual, which is what it sounds like it means. But, I mean. I don’t generally want to bang people unless I have a spark with them, and I only get that spark from, well, usually extended conversation and getting Way Too Into them. I gotta get Overinvolved before I want to actually bang. If that’s demisexuality, then that’s what I am.
And if it’s not, well, I don’t know what is, so. I’m possibly Doing It Wrong, but my sex life is pretty great so I won’t worry too much. I just feel like there’s a lot of ways to be, you know? And I wish I’d known that when I was eighteen and no one had ever seriously offered to kiss me and I’d never wanted them to, and I was pretty sure I was missing whatever thing it was that made that sort of thing happen.
But also– don’t let other people tell you how you ought to be having sex. Don’t let someone tell you what you have to want. There’s no actual rules, just approximate classifications to try to help you figure out how to ask for the things you want. Nobody has a right to tell you you can’t identify as something. (Just don’t presume to speak for everyone who shares the label you’re claiming.)
Thanks! (re fics)
Insofar as being demi, the long answer is, I actually am still not sure.
(Cut for The Saga Of B’s Sexual Identity, which is sort of boring and navel-gazey, but there you have it.)
I started having all kinds of what I have since figured out were pretty normal, you know, feelings and urges and things at puberty, but I just never— actually wanted to do any of those things with an actual person? Some of it was shyness, surely, and awkwardness, and I was the kind of person that guys would dare each other to fake ask out, and that sort of nonsense, so I was just extremely withdrawn about it and never even kissed another human with romantical intent (my family kisses on the mouth in affection, so I did that a ton, but I knew it wasn’t at all the same thing) until I was nineteen or so. Whereupon I was very sweetly, very aggressively pursued by a lesbian who was very into me, and also, who I liked a lot. I mean, like, we were instant best friends upon meeting, our senses of humor meshed so perfectly, I just wanted to be near her at all times forever and always. And once I realized that she wanted to touch my, you know, uh, boobs and stuff, I was like, that seems like it might be an okay thing to have happen?
Even then, though, I was sort of– hesitant about actually– you know. Sex. It was sort of. It was. I didn’t get it. I wanted to get it. I wanted to understand it. I wanted to want to do it. I totally wanted to do it in my head, but that’s a really different thing than actually touching another person in, you know, those kinds of places. Ahem. And it’s not that I was a prude, I just honestly could not fathom how one would actually go about doing this sort of thing, even though– I mean, mechanically, it wasn’t hard to figure out, but how did you– you know, go through with it, with another person?? It was a bit of a mystery to me.
The other girl (she was eighteen, and not much more experienced than I was, but much surer in her desires; to this day she’s a gold star lesbian, married and widowed and with kids via elaborate custody arrangements and judicious turkey baster use) decided that this was because I was actually straight, and not at all attracted to women, and unhelpfully clung to that belief for the duration of our relationship, which was more a year and involved transatlantic pining, and to this day I’m super annoyed at how that went down, because I still love her a great deal but she didn’t have to be quite so biphobic, you know? But on the other hand, it wasn’t fair for me to treat her as an authority on the subject. She just knew what she wanted, and I didn’t, but I still shouldn’t have given her opinion quite so much weight.
We wound up having a pretty reasonable relationship overall, for what it was, and I figured out what the deal was with sex (it turns out that other people’s boobs and uh, stuff, are awesome, and being in love is great, but it sucks when you get threatened with legal shit over being gay, and there was a lot of really scary and shitty stuff because it was the nineties and it’s probably still bad now but it was pretty crap then, and I almost got thrown out of school, and everyone was terrible about it, there was an awful lot of “many of my friends are gay! but what you are is totally unsuitable and you must heavily modify your behavior to avoid disciplinary measures and people beating you up which would definitely be your own fault”), but when we eventually broke up due largely to geography (and there was no way for both of us to have the lives we wanted and also ever, ever, ever see each other again), I still wasn’t exactly sure how to be attracted to people, and now I was convinced that I was really straight and I had to find a boy to be attracted to, and let me tell you, that’s not easy at twenty; older dudes are skeevy and dudes your age are idiots. I was celibate for like, a real long time, and eventually dated an idiot whose sense of humor I sort of liked, and the sex was pretty great once I got that far. I like sex, kind of a lot; I have a pretty healthy sex drive. I just mostly don’t want to have sex with most people, and it’s not a decision, I’m just not into it.
And it’s not even like– eating when you’re not hungry, or something. It’s like– eating things that aren’t food. The idea of having sex with a person I’m not Overinvested In is kind of like the idea of eating a tree branch. I probably could, it would take some doing, it might wind up not being unpleasant, maybe the thing’s even edible, I just would never in a million years think of eating the damn thing.
Naturally, at this juncture, I hit upon the excellent idea of becoming an ethical slut and just sleeping my way through everyone interesting in college, but it turns out in practice I wasn’t actually into basically anybody. So I didn’t actually sleep with very many people, and of those, didn’t actually… get very far with basically any of them. It was so rare when I was actually attracted that I’d get way too invested, like, immediately. And lesbians were sort of… either mean to me, or I just didn’t figure out what was going on. (There was one girl who tried to date me, to whom I wasn’t attracted, and I just– didn’t get what was going on at all, did not figure out that she was into me into me, and to this day I feel like a total turd because I was so awful to her totally by accident the entire time. But I was just– lesbians weren’t into me! Why would she be into me! I did not know how this works. I was also an asshat to several interested boys but honestly boys that age are such turds that they mostly deserved it; most of them dealt with being attracted to me by just being assholes to me, and so I don’t feel bad that I was an asshole back. Some of them were so obvious that even I figured it out; others, it’s only now looking back that I can realize what was actually happening.)
To sum up, I have no idea how to date. I don’t actually know how to do it. My final year of undergrad, a roommate’s former roommate came to visit and was so cool I kept in touch with him and corresponded extensively, and got again way too invested, like, immediately, and then I literally visited him one time after graduation, hooked up with him, and then moved into his house pretty much without permission. I mean it was awkward and super sketchy of me. I basically broke in, with furniture.
But this coming week is the fifteenth anniversary of that initial hookup visit, and it’s worked out pretty well all told. He’s only like…. mmm maybe the fifth person I’ve ever made out with? And most of our courtship was via email. Then there was like, an hour of awkward handholding, and then we just went straight to banging.
So in the end, I don’t really know if the demi label works. I have a much higher sex drive than dude does, but I literally don’t notice other people; I aesthetically appreciate hot people, I get non-actionable crushes all the time on people. And I write a lot of porn. But I’m not in the porn. And that’s actually a big component of the porn, for me– I’m not in it, it’s not about me. I don’t think about myself having sex much. It’s not a thing that I do, so much?
I think the word for that is autochrissexual, but I don’t feel like that label totally applies to me either, because I do have a fair amount of sex, as myself, in my actual life, and as far as I can tell that’s really normal, I wear cute underpants and am my usual awkward self and it works out not exactly like the movies but pretty much like anybody’s sex life, as far as I can really judge. It just has a disconnect from my really active fictional sex life, which doesn’t involve me at all.
And even beyond that– I write a lot of porn that’s not shit I’m into at all. Which I think is fairly common– a lot of us pornographers write shit not because it’s particularly hot, but because the story dictates it. I don’t watch gay porn, usually, but I don’t not either.
I don’t know if any labels fit me that well, but I also know I’m not broken, which is what I thought I was– and that is such a universal experience with people on the ace spectrum that I can’t help but identify that direction, a little bit. I just also feel weird about it when I am such a prolific pornographer.
So, I guess, I figured I’d claim the demi label and use it, because it’s as likely as anything else. It doesn’t sound like what it is. I’m not partly-sexual, which is what it sounds like it means. But, I mean. I don’t generally want to bang people unless I have a spark with them, and I only get that spark from, well, usually extended conversation and getting Way Too Into them. I gotta get Overinvolved before I want to actually bang. If that’s demisexuality, then that’s what I am.
And if it’s not, well, I don’t know what is, so. I’m possibly Doing It Wrong, but my sex life is pretty great so I won’t worry too much. I just feel like there’s a lot of ways to be, you know? And I wish I’d known that when I was eighteen and no one had ever seriously offered to kiss me and I’d never wanted them to, and I was pretty sure I was missing whatever thing it was that made that sort of thing happen.
But also– don’t let other people tell you how you ought to be having sex. Don’t let someone tell you what you have to want. There’s no actual rules, just approximate classifications to try to help you figure out how to ask for the things you want. Nobody has a right to tell you you can’t identify as something. (Just don’t presume to speak for everyone who shares the label you’re claiming.)
no subject
Date: 2016-06-27 08:37 pm (UTC)I had a 'boyfriend' for a little while when I was 16 or 17; I broke it off because he kept calling me for long conversations, and holding my hand, and it was irritating. It stands as my only romantic relationship to date.
Sex drive? Yep. I write smut (and I find it hot), and I occasionally get the urge to seek out some porn or hentai. The physical equipment is there and it (almost) works! It just isn't set for anything involving real people. I've happily adopted the ace label.
Theoretically, the idea of a romantic relationship (without sex) is appealing, but finding one seems impossible and I'm not expending any effort toward it (and have serious doubts over whether I would actually enjoy it - I think it'd also have to be on a we don't live together basis) so I waffle over whether aromantic should also apply.