BEING ASEXUAL IN A SEXUALISED WORLD

That I was asexual was not an a-ha! moment for me. If I were asked – and I have been – to pinpoint exactly when I knew I was an asexual, I wouldn’t have an answer. 

A sudden surge of memories/flashbacks ran around my brain, and I tried to catch hold of them to pin them in the exact order of events that led to this realisation. In my whiteboard of collected memories, I pinned up these instances to validate my feelings and existence.  

 

BEING ASEXUAL IN A SEXUALISED WORLD

 

I was taken back to my college when talks about sex were ubiquitous. A significant number of conversations with my girlfriends was about boyfriends. Exchanges about sex, naturally, followed. What they liked and disliked in bed. Every person listened intently as if planning to mimic a stranger’s routine in their lives. And every time I revisit these memories, I still feel the exact feeling of disgust. I never participated in these discussions and laughed as a response.

Laughing as a defence mechanism was the easy way out. I figured this early on and used a shield throughout my life. 

Later, at university, I lived with sexually active roommates. I would see their men and women (some temporary, some regular) come and go, and later they’d become friends. For years, I avoided questions like why I never brought anybody home. 

 

AM I ABNORMAL?

 

What should I have said? Sex didn’t interest me; I didn’t feel like, nor did I want to have sex. A voice in my head said that this was not the typical answer. No one I knew had ever said this. 

I remember an instance in my hostel room, at the mention of a specific position, I made retching noises and gestured my disgust at its description. My friends rolled their eyes. “it’s because you haven’t had it, you don’t know how good it is.” 

To open up and tell people that I was disgusted by descriptions of sex, and did not want to picture other people’s intimacies was complicated. I knew somehow – the world made it clear to me – not wanting sex, not liking sex was abnormal. I believed them for the longest time. 

 

Also read: Queer Expressions: Activism Through Classical Dance

 

FINDING A WORD THAT DESCRIBED ME   

 

 

When I came across the term ‘asexuality’ a few years ago, going by the literal translation of it, I decided I was asexual. I didn’t do further research. Then friends started getting married or got involved in ‘serious relationships’ and almost all WhatsApp groups turned into sex talks. 

 “Why are you not saying anything?” 

“I’ve noticed you go silent when we talk about sex.” 

“It is normal to talk about it; we need to normalise it.”  

 

Also Read: I Wanted to be the Man Of The House by Priya Dali

 

ASEXUALS SUPPORT SEXUAL FREEDOM FOR EVERYONE

 

 

As a feminist, I strongly and vehemently agree with this. Sex is natural and needs to be normalised. 

I’m not unaware of the irony of it all. 

In the freest of societies, all we hear is: sex was great. One couldn’t miss out on the experience. We’ve come to think of sex as a liberating and natural. People want to talk about it, or about others’ sexualities. Depictions of sex saturate our pop culture — televisions, billboards. Countless debates either condemn the act or glorify it. So, where would a person who wanted nothing to do with sex fit in?

How should I support my friends in their sexual revolutions, while admitting that for me the idea brought on revulsion? 

 

FINDING MYSELF, FINDING THE SPECTRUM

 

 

I opened up my laptop and looked towards the world wide web to provide answers; to help me get to know myself. 

While reading about asexuality, I came across the term ‘demisexual’. I knew ‘A’ for asexuality was now part of ‘LGBTQIA+. I didn’t know that asexuality, too, was a spectrum. Asexual people form about one per cent of the population. This astounding statistic made my heart jump. 

Demisexuals are a tiny category of people within the asexuality sexual orientation. People who only experience sexual attraction to folks with whom they have close emotional connections. In other words, demisexual people only experience sexual attraction after an emotional bond has formed. 

Bang on! 

 

 

I AM DEMISEXUAL

 

 

I thought of a wonderful man with whom I became friends. I’d buried this memory for the lack of will to return to it. We were close, shared the same ideologies, and he made me laugh. We’d known each other for a year, and one day while spending time with each other, he leaned in and kissed me. I felt safe and knew I was prepared for sex, which was a shocking thought for me. 

I came out as demisexual to my friends this year.

My friends welcomed my honesty. They embraced me for being brave and opening up to them. Some said that they would think about their sexuality now. I told them to ask whatever questions they wanted, and there was a lot thrown at me! 

 

Also read: How to be a Man: A coming of age story about a boy, gendered female at birth

 

ASEXUALITY IS NORMAL!

 

Some asexuality arises out of sex-repulsion (like mine), but the degree of it can vary. Some asexuals are sex-indifferent, some are sex-averse (that they have zero interest in having sex). I keep finding myself swinging between the former and the latter. But since I identify as a demisexual, I need to be in a bond with a strong foundation of friendship to even begin to feel a bit of sexual attraction. 

I decided not to come out to my parents. They would not be able to grasp why I’m telling them. A woman’s sexual desire is tightly wrapped, and to be somehow devoid of sexual feelings is expected of us. I’m not conforming. My sexual orientation is not the society’s image of a demure, desexualised woman. I am not a ‘cultured, Catholic Indian girl’ who isn’t interested in sex. 

My orientation as an asexual/ demisexual person isn’t an indication of my libido. It is a lack of sexual attraction, or sex being the driving force while forming a bond with another person. 

Here’s to normalising asexuality! 

 

For more stories from the LGBTQIA+ community, click here