I was 19 when I first tried to have sex, ‘tried’ being the operative word.
The movies had made it seem so easy... Almost like a game of Perfection. Of course, I had expected some pain but I hadn’t thought of a scenario where I wouldn’t manage to have sex at all.
In this hyper-sexualised world of ours, the pressure to be sexually active by the time we hit our teens is enormous. We assume sex is a natural process and doesn’t need an introduction. We imagine we’re wired to ‘do it’, and that we don’t need to learn anything.
Movies — our most popular sex-ed teacher — make sex seem like a simple game of hopscotch. The woman’s back arches as the man kisses her, she moans and, with a wave of a wand, they’re done! What we aren’t told is that sexuality is a spectrum, and that it’s okay to not want to have sex, ever.
In this rush to jump on each other, we forget to ask ourselves some vital questions. At least, I forgot. Do I want to have sex? What does having sex mean? Is sex always pleasurable? How do I definitively say that I’ve had sex? To what end?
The 19-year-old me didn’t realise then that physical intimacy is more than just sexual satisfaction. After the first ‘failed’ attempt, I decided there was something ‘wrong’ with me because I had felt nothing. Maybe I wasn’t attracted to him like I had thought I was?
In many shades
But the problem really is that we aren’t taught to understand attraction and distinguish it from arousal. Nope, they aren’t synonymous. Attraction comes in many colours and shades. At the time, it was hard to fathom that I wasn’t aroused by this guy despite the genuine attraction. Then, days later, I found myself in the exact same situation but with a different person.
Around this time, I came out as queer. And began to discard labels like they were clothes in a trial room at an end-of-season sale: bisexual, lesbian, pansexual, this sexual, that sexual. In the rush to figure out who I was, I tried everything and everyone. People of different genders, sexual orientations, ages. Nothing worked.
It wasn’t until much later that I realised that being sexual itself might be my problem. For me, attraction hardly ever leads to arousal. It just acts as a highlighter and makes some people temporarily more interesting than others. When I do feel aroused, it’s usually because of good imagination (and Hatake Kakashi). I do enjoy physical intimacy but it’s never a sexual experience.
Loads of advice
Processing this was difficult because it meant setting aside everything I knew about sexuality and starting from scratch. Imagine explaining this to people. I’ve heard it all — ‘you haven’t met the right person’, ‘maybe you need to love that person’, ‘when the time is right it’ll happen’. I was suggested remedies, positions, gynaecologists and psychologists.
This is why, sometimes, labels are so important; even if you don’t identify with them completely, just the knowledge that they exist helps you. A year or so later, after many encounters, I finally found a term that gave me hope that I wasn’t abnormal or broken: asexuality.
Staying comfortable
While I have moved on from that one as well, to a state of being that’s more ambiguous and versatile and doesn’t need a name, reading up about asexuality was like a soothing balm.
And this is why I’m grateful to the queer community, they taught me that nothing in life is black and white. Life is a rainbow; a beautiful spectrum that makes space for everyone. I was recently trying to explain, yet again, how I feel about attraction, arousal, sexuality and more to a friend and she jokingly suggested we create a label of our own since there isn’t one yet to explain how I feel.
“Tell people you’re mysteriosexual from now on. Say it like you mean it and they’ll believe you, even if they don’t understand,” she said. And why not? I have no idea where my sexuality will take me and I don’t mind one bit.
Let me attempt to define my ‘mysteriosexuality’ with an analogy I often use. When we shake hands with someone, it can be awkward, friendly, aggressive, sexual, uncomfortable...
Well, for me, this applies to kisses and sex as well.
While they can be arousing, they can also just be enjoyable or just physical ways to understand and bond with people. Trust me; it’s a beautiful experience to be with someone without any expectations or agendas, and listen to stories that don’t have words.
