The uncarnal knowledge of an asexual male

Brian’s been my motorcycle and adventure buddy for awhile now, and though we’ve wagged our chins well into the night on countless topics for years, it only recently occurred to me that we’ve never talked much about women. I always assumed, because of his dalliances with a soft-spoken Bohemian lass many years ago, sharing smooches with senoritas was something we had in common. Apparently not.

Brian is tall and lean with dark hair and pale skin, long lashes and bright brown puppy dog eyes. His nose stands out like the ones you see in ancient Roman art, and his lips are (not to be weird but) delicately shaped and always red with the telltale blush of vitality. (I’m gay; not blind!) He’s brainy, sweet, athletic, makes gorgeous music, teaches basketball to neighborhood kids who absolutely adore him — he’s just good people. So why isn’t he bestowing that genuine good-guy stuff onto an equally amazing lady (or lad, if that be the case)?

“Because I’m asexual,” he finally told me one day over the phone. My mind rewound and replayed the words like a DVR in action, to make sure I heard them right. “I’m not into sex, Berlin,” he reiterated, then said he had to run some errands. Wallowing in a thousand questions, I took to Google.

I found that there’s not much literature outlining the foundations of asexuality, but what is there sounds mostly academic. Interesting when you consider that there are virtually no readily-available scientific studies that aim to decipher asexuality. However, to thumb through what’s written is to tear through page after page describing the different types of asexuality and to note that, just as we’ve found it necessary to uber-categorize our own brands of gaiety (twink, bear, lipstick, tomboy), asexuals have categories as well. In other words, they’re just like lesbian, gay, transgender or bisexual people — with all the orientation hair-splitting and name-assigning, but without the extra confusion behind the bow-chicka-wow-wow.

For examples, there are noted asexuals who will still have sex — but strictly for the advantages sex can bring to their life. I’ve read the term “opportunistic asexuals” to describe them. There are asexuals who sleep with people simply for physical gratification owing nothing to sexual desire for that individual, deemed “sex-favorable asexuals.” There are also the asexual elitists — purists, to be frank — who believe that even masturbation and kissing sever the ties between the sex-favorable “offender” and the “true asexual.”

All told, asexuality appears to espouse a general “meh, whatever” attitude toward the traditions of sexual intertwining as you and I may know it. Love, however, is a different theme and one that asexuals can agree is possible (better, even) without sex.

“I’ve fallen in love with a woman before,” Brian told me in a later conversation. I ask how that went, which feels odd because I was there; he just didn’t give in to my suspicions during that time. “You know how bad heartbreak is, right? I was heartbroken before anything began.”

I ask, “Why didn’t you just tell her?”

“I already knew she was going to want sex and family life eventually and that’s not what I want, personally. It’s not as sad as it sounds. I’m still comfortable with who I am. Everyone has their own sack of rocks when it comes to life and love.”

I remind him of Bohemian Girl — that girl he hung out with many years ago.

“I’ve had tendencies,” Brian admits, reminiscing unfondly about the trappings of relationships (“ … time and emotions, mostly … ”) and waves a hand emphatically, as if shooing gnats. “I’m fine as I am. I will say that I think society is pushing me [to be sexual], especially as a guy, and when I push back, it seems like my (perceived) ‘sexual suppression’ is making me defensive and uptight, when really it’s just me being frustrated at the model I’m supposed to follow.”

I ask for an example.

“OK, if I have a physical response to a girl, I’m expected to follow through with it. I’ve been called gay, a ‘pussy,’ a Bible beater, stuff like that, because I don’t think having an erection obligates me to either try to (have sex with) her or run off and masturbate.”

I ask Brian how long it’s been, which is, of course, a rather uncomfortable question between us.

It’s been “since (Bohemian Girl),” he says, neither proud nor embarrassed. I’m stunned. That was more than 12 years ago. “It’s not chastity. I’m not avoiding it out of choice, (but by) my nature.”

I tell Brian how even some professionals promote some stereotypes about asexuality — theorizing that the lack of sexual desire stems from repression after a traumatic experience — and ask Brian what he thinks of that.

He shot a question back: “Do you find it offensive when people think you’re gay because you were messed with as a child?”

“It’s rude, yeah.”

“Exactly. People assume the strangest things.”

I agree with him wholeheartedly — and just before I launch into my tirade about assumptions people make about lesbians, Brian reminds me:

“I’ve got a friend who’s known me for years, who assumed I was sexual and asked me a ton of questions about it, having trouble wrapping her brain around the fact that I’m not into sex and I hadn’t been the whole time.”

Touché, Brian.