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 singular dalliance with a soft-spoken Bohemian lass many years ago, sharing smooches with senoritas was something we had in common — only he preferred the “I don’t kiss and tell” method. Turns out, I was way off.

Brian is tall and lean with dark hair and pale skin, long lashes and bright brown, puppy dog eyes. His nose is prominent, beautiful, 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, 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)?

“I’m asexual,” he finally told me one day over the phone. “I’m not interested in sex,” he reiterated, then said he had to run some errands. Wallowing in a thousand questions, I took to Google.

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 us with all label-assigning, but without the added 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 benefits owing nothing to sexual desire, deemed “sex-favorable asexuals.” There are also the asexual purists who believe that even masturbation and kissing sever the ties between the sex-favorable “offender” and the “true asexual.” Asexuality appears to espouse a general “meh” attitude toward sex. 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 is odd because I was there. “I was heartbroken before anything began.”

“Why didn’t you just tell her?” I asked.

“I already knew she was going to want sex and the family life and that’s not what I want. It’s not as sad as it sounds; I’m still comfortable with who I am.” I remind him of Bohemian Girl. “I’ve experimented,” he admits, “but I’m fine as I am. I do 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.

“If I have a physical response to a girl, I’m expected to follow through with it. I’ve been called gay, a pussy, stuff like that, because I don’t think having an erection obligates me to have sex. It’s not chastity; I’m not avoiding it out of choice, but by nature.”

I tell Brian that some psychologists promote weird notions about asexuality, theorizing that the lack of sexual desire stems from repression after a traumatic encounter.

“Is it offensive when people think you’re gay because you might’ve been molested?” he asks.

“It’s rude, yeah.”

“Exactly. People assume the strangest things. 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 haven’t been this whole time.”

Oh. Touche, Brian. Touche.