I get to choose whether I want something to happen, how much, when, who is doing it, and, most importantly, I get to choose when to stop.
All in Personal
I get to choose whether I want something to happen, how much, when, who is doing it, and, most importantly, I get to choose when to stop.
There’s also the issues of fucked up desirability politics and racism. I enjoy fetishes, but to be fetishized is to be dehumanized.
Thanks to discovering asexuality, I see “no” as whole because we are whole.
I didn’t know there was a word for people like me, so I never looked for one.
Where my identity as an asexual is seen as a choice hastily made, as if I only need a little persuasion, as if I just one day decided to stop being sexually attracted to others.
Before I could name it, I felt my asexuality as truly as my feet felt every step of a run. I now claim it as fully as I claim my body.
But for now, I’m holding on. Because there’s nothing wrong with me. And there never was.
And there is a label for people like me: asexuality. But how do I condense myself into the ‘a’ in ‘asexuality’? That ‘a’ means ‘not.’ That ‘a’ means ‘lacking.’
Coming to terms with being aromantic asexual offered an opportunity to pursue what I wanted for myself. To reject the premise that my existence is centered on my appeal to men.
To have every cuddle, every kiss, every hug, just be seen as a path to sex - I didn’t want that.
You think everyone’s just faking it because that’s what’s cool, but you still don’t get why it’s cool.
We market bitterness as a marker of adulthood (…) Set aside such childish things as sweetness and grow up.
Once upon a time, the girl met another asexual. “Holy shit,” she said, “This has never happened to me before. It’s like meeting a unicorn!”
I can organize my relationships by asking myself how emotionally close and how interdependent I would like to be with a person.
This box was getting smaller by the second. Where did all the air go?
“Oh and Clara, when are you going to get a boyfriend?" She said it like boyfriends were fruits which could be plucked from trees or ornaments necessary to authorize membership in the “normal teenage girls” club.
You’ve always felt like the odd one out, never fast enough at catching the innuendos, convinced your friends’ outbursts were mere exaggerations.