Christianity and Asexuality

 Content note: this post discusses homophobic and acephobic attitudes

Recently, I've been thinking about the intersection of asexuality and Christianity. I saw a comment on Rachel Held Evans' blog post “If My Son or Daughter Were Gay,” from a mother asking for advice because her daughter had just come out as asexual. She noted that while homosexuality was frequently discussed on the blog (Rachel is a strong proponent of what I might call a progressive Christian attitude towards the LGBT* community, and often hosts discussion), asexuality had never been discussed.

Asexuality is in an odd place, compared to the other minority sexual orientations, when it comes to Christianity. Some religiously conservative Christians tolerate or even applaud asexuality while condemning all other non-heterosexual orientations. In that way, asexuality escapes the vitriol to which the LGBT* community is subjected*. But this leniency is often based out of a misunderstanding of asexuality-- and it's by no means universal. I know of other aces who've been told by Christians (and others) that their asexuality is sinful, or even that they're going to hell for it.

Asexuality: Classification and Characterization

Title: Asexuality: Classification and Characterization

Author(s): Nicole Prause, Cynthia A. Graham

Citation: Archives of Sexual Behavior (2007), volume 36, pp. 341-356

Abstract: The term “asexual” has been defined in many different ways and asexuality has received very little research attention. In a small qualitative study (N = 4), individuals who self-identified as asexual were interviewed to help formulate hypotheses for a larger study. The second larger study was an online survey drawn from a convenience sample designed to better characterize asexuality and to test predictors of asexual identity. A convenience sample of 1,146 individuals (N = 41 self-identified asexual) completed online questionnaires assessing sexual history, sexual inhibition and excitation, sexual desire, and an open-response questionnaire concerning asexual identity. Asexuals reported significantly less desire for sex with a partner, lower sexual arousability, and lower sexual excitation but did not differ consistently from non-asexuals in their sexual inhibition scores or their desire to masturbate. Content analyses supported the idea that low sexual desire is the primary feature predicting asexual identity.

Growing up Asexual in Christian Purity Culture

 Growing up asexual in Christian purity culture was weird, though I didn't realize it at the time.

I wasn't immersed in the strictest of it. I never took a purity pledge or went to a purity ball. I certainly was never expected to “court” rather than date. (I didn't date much, but that's a story for another time.) I knew, though, that my parents and the members of my church expected that I wouldn't have sex until I were married, and that I was supposed to regard premarital sex as sinful. There were a lot of other messages floating around about how I had to be prepared to resist this strong temptation, and I was. I was so prepared.

I was not, however, tempted.

I think I felt slightly smug, or at least accomplished, that “staying pure” was so easy for me. I didn't understand how anyone could possibly have a problem with it. I extrapolated from my not wanting sex or feeling attraction to anyone, to assuming that none of my peers felt attraction to anyone, either. I thought that they were having sex because of peer pressure. I thought that I was able to resist the temptation I was supposed to feel because I was so good at standing up to peer pressure. I probably felt a little superior. I made it to eighteen and was still expecting that at some point in the future, I would reach a natural age to “want” sex.

Thankfully, I grew out of the judging. I never grew out of not wanting sex. I was probably twenty before I started to realize that sex just wasn't my particular temptation, and it took more time after that to realize that I was, in fact, asexual. I'm not sure, but I think the messages I received from my Christian subculture, that sexual temptation was inevitable and I needed to be prepared to resist it, delayed my realization that there was something inherently different about me. Because sexual attraction was presented as universal, along with the temptation to have sex, I thought for years that I would eventually experience it. On one hand, I got off much easier than some of my peers-- I had no internal battle between what my church told me was right and what I wanted to do. On the other hand, the messages I got kept me in the dark about my own sexual orientation for a long time.

I didn't escape damage from purity culture entirely. Like many other people, I was convinced that masturbation was a terrible sexual sin, and it took me a long time to get over that. But in some way, because I simply had no desire or reason whatsoever to go against its demands, being asexual gave me a pass from some of the worst experiences of purity culture. I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that.

Towards a Conceptual Understanding of Asexuality

Taking the papers chronologically, next we have another from Bogaert in 2006.

Title: Towards a Conceptual Understanding of Asexuality

Author(s): Anthony F. Bogaert

Citation: Review of General Psychology, Vol. 10, No. 3 (2006), pp. 241-250

Abstract: “Asexuality has been the subject of recent academic (A. F. Bogaert, 2004) and public (e.g., New Scientist; CNN) discourse. This has raised questions about the conceptualization and definition of asexuality. Here the author reviews some of these issues, discusses asexuality from a sexual orientation point of view (i.e., as a lack of sexual attraction), and reviews the similarities and differences between this definition and related phenomena (e.g., hypoactive sexual desire disorder). Finally, the author concludes that the term asexuality should not necessarily be used to describe a pathological of health-compromised state.”

My Feelings on Significant Others

I wasn't expecting to write a post for this carnival, because I'm aromantic and dating isn't very important to me. Then I happened to check the original post and saw that the topic also included “significant others,” and that put a new spin on things.

I happened to be looking through the Book of Common Prayer recently, and I stumbled upon the order for marriage. There are things here I don't agree with, like that marriage is intended “for the procreation of children and their nurture in the knowledge and love of the Lord,” and that it is specifically for heterosexual couples, but that's not what I'm going to talk about here.

The 1979 order for marriage contains the following:

“In the Name of God, I, N., take you, N., to be my wedded (wife) (husband), to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I (plight) (give) thee my troth.”

Definitions of Arousal and Sexual Desire from Scarleteen

Someone in the asexual tags on Tumblr linked to this article recently and I thought it was really good. I don't remember who it was, but if it was you, I will happily add the credit.

Sexual Response and Orgasm: A User's Guide

It defines five aspects of the sexual response, but there were two I found particularly interesting, desire and arousal:

Desire, in a sexual context, is the strong physical, chemical, intellectual and emotional wish or want to participate in any sexual activity; to experience a desire or urge for some kind of sex. Desire for sexual activity is like being hungry in order to eat: if you aren't hungry, eating doesn't tend to feel good. It's a matter of having a sexual appetite at a given time. If you don't have a feeling of sexual desire, sex either with our self or with a partner isn't going to feel very good. We achieve desire any number of ways, but it is generally not primarily physical, but instead also sensory -- based in all or any of our senses of sight, sound, smell, touch, taste - emotional, intellectual and, when we're talking about sex with someone else, interpersonal.

We must usually experience desire to feel sexually aroused. People sometimes describe sexual desire as being "hungry" or "horny." We may feel sexual desire towards a particular person, or we may feel it simply in and of itself, a kind of free-floating feeling of wanting to be sexual.

It sounds to me like the description of sexual desire here, when person-oriented, is sexual attraction. (For that reason, I disagree that sex without sexual desire isn't going to feel very good, because I know that some aces speak from experience and say otherwise.) I like the distinction between person-oriented desire and "free-floating" desire, especially in conjunction with the distinction between desire and arousal. Here is how arousal is defined:

Arousal is a state of sexual excitement that sends messages to your brain which create physical changes and sensations in your whole body as well as your genitals, readying us for sex of any kind.

When we're aroused, our blood pressure rises, our heartbeat and breathing quicken, and our body becomes far more sensitive and receptive to touch. Sometimes users write in to us saying they just "aren't feeling anything" with various kinds of partnered sex or masturbation: if and when that is the case, chances are that person just isn't all that aroused. We can be aroused by physical stimulus as well as by intellectual, emotional or hormonal stimulus, and arousal is usually about a combination of those things. We can be aroused by all of these things, or only some of them, or even just one of them at any given time, with or without physical stimulation. For instance, we might become aroused by being kissed or touched, but we may also become aroused simply by the sound of someone's voice, our own thoughts or our creative imagination.

It's important to note that we don't all experience the same things as seeming sexual. We're also not all aroused by the same things. What seems sexy or arousing to any one of us differs from person to person based on our individual personalities, our life experience, our particular body sensitivities, and what we were raised to interpret as sexually or sensually exciting.

But when we are aroused, we all usually have some fairly similar bodily responses.

One of the primary physical responses to arousal is called vasocongestion, which means the increased flow of of blood to the genital tissues (and/or breasts and nipples), and the condition of those tissues becoming swollen with blood. This is how the penis becomes erect, and how the clitoris and labia also become erect, and the vagina produces a slippery lubrication. As arousal continues folks with a vagina, the uppermost third of the vaginal canal also expands and loosens a bit, which can result in an emptier or larger feeling inside the vagina.

These three categories of things make a lot of sense to me, and I feel kind of validated that someone else finds the distinctions between the three worthwhile. I've never experienced the kind of person-oriented sexual desire that the author describes, but arousal and "free-floating" desire have seemed to me like two sides of the same coin. One is largely physical, and the other is largely mental. Sometimes they occur together, but, in contrast to the experiences of the author, each also occurs without the other. In my experience, sexual desire without arousal makes it hard to have a satisfying sexual experience, while arousal without desire means I don't really want to have any sexual experience. (The existence of aces who have sex clearly shows that not every ace feels like me.)

I like these definitions because they make sense to me, as an ace, and they lay out distinctions that have been important to me, that I rarely find discussed. Reading this article has helped solidify my understanding of sexual attraction (sometimes it's hard to understand things you don't experience!); now I think of it as sexual desire oriented towards a person or a group of people.

Thanks, Scarleteen, for having an easy-to-understand and ace-friendly article!

Asexuality: Prevalence and Associated Factors in a National Probability Sample

This is the beginning of an attempt to make the research on asexuality more accessible. I'll be going through the relatively small body of literature on human asexuality and summarizing the papers, pulling out what I think are the most important and interesting points. It is not my intention to thoroughly critically analyze every paper, but to present thought-provoking and informative material. Bogaert's 2004 paper identifying the 1.05% seemed like a good place to start.

Carnival of Aces Roundup

The theme for September was unity and diversity in the asexual community. Next month will be hosted by Concept Awesome, and the prompt has already been posted. Asexual Agenda is looking for people to host future months of the Carnival, as currently, no one has signed up past October. If you're interested, head over to the Masterpost.

Without further ado, the submissions!

Carnival of Aces: Call for Submissions

I'm hosting the September 2012 edition of the Carnival of Aces here at Confessions of an Ist. The theme for this month is diversity and unity in the asexual community. I prefer to choose very open-ended themes, so anything dealing with that topic is acceptable. You might consider racial diversity, gender diversity, religious diversity, age diversity, the importance of diversity and/or unity, the relationship between diversity and unity, whether or not the asexual community seems either diverse or unified to you... etc.

To participate in the Carnival of Aces, simply write a blog post dealing with this theme, and get me the link either here in the comments or at greenchestnuts at gmail dot com, by October 1st. I'll post the roundup shortly after that. Posts must be written during this month to be eligible for the Carnival.

Also, Asexual Agenda is looking for bloggers to host the Carnival in future months. Hosting is easy and does not require a substantial time commitment; you make the initial call for submissions, advertise the Carnival throughout the month, and then make a post with all the links you've received within the first few days of the next month. You get to pick the theme, and other bloggers usually help promote the Carnival. Nearly any platform is fine for hosting-- Blogger, Wordpress, Livejournal, Dreamwidth, Tumblr, etc. (You might run into some problems trying to use Twitter, though.) So please let them know if you're willing to host. You can find a list of past Carnivals and themes, and sign up, at the above link.

Ageism and Asexuality

How old is old enough to be asexual?

I've written a lot, lately, about how sexism affects asexuals and our perceptions of asexuality. A lot of that sexism and misogyny centers around themes of experience, whether that's using a woman's lack of (the correct kind of) sexual experience as evidence that she's not really asexual, or using the fact that she has engaged in sexual experience as proof that she's not really asexual. The first part of this double-bind, as well as the more general idea that people with more experience can explain people with less experience to themselves, is rooted in ageism, but today I'm going to talk about ageism and asexuality more explicitly.

The Trevor Project is "the leading national organization preventing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning youth." One of their affiliates defines this more specifically-- "TrevorSpace.org is an online, social networking community for LGBTQ youth ages 13 through 24 and their friends and allies." The New York Times's "Coming Out" project features stories from teenagers as young as 15. The "It Gets Better" project is specifically aimed at teenagers. While there are many fair criticisms to be made of "Glee," no one seems to be arguing that its characters are too young-- or were too young, when the show began-- to know they're gay. As for heterosexuality, its undeserved status as the "default" sexuality means that rarely, if ever, is anyone who says they're straight told they're too young to know that for sure. Knowing that you're straight as a teenager is considered completely normal.

So the idea that teenagers know their sexual orientations-- even minority sexual orientations-- is clearly not a controversial one in general. When it comes to asexuality specifically, studies indicate that the average age of first sexual attraction, for both straight and gay children, could be as early as ten, so we know that most teenagers have had ample time to determine whether or not they've felt it. We also know that the same 2004 study that gave us the 1% number found that asexual respondents were, on average, slightly older than non-asexual respondents, so we know that asexuality isn't something teenagers experience and then grow out of.

In this context, it becomes obvious that telling asexuals they're not old enough to know their sexual orientation is rooted in both ageism-- the idea that anyone who can communicate about it is "too young" to know their sexual orientation-- and anti-asexual ideology-- the way this standard is applied to asexuals much more frequently than it is applied to members of any other sexual orientation. When I came out to my family, one of the responses I received amounted to "It's just a phase," even though I was in my twenties and had been dating men and describing myself as a straight woman for several years prior to that. Asexual people-- usually women-- who are in their thirties still report being told that they're "too young" to know their sexual orientation, or that they're just "late bloomers." The fact that asexuals from this same age group are also told that they're too old to have a sexuality, that their lack of sexual attraction is simply what happens to people in their thirties, shows that the point is to invalidate asexuality by any means necessary.

Ageism is a problem for the asexual community, but it seems to be a symptom of a deeper problem, which is, of course, the suspicion and distrust with which many people regard the concept of asexuality. For whatever reason, they think it cannot possibly be valid, and so they resort to any way that they can to invalidate asexual identities, whether that's ageism ("You're too young to know you're asexual." "You're too old to call yourself asexual, that's perfectly normal at your age.") or the experience argument ("You can't be asexual if you've never been in a 'real' relationship/never had sex/only had one sexual partner." "You can't call yourself asexual if you have sex.") or sexism ("All women are asexual, you're just normal") or arguments about one's romantic orientation or gender identity ("You're not asexual, it's just internalized homophobia/dysphoria/transphobia") or arguments about the patriarchy ("You've just been brainwashed into denying your sexuality.") Ageism is just an excuse, a tool to use to dismiss asexuality; if it weren't that, it would be something else. The bad news is that it's not going to go away until asexuality is accepted, but the good news is the ageist argument against asexuality is so implausible that there's no reason to listen to anyone who makes it.

Sexism and Asexuality, Part Four: "Real Relationships"

 So far in this series, I've written about how sexism kept me from realizing I was asexual, how asexual women don't get a pass from sexism, and how telling women they're not really asexual plays into a sexist narrative where women can't be trusted to know about themselves. This week, I'm going to write about the popular troll phrase, "Asexuals have just never been in 'real' relationships," and how this phrase is simply another way of coercing women into unwanted sex.

I wrote about one problem I have with this phrase back in March, but today I'm going to go deeper. The idea that they're only asexual because they've never been in a "real relationship" is something asexuals hear a lot; it should probably have a spot in the next edition of asexual bingo. So what constitutes a "real" relationship? In the eyes of most of the world, and the people saying it, a romantic relationship, and probably one that includes sex-- which is something many asexuals don't want to have.

Telling people they have to engage in unwanted sex before you consider their desires valid is a form of social coercion. It creates pressure on them to engage in unwanted sex, and it contributes to rape culture. When applied to women, it's a form of sexism as well, since women already face disproportionate pressure to engage in unwanted sex. Women's desires are already invalidated on so many grounds; adding more, telling women they have to check off "x" box before you consider their desires and experiences valid, is misogynistic.

Unfortunately, this phrase is found within feminist communities as well as outside of it. If your idea of feminist activism involves telling women you won't believe them about their sexual orientation until they have sex they don't want to have, you are not being a feminist, you are being a mouthpiece for the patriarchy. Go directly to feminist jail, do not pass feminist go, and do not collect two hundred feminist dollars. Go to your room and rethink your feminism. Women's desires and identities are not something on which you can place conditions. An orientation doesn't need "x" amount of relationship experience to make it valid; romantic desire doesn't need "x" amount of sexual desire to make it valid; platonic desire doesn't need "x" amount of romantic desire to make it valid.

Feminism means trusting women to be the authority on our own identity and desires, against a background of misogyny that tells us women shouldn't have any desires and need men to tell us what we want, anyway. Feminism means listening to women about our own experiences and identities. And feminism means not coercing us into unwanted sex by refusing to believe our own accounts of ourselves until we have it.

Sexism and Asexuality, Part Three

Now, I'm going to discuss the sexism inherent in telling women they're not really asexual.

It's true that the misogyny in which we all exist shapes our choices, and that no choice is made outside its influence. If I said, "I've decided I want to drop out of graduate school and find a nice breadwinner to support me and stay home full-time raising his two point five children while baking every day and putting on heels and pearls to meet my husband at the door with a martini, and this has nothing to do with misogyny because it's my choice," people would be justified in their skepticism; this hypothetical choice (while not a choice that wins, because no choice a woman makes can win in the patriarchy) is a choice that plays right into some very strong stereotypes about women.

It's also true that even our perception of our own sexuality is shaped by the patriarchy, and it can be hard to determine what is a genuine desire and what has been written onto us. For women who have desires that seem to "cooperate with the patriarchy," this can create a lot of conflict about how to embrace their desires in a healthy way.

With these two things being true, however, anyone who wants to tell a woman that her sexuality is false, or unduly shaped by patriarchal stereotypes (because no person escapes this shaping entirely), is treading very near to enacting a misogynistic narrative of their own. Telling a woman that her sexuality is not what she says it is plays along with a narrative that suggests women are never really mature enough to know themselves, and that they need some kindly stranger to instruct them, whether about what to wear or how to smile or what to eat during pregnancy or what their sexual orientation is. Telling a woman she's wrong about her own sexuality plays into a narrative where what women know about themselves doesn't matter, because who they are and what they want are irrelevant as long as they play along with the script. It's possible to do it well… but it's not likely to happen. An outsider might be able to more clearly see the cultural forces to which a woman is subjected than the woman herself, but their potential for more unbiased perception in one area is balanced by an inability to perceive what's in the woman's own mind.

To argue that a woman's sexuality is the result of patriarchal forces, you must be able to argue that that sexuality falls in line with patriarchal norms, and as I have previously discussed, asexuality is not a "patriarchy-approved" female sexuality. Applying standard criticisms of choice feminism to a woman's sexuality also runs into the further and larger problem that sexuality is not freely chosen. There's debate about the extent to which sexual orientations are inherent, but most people (at least in my cultural context) who aren't conservative Christians agree that one's sexual orientation is largely or entirely not a matter of choice. You cannot logically criticize a woman for her choice on a matter in which she had little or no choice.

I know that I didn't choose to be asexual. I don't know if I was "born this way," but I was "this way" by the time I was a teenager, and when I discovered the concept of asexuality, many years later, a lot of things from my adolescence suddenly made sense. What I have chosen is to accept my asexuality. I've chosen to accept that there is nothing wrong with me and that I am not repressed or broken. I've chosen to accept and affirm that, even though I live in a patriarchal society and my experiences are shaped by misogyny, I have enough agency to know my own desires; I am as able as a straight woman, a bisexual woman, a pansexual woman, or a lesbian to discern my own sexual orientation. I've chosen to accept that I do not need to have lots of (undesired, unenthusiastic) sex, or violate my own boundaries, in order to discover my "real" orientation.

These are the choices I have made, and on these, I both welcome and defy criticism. If you have a problem with these choices that I have made, or with the similar choices of any other asexual woman, I suggest you consider, deeply, what the alternative would look like.

Note: While I did not end up quoting Cliff Pervocracy in this entry, I want to thank her for putting some vague ideas and feelings I'd been having into very clear and concrete words.

Sexism and Asexuality, Part Two

I've heard it said that for a women to be asexual means for her to conveniently conform to the demands of the patriarchy, but that's very untrue.

Asexuality is a free pass out of exactly zero of the thousands of ways the patriarchy polices female sexuality. My not being sexually attracted to men isn't excused because I'm also not sexually attracted to women. The sex toys in my dresser aren't condoned because I'm only using them on myself. The fact that I want intimacy from people-- from men, even-- without wanting to have sex in return doesn't meet with approval. That I enjoy being attractive, without wanting to attract anyone and without being attracted to anyone, puts me squarely in that illogical category known as "being a tease," just like millions of other women who dare to do something for themselves rather than for a male audience.

Women cannot express our desires, be they romantic or sexual or platonic, without being shamed and belittled, and being asexual doesn't change that. We're not supposed to have desires. We're supposed to be sexualized, and sexy, but not sexual; available to men, but with no desires or demands of our own except for those which serve their fantasies. Asexual women don't get a free pass out of that. Some asexual women, certainly, do have no sexual desires, but I suspect there are very few asexual women who have no desires at all. And asexual women are no more sexually available to men than are women of any other sexual orientation. Therefore, we fail at the two primary components of patriarchially-sanctioned female sexuality: available (no more so than any other women) and without any desires of our own (no). The patriarchy isn't exactly falling all over itself to give us cookies.

As an asexual woman, I am too sexual to be "proper," because I enjoy sexual pleasure (and, even more scandalously, on my own terms and for no one's benefit but mine). I am also not sexual enough, however, because I am not sexually available to men. I do not receive any sort of approval for being asexual; I have not unlocked some sort of magic guide to negotiating through the worst of the patriarchy by being asexual. I put up with the same objectification, fight the same fights, and live in the same fear as the equivalent white allosexual woman of my socioeconomic class. And all this, by the way, is while being celibate. If I were currently sexually active, I would have to wade through the same garbage as my allosexual counterpart.

The thing about the patriarchy is that there is no way to win. It is an obstacle course constructed to be unwinnable. Not everyone loses as badly-- for many women, their race, class, sexual orientation, religion, and/or position on the gender binary clear many obstacles away-- but no one wins. To say that any particular group wins simply means you aren't paying attention. There is no way to satisfy the demands of the patriarchy, because the demands of the patriarchy are conflicting and mutually exclusive. It is literally impossible. None of us win-- not allosexual women, and not asexual women.

Sexism and Asexuality (Part One?)

This is a story about my younger self, and about how sexism (and homophobia, but mostly sexism) affected my identifying as asexual.

I grew up thinking I was straight, because straight was default and everyone was straight until proven otherwise. I wondered occasionally if I were gay, because I realized that I liked women and men about the same, but I decided I wasn't gay because I didn't want to have sex with women. I did wonder if I might be bisexual, but I concluded that I liked guys so that made me straight. I didn't hear about asexuality for years.

I didn't date much in high school. I dated more in college, always men. One relationship had a noticeable lack of physical chemistry (even for me), and, while my boyfriend didn't give a lot of reasons for breaking up with me, I was pretty sure it had something to do with him wanting to go farther and faster physically than I did. I don't remember thinking there was anything remarkable about this; I just concluded I was a little weird for not wanting to do that stuff, and that we were incompatible.

I had another boyfriend who told me he wanted me, wanted to have sex with me. I had no idea how to process this. I simply had no framework for understanding a statement like that. I had no idea what it felt like to want somebody. There were people I missed when they weren't around, but I didn't want to have sex with any of them, and my boyfriend was clearly talking about something far more physical. I was taken aback; I had noticed that other people were having much more sex than I was, and that there was something different about them as opposed to about me, but I hadn't thought about what that was very deeply. I was more of a conservative Christian (and more judgmental) then than I am now, so I had put some of it down to different morals, but most of it I had just attributed to different life choices.

But my boyfriend at the time was also religiously conservative, so I knew that couldn't be it. My conclusion was that that tired old chestnut, that men want sex much more than women do, must be true. I was kind of surprised to realize this, but the evidence seemed clear: he wanted me, I had no idea what he was talking about but didn't feel anything like that for him, he was the guy, I was the girl. I couldn't think of any alternative explanation for such a marked difference in our feelings. Not only did I not want him, I couldn't conceive of wanting him or anyone else.

Once I realized that my boyfriend and I had significantly different levels of interest in each other sexually, which was something I thought was gendered, I became concerned about tempting him. After all, if what I thought was a sexist trope about women just not being interested in sex was apparently true, then maybe all that stuff that went with it, about "provocative" women being "bad" women, was true too. I wasn't concerned that my boyfriend was going to pressure me for sex if I was too tempting, but I still didn't like the idea of unintentionally turning him on. I didn't like the idea that something that was platonic to me, like cuddling, could be sexual to him. So I let many of my desires go unfulfilled, and convinced myself that if we could just get to a stage in our relationship where we felt like we "could," morally, have sex, whether that was an engagement or what, then everything would be okay. I focused on sex as the thing that would bring the intimacy I wanted, even though I didn't really want sex.

That relationship ended before engagements or marriage became an issue. I figured out that the tired old chestnut about men wanting sex much more than women want sex was actually a tired old chestnut and not a universal truth-- and what astounds me, looking back, was that I knew a lot of women who were having and enjoying sex. I had them as examples right in front of me. But I had no other way to interpret my experiences than through the lens sexism offered me, because the lives of my friends offered no way to account for my desires, or rather, my lack of sexual desires.

Looking back, I wish someone had sat me down and said, "Aydan, you know how you've never wanted to do anything sexually with any of your boyfriends?" And then, after I had finished sputtering and making excuses, had said, "Have you ever thought about what that means? Aydan, it's not them, it's you."

And I wish someone had sat me down and said, "You don't want what most people want, and that's okay. What you do want, you're probably not going to find in these relationships. Maybe you should stop trying, and figure out a way to get what you really do want." It might have saved me some heartache, and something worse.

Because I'm not saying that I stayed in bad relationships because I didn't know I was asexual and aromantic. But I am saying that if I had realized, had known what those things were, had realized that asexuality and not sexism explained my experiences-- I might have made different decisions.

So, younger self, if you or someone like you is reading this, you should know that it's okay to want what you want, even if it's not what everyone else wants. Your desires are valid whether or not they are sexual. Make decisions based on what you want and not what you think you should want. Figure out what it is you want, and try to figure out a way to get it.

Book Review: Bonk

TW sexual assault

I recently read Mary Roach's Bonk. I enjoyed parts of it tremendously; the deadpan footnotes, in particular, had a tendency to make me laugh helplessly. The subject matter is treated maturely, though, and it's an informative read. Rather than a history of sex, it's a history of sex research, and details what scientists thought about sex in the past, as well as the… experiments… by which they derived those theories. It also talks about modern-day sex research, sexual dysfunction, and attempts to remedy said dysfunctions.

While I wouldn't call it an explicitly feminist read, nothing much about it twinged my "this is messed up" radar-- with two major exceptions. At two points, the author interacts with patients or study members without, as far as I can tell, their permission. Once, she touches the anesthetized penis of a man who's had surgery to reduce erectile dysfunction. The second time is less clear about what's going on; she peers through one-way glass to get a look at an experimental setup, while it is in use by a woman who is masturbating. Given that the experimental setup uses one-way glass, of course the study participants know they may be watched by researchers, but I'm not sure where visiting journalists fall out in all that. It's particularly odd because at one point the author undergoes a vaginal photoplesmythography study on the grounds that "Observing someone else who said yes was not an option, because of human subjects review board rules."

Those two inexplicable and disconcerting parts aside for the moment, I was particularly interested in the bits about female sexual responses. One thing that was a particular lightbulb moment for me was the described difference between "reflex arousal" and "psychogenic arousal"-- broadly speaking, arousal from physical stimulation in the absence of erotic input, or arousal from erotic input-- sights, sounds, thoughts-- in the absence of physical stimulation.

I also found it interesting that she described HSDD (hypoactive sexual desire disorder) as "low libido." This is a topic, of course, that is of interest to many aces, since it's not hard for someone to take the definition of HSDD as it stands and use it to pathologize asexuality; there's not much difference between what HSDD describes and between asexuality. Yet most asexuals make a distinction between having a libido and being asexual; you can have a sex drive and be asexual, and you can not have a sex drive and be not on the ace spectrum. If most people think of HSDD as low libido, that indicates that they think of sex drive and sexual attraction as the same thing, which in turn is probably a reason it's so hard to explain asexuality. (I did some quick Googling. The Mayo Clinic has a page that conflates having low sexual desires with having a low sex drive with having HSDD. It seems to be a common conflation.)

Obviously this is not the book to read if talking about sex or genitals squicks you out. But if you have an interest in science, or in learning more about the science behind sex, and you can get past the two moments of apparent non-consent (and while I don't want to say "she would never do that," I'm boggled by the idea that an author would sexually assault someone and then write about it?) it's a pretty good read.

Heteroromanticity and Being "Straight"

TW conversion therapy, corrective rape

It's becoming increasingly common to lump heteroromantic asexuals under the label of straight. I respect many of the arguments behind this practice (though not the argument that heteroromantic asexuals are "really" heterosexual, because explaining someone else's sexual orientation to them is pompous), but I disagree*:

Among all the cries of "heteroromantic asexuals are straight!" one group in particular seems to disagree, and that's heterosexuals. Straight people often don't consider heteroromantic asexuals to be straight, probably because they realize there's a pretty big difference between being romantically attracted to someone and being sexually attracted to someone. I come to this conclusion-- straight people don't consider heteroromantic asexuals to be straight-- by observing the pushback that surrounds discussions of heteroromantic asexuality, for example, this article. Most heterosexual people probably would not date a heteroromantic asexual of their preferred gender with the same willingness they would date a heterosexual of their preferred gender. To people who are actually straight, there's a big difference.

Heteroromantic asexuals also don't get the societal approval that straight people do. Behavior is not orientation and not all asexuals are celibate; nevertheless, many are. A heteroromantic asexual woman, for example, who wants to date and even marry men but not have sex with them, absolutely is not conforming to the dominant paradigms. Neither is a celibate heteroromantic asexual man.

More important than people's feelings is their actions, and heteroromantic asexuals are not treated like straight people. Straight people get approval for their sexual orientation, if not their sexual practices. Heteroromantic asexuals may face what other asexuals face-- conversion therapy, corrective rape, etc. Straight people can generally go get treated for a physical or mental illness without having to worry that their doctor will blame their sexual orientation for said illness. Heteroromantic asexuals, like other asexuals, can't always be sure of this. Heteroromantic** couples in the UK have been prevented from adopting because of their asexuality. And, in some countries, for heteroromantic asexuals who are also celibate, their celibacy can make it impossible for them to marry if consummation is required. (I can't find it now, but I recently saw a question from a heteroromantic asexual Muslim couple who wanted to marry but weren't sure how to get around the consummation requirement.)***

Heteroromantic asexuals certainly have passing privilege, but they also face discrimination and oppression for their sexual orientation, even if they pass as heterosexual most of the time. It's misleading and inaccurate to lump heteroromantic asexuals in with heterosexuals by calling them straight.

*Some heteroromantic asexuals identify as straight, just like some homoromantic asexuals identify as gay or lesbian, and I am 100% okay with that. There's a big difference between identifying a certain way and having someone else tell you you must identify a certain way.

**Cormier-Otaño does not explicitly say that they are heteroromantic. However, given that they apparently point to asexuality-induced celibacy as the reason they have not had children "by [themselves]", it's almost certain that they are. A same-gender couple could have children of their own without having to have sex; presumably a social worker would be aware of the potential costs and complications involved, and not question why they hadn't gone that route.

***ETA: I seem to have mischaracterized this. It's not clear whether the couple in question actually was concerned their marriage would be considered invalid without consummation, or merely wanted to uphold tradition.

"Real" Relationships

TW corrective rape, abuse

Sometimes people say, "You just identify as asexual [or aromantic] because you haven't been in enough relationships yet."

Sometimes people say, "You just identify as asexual [or aromantic] because you haven't been in real relationships."

And sometimes people say, "Anyone who identifies as asexual [or aromantic] just hasn't been in real relationships."

Besides the ignorance and arrogance inherent in these statements, they upset me for another reason.

They upset me because I've been in "real" (romantic/sexual) relationships and I've paid the price for it. I know, too, that I've been much luckier than other aces and aromantics. No one ever raped me to "fix" me, or raped me because I didn't want sex enough, or tried to force me to get medical treatment. No one ever decided that my being asexual or aromantic meant I didn't love them and that a ten-year marriage was worthless.

Sometimes I wonder if I would have stayed quite as long as I did, at the end, if I had known I was aromantic. Sometimes it felt like there was something missing, some rush, some sense of warm fuzzies… and I just kept waiting for it. Now I know that's just not me, that I don't experience those things, and I wish someone had told me then.

I'm an adult. I've been in some good (romantic/sexual) relationships and some bad ones. I've had experiences that I can't quite bring myself to call abusive, but that I would call so if someone else told me about them. I've had my head, my self-worth, and my dignity screwed with in these "real" (romantic/sexual) relationships.

So don't you dare tell me that never happened. Don't you dare erase my experiences, or the experiences of those who have had it so much worse than me.

Sexual Attraction

The definition of asexuality is "not experiencing sexual attraction" or "not experiencing sexual attraction to others" or "not experiencing sexual attraction to any gender." This frequently is conflated with "I don't have sex" or "I don't want to have sex," which tends to turn any discussion of asexuality outside the asexual umbrella into a tedious 101... sometimes more like a remedial class. If I never hear "demisexuality is only wanting sex with someone you ~love~" again, it will be too soon. And, of course, it's hard to define sexual attraction well, especially if you don't experience it. You can deduce it exists via the experiences of other people, but it's a difficult investigative method to practice.

So I thought I would talk about what it means for me not to experience sexual attraction. These are my experiences, and do not reflect on any other person.

I don't understand what it means to find someone sexy or hot. I understand that it's a way of finding someone desirable, but I've never been able to grapple with the idea any more closely than that. Sometimes I use the words anyway, as a way of indicating that I find something breathtakingly awesome, but I'm not really sure what other people mean by them.

I've never met anyone I wanted to have sex with-- although this is a hard statement to explain, since the English language uses want for so many experiences. I've been in relationships where I felt comfortable having sex, and where I had positive feelings about having sex; I've been in relationships where I thought about future sex with pleasant anticipation. But I never felt any regret that the future sex was not in the present, nor did I feel any anxiety about waiting until it was. It was a "that would be nice" rather than "I want that." I do not know anyone I want to have sex with, by any definition of the word want. I wouldn't characterize this as "I don't want to have sex," because I'm fairly neutral about sex itself, but as "I don't want to have sex with anyone." Maybe one day I will meet the sort of person, or have the sort of relationship, where I want to have sex despite not experiencing sexual attraction; right now, it's as if my lack of sexual attraction leaves me in neutral, and there are not enough other "positives" to push me over into drive. I'm okay with the idea of having sex in the abstract, but I don't know anyone I want it with, and I never have-- not even when I was, supposedly, a hormone-ridden teenager.

Speaking of which, it took me a long time to figure out why other people have sex. It was something I knew most (as a teengaer, I probably thought "all") people wanted, and I didn't want it, so I assumed it was just something you grew into later. I couldn't figure out why the people around me wanted and were having sex, and I didn't and wasn't. It took me a long time to figure out there was something different about me. Growing up in a moderately conservative sex, it wasn't hard to obey the church's teaching on premarital sex. It wasn't hard at all.

I also have a hard time understanding people's motivations sometimes, whether those people are real or fictional. I've never really understood why one might have an affair, though I realize there are many other reasons besides experiencing sexual attraction. I never understood the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, why their attraction was so irresistible, what I was missing that other people got, or even what that attraction was. (As a side note, I am also aromantic, so I don't get the romance side or the sex side of forbidden love affairs; this probably contributes to my puzzlement.) When people start doing the whole sexual tension thing, my initial reaction is usually "Wait, what are you doing, why are you acting so strangely?" before I realize what's going on. I understand flirting and banter, to a point-- I just can't follow the lines of how you would have some sort of sexual feelings for someone that would change your behavior towards them. I'm not trying to imply, at all, that these motivations are wrong-- I just can't wrap my head around them.

I've never found people to be a turn-on-- not anyone. Insofar as I am ever turned on in the company of people, the common thread is always talking about sex, not being around any one person. I've never been able to really understand the appeal of one-night stands or casual sex, though I get that sex can be pleasurable no matter how well or not well you know your partner. I don't understand why you would have sex with someone you don't really like, what qualities they could have that would make this appealing. I'm not really sure what people mean when they talk about sexual chemistry. I get platonic chemistry just fine-- some people simply get along very well, and there's a "spark." But I have trouble translating the concept to a sexual context.

Presumably there's something most people feel that leads them to want (for some definitions of the word-- maybe another is better), or rather desire, sex with some people over sex with other people. If I sat down to make that calculation, it would go something like, "Well, I know and trust this person, and I believe them to be respectful of my body..." but I'm quite certain that that's not sexual attraction (though of course those factors are important in choosing sexual partners for everyone, not just aces). But say you have a group of acquaintances of mixed demographics that you know equally well, believe to be decent people familiar with affirmative consent and all that, and you're fairly sexually compatible with all of them-- what is it that makes you more drawn to have sex with some people than others? Aesthetic qualities? Personality? Romantic attraction? All of these, presumably, but is there something more?

These are just my experiences, and let me reiterate that my not being able to understand people's behavior is not the same thing as my passing moral judgement on people's behavior. I am saying no more and no less than "I cannot understand the motivations." And I'm not asking anyone to explain them to me-- I'm just illustrating what it means, for me, not to experience sexual attraction.

Gynecological Care

Once upon a time, I said to my doctor, "I'm [early twenties] but not sexually active. What should I be doing in the way of gynecological care?"

He said, "You don't really need an exam or tests; that's mostly to make sure you haven't picked up any STIs or things that could result from them."

"What about something that could be wrong with my reproductive tract that doesn't result from sex?"

"That's not very likely."

I said, "And what if I continue to not be sexually active?"

He said, "Well, if you think something is wrong, you're having irregular bleeding, or pain, you should have an exam. If you want to have the exam, that's fine. But it's really up to you; you don't need it."

I was under the impression that there were standards for regular gynecological care whether or not one was sexually active. I realized that maybe the doctor hadn't understood the length of time I was talking about-- I might be fine at, say, twenty-five without any care, but what about thirty? or forty? I felt too awkward to say anything more, unfortunately.

I was thinking about that today, and I decided to look up more definite and authoritative standards. I consulted Scarleteen and the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists.

The ACOG, in their publication "Your First Gynecologic Visit," says these things:

"Girls should have their first gynecologic visit between the ages of 13 years and 15 years... The first visit may be just a talk between you and your doctor. You can find out what to expect at future visits and get information about how to stay healthy. You also may have certain exams... Even though you probably will not have a pelvic exam, you should know what one is. Another test that you will have later (at age 21 years) is a Pap test."

So the ACOG guidelines are fairly clear: start seeing the obgyn as a teenager, start having Pap smears at age 21. Pap smears check for the effects of STIs, but you can have cervical complications if you're not sexually active.

In response to the question "About how old should you be when you start visiting the Ob-Gyn?" Scarleteen writes,

"To ensure proper sexual health, women should start getting annual gynecologist check-ups shortly after they start having periods. Check-ups are especially important if...

1. You have a family history of reproductive cancers and conditions.
2. You are sexually active.
3. You have really irregular or abnormal menstrual cycles, including excessive pain and excessive bleeding.
4. You are over the age of 17 and have not had a menstrual period."

This is also fairly clear: go as a teenager, especially if you're having sex.

In the article "Your First Gynecologist Visit," Scarleteen writes:

"In a female-bodied person's teens or twenties, either after having at least somewhat regular periods, after becoming sexually active, or because of some sort of reproductive health concern, question or issue, we may begin the habit of having a yearly exam or even just a consult with a gynecologist or a general healthcare provider who can provide gynecological healthcare. It's smart to check in with a reproductive/sexual healthcare provider every year or two as part of our overall preventative healthcare... Do you need to go when you're very young and you haven't been at all sexually active yet (in other words, had any kind of genital sex)? No. It's not a need yet, especially if you're not having any issues when it comes to your period or any kind of pelvic or vulvar pain or discomfort. In fact, if you do go now, not having been sexually active at all, and if you have no issues you need investigated -- like severe menstrual cramps or an absent period -- it's likely your first visit won't involve an actual exam at all, but will be more like the general physical you get at your yearly checkup from your family doctor. You may even just have a consultation, where you and the doctor just talk.

... If you have not been at all sexually active yet, and are not having any possible reproductive issues you want him or her to look into, your exam may end with that abdominal exam and blood work. But if you have been sexually active, if you're in your late teens or twenties, if you do have complaints or issues with your period or any part of your menstrual cycle, if you've been having any sort of reproductive issues -- like pelvic, vulvar, vaginal or rectal pain or discomfort, unexplained vaginal bleeding or spotting, or any unusual discharges, etc. -- then the rest of your exam will likely continue as follows.

... You may or may not get a speculum exam: if you have not been in any way sexually active and/or are under 21, you won't usually need a speculum exam yet.

... The ACOG is currently advising that pap smears, specifically, begin either at age 21, or three years after first vaginal intercourse, whichever comes first. Whether or not you get a pap smear often depends on the specific doctor's practice -- and when you want to start them yourself -- but as of right now, the most general guidelines of most medical associations and practices are roughly in agreement: those who have been sexually active for three years (or less), or who 21 or over (including those not yet sexually active), are usually encouraged to begin pap smears and have them yearly to every few years."

So, basically, my doctor gave me bad information, and I really wonder at it. Was my doctor of the opinion that if I were not sexually active I did not really need gynecological care, and trying to spare me unnecessary procedures? Was he assuming that my question about not being sexually active was just to save face? Did he think I was worrying about not getting laid for a few months instead of contemplating the possibility of lifelong celibacy?

I'm worried that doctors giving people inaccurate information because they don't take celibacy seriously is going to lead to people making poor medical decisions. I never sought gynecological care from that doctor, or a recommendation to an obgyn; after what he said, I wasn't sure how to bring it up. The recommendations for people with vaginas do seem to be fairly clear, so it's a question of doctors following those recommendations. This seems like it could be a problem for aces with vaginas*, since many people in the ace community are not only celibate but contemplating the possibility of remaining so for a large part, or all, of their lives.

Has anyone else had similar experiences? Any stories to tell about navigating reproductive health care from an ace standpoint?**

*I don't know anything about reproductive health guidelines/timing of exams/whether recommended onset of exams is linked to onset of sex for people with penises, but it could be a problem here too.

**For any set of genitals.

A Carnival for Aces: Roundup

Hello everyone,

Due to the holidays and my lack of advertising, I only got a few submissions for the Carnival, but those few are greatly appreciated! Here they are:

At An Asexual Space, Looking Into 2012

At Asexual Love, 2012, the BEST YEAR EVER!

And here at Confessions of an Ist, Desires

Thanks again to those who submitted! As another reminder, this month's carnival is being held at quod inane vocamus and the theme is re/presentation.