Personal

Personal Announcement

I no longer identify as “nonbinary.”

I am a gender non-conforming female. This means I was born biologically female, with a vulva, uterus, ovaries, female-corresponding levels of estrogen and testosterone, and a body that eventually developed secondary sex characteristics (i.e., breasts).

I am gender non-conforming in my style, my tastes, my choice not to wear make-up or shave my legs, my short hair that is cut and styled in a more masculine way, and my dominant personality traits.

If I were a lesbian, I could continue to use “butch” instead of “gender non-conforming,” but I’ve seen enough instances of lesbians objecting to non-lesbians using the terms “butch” and “femme” that I cannot, in good conscience, continue to use “butch” as an identity term. Plenty of self-identified queer kids and trans kids think that these terms are available as gender identities to anyone who wants to claim them, but the butch/femme dynamic and language originated in the lesbian community and belongs to lesbians, as far as I’m concerned. I apologize to the lesbian community for identifying as butch in the past and I will cease to do so.

Right now, using the word “woman” in reference to myself still feels off, but that offness is something I’m sure that I can work through over time. For now, I feel better calling myself female, simply because that is a biological fact that I’ve never mentally disassociated from. I’ve spent 5 years disidentifying with womanhood, so it may take some time for it to feel comfortable again. But I’m glad that the period of disidentification is over.

 

 

 

 

 

Kissing Friends as an Aromantic Asexual

I want to provide an aromantic perspective on kissing. Keep in mind that different aros feel different ways about kissing, just as different asexuals feels differently about it. My position on the subject is just one possibility. But I think it may interest people who are not asexual or not aromantic to hear this from me, so here goes.

I have limited experience with mouth-to-mouth kissing. That’s basically due to a combination of not dating, not fucking, being largely grossed out by the idea in the past, and the various (pseudo?) opportunities for romantic encounters in my youth blessedly never working out. (If they had worked out at the time, I’m pretty sure it would’ve been bad news.)

The only folks I’ve kissed on the mouth were very close friends who weren’t sexually or romantically attracted to me whatsoever–either because they were not oriented to my gender at all or because they themselves were also aromantic asexuals. When we kissed, it went on for a few minutes, and there were several individual kisses we shared. The kissing was close-mouthed–we did not make out, use tongue, etc–which is the only way I like it. Kissing was something that we verbally agreed to do: one of us asked permission and the other consented prior to the act.

After experiencing these kissing encounters, I can say that I do like and appreciate doing it with a friend I’m emotional about, although on the list of physical intimacy acts, kissing on the mouth isn’t my favorite thing and isn’t something I consider necessary in an intimate friendship. I find cuddling and really good hugs to be far more pleasurable, emotionally and physically. When I really love someone, I could cuddle and hug them every day–but thus far, I feel like kissing is something I can take or leave. Kissing certainly doesn’t have to be a frequent activity in any close friendship of mine.

My personal conditions for kissing are:

1. I will only kiss a friend who I know is not romantically attracted to me and who preferably is not sexually attracted to me either. Other aromantics, particularly aromantic asexuals, are ideal for friendly kissing.

2. There needs to be a sufficient emotional closeness and trust between my friend and I. It’s best if I love the person and if they love me, but I imagine that I could be comfortable with kissing a friend I don’t love yet if I still felt emotionally connected and attached to them.

3. Close-mouthed only. No making out.

How Kissing A Friend Feels:

Actually, it doesn’t feel like much. And I’m thankful because it’s an excellent example and confirmation of aromanticism. Despite the fact that there was mutual love and emotion between each of my kissing friends and I, when we actually did it, there was no spectacular effect on my end, and I’m pretty sure they would say the same. There were no fireworks or butterflies or swooning or heart palpitations or any of that shit that romantic people often describe when they kiss someone they’re in love with. There was also no sexual desire sparked: the kissing didn’t escalate into more heavily erotic physical intimacy; we didn’t grope each other or have sex in any way, shape or form, nor did we want to. When we were done, we were done, and we moved on with other activities.

Kissing is nice, certainly. It was a sweet gesture of closeness, intimacy, trust, friendship, and even love. But it didn’t make me feel more emotional about my friends, didn’t make me love them more, sure as hell didn’t make me want to date them. And I felt a deeper gratification when I cuddled with these same friends than when we kissed, hands down.

So you might be wondering, if you’re alloromantic and/or allosexual: why would an aromantic asexual want to kiss anybody? Why would any two people who aren’t sexually OR romantically attracted to each other want to kiss? I’m sure most romantics, especially the allosexuals, can’t compute the concept of friendship kissing. (And no, I don’t mean the kind where you’re drunk off your ass or on drugs and make out with a friend at a party or to sexually titillate someone else.)

All I can say is that like every other act of physical affection and intimacy that I enjoy, kissing is simply a way to feel close to a friend that I have feelings for, a way to express love and to feel loved. Touch is actually my love language, so I get a lot of emotional gratification from sharing physical affection with someone I love or have feelings for. Not to mention that physical affection also gives me a greater sense of security in a friendship and the sense that my friend loves me and feels attached to me in equal measure.

Because nothing is inherently romantic and nothing is inherently sexual except actual sex, these physical acts–when performed between myself and a friend who isn’t attracted to me sexually or romantically–can be comfortable and satisfying as gestures of friendship. There obviously needs to be a mutual emotional attachment and sense of closeness and physical comfort between a friend and I for both of us to want to kiss, so kissing is a sign of how close we are and how much our friendship means to both of us. Gender and physical appearance don’t matter, in terms of who I’m willing to kiss or who I can enjoy kissing. The only determining factor is an emotional bond in friendship.

As I said in my list of conditions, I would never fucking kiss someone who I knew to be alloromantic and attracted to my gender or attracted to me specifically, and I would never kiss someone who I knew to be allosexual and attracted to me specifically, unless they were also aromantic and completely, totally respectful and cool with sex being off limits.  I’m super repulsed by the idea of kissing somebody who’s romantically attracted to me or in love with me. I think I could handle kissing a friend who is NOT romantically interested in me but who is sexually attracted to me, although it might make me feel a little bit uneasy or just very aware of their sexual attraction. A great level of trust would be required, I think; I’d have to feel completely safe with that person and sure that they respect my disinterest in sexual activity.

In other words, kissing is an exclusively friendly activity to me, and friendship is the only acceptable context for it. I am well-aware that this is a complete subversion of the act as it’s usually performed by romantic people, whether they’re asexual or allosexual. I’m also aware that some allo* people are cool with kissing their friends on the mouth, not because of romantic attraction but because of friendly attachment and/or sexual attraction. Just like sexual friendship can be a thing–a thing truly devoid of romantic feelings–nonromantic kissing in friendship can be a thing, even for people who experience romantic and/or sexual attraction, although it seems like it’s pretty rare in the allo* population. To my knowledge, friendly kissing happens mostly in queer circles, polyamorous circles, and among young people who are unmarried (and/or uncoupled).

So how is mouth-to-mouth kissing different for me, an aromantic, than it is for alloromantics?

1. Kissing is for friendship, not romance. I won’t kiss a friend who has romantic interest in me.

2. Kissing requires no physical or sexual attraction whatsoever, to be comfortable and pleasurable.

3. The gender of the friend I kiss makes no difference.

4. Kissing is never an exclusive activity; like every other act of physical intimacy I enjoy, I don’t limit kissing to one friend at a time. I can include kissing in as many friendships as I want, simultaneously.

5. Kissing is not at the top of the physical intimacy/physical pleasure scale for me. It actually falls below cuddling and hugs.

6. Kissing is nice but it’s not required in any relationship. I can happily do without it.

So there you have it. Nonromantic kissing can be a thing in friendship, even for an aromantic asexual.

Signs of my Aromanticism

Nonromantic Love and Affection are Great; Romantic Love and Affection Are Not

Here’s probably the most telling indication of my personal aromanticism and also an example of the fact that it’s only romantic attraction that separates romantic behavior from nonromantic behavior.

In the abstract and in emotionally significant friendships, I desire and enjoy a lot of physical affection, emotional intimacy, general closeness and some interdependence, quality time spent one-on-one with each other, etc.

But take any of those same experiences and turn them into something romantic, by way of someone else’s romantic feelings for me, and I am immediately turned off.

A friend or queerplatonic partner telling me they love me is sweet and appreciated.

Somebody telling me they are romantically in love with me makes me want to go to another planet. There’s no better way to get rid of me. If you’re my friend and you have romantic feelings for me, do us both a favor and keep that information to yourself.

A friend wanting to cuddle with me because we love each other is really wonderful. It has the potential of making me feel deeply loved, secured, and happy.

A person who’s got romantic feelings for me proposing that we cuddle makes my skin crawl a little bit. I don’t want to be touched by anyone who’s got romantic designs on me, despite the fact that in the abstract I do want and like to be touched.

The behaviors can be exactly the same. The activities shared can be the same. The banter, the affection, the other person’s desire for closeness with me can be the same. Hell, there can be love in both scenarios, real love. But how I feel about it changes dramatically based on the presence or absence of romantic attraction.

I guess you could say that in friendship, I defy the negative aromantic stereotypes, but dropped into someone else’s romantic gaze, I personify that stereotype to a T—not just because I am aromantic but because I am also romance-repulsed. Nothing makes me cold the way romance does.

Furthermore, this extends to other people, not just myself. Other people’s romantic relationships annoy the shit out of me. Other people’s close friendships please me. I love seeing friends being physically affectionate, but romantic couples sucking face in public and acting all ooey-gooey is a turn off. I love hearing about other people’s significant friendships, especially if they’re queerplatonic or passionate, but I don’t want to listen to anyone go on and on about how in love they are with their romantic partner. I really don’t give a shit about your romo story.

 

The Time It Takes Me to Feel Emotional Attachment

Romantic people can go from strangers to serious romantic couple in a matter of weeks. It happens all the time. They go out on dates with total strangers or they have sex with someone they just met and a few months later, they’re a couple with an exclusive commitment who are obsessed with each other and can’t seem to be apart in their free time.

Apparently, you’re supposed to decide within 5 or 10 dates whether or not you want to be an official, exclusive couple with someone you’ve only known that long. And if you don’t, then you quit dating and/or fucking altogether and move on to the next candidate.

Maybe this is because I’m aro, maybe it’s just a feature of my personality, or maybe it’s both—but there is no way in hell I can decide in a collective 10-20 hours whether I want to be the most intimate I can possibly be with another human being. I’m certainly not going to love anyone I know that little.

That “spark” or whatever that romantic people talk about, that lets them know their date is someone they want to see again for the purpose of pursuing a romantic relationship in the near future, is not something I experience. I’ve experienced very strong chemistry with a few people, not to mention strong love and attachment, but a) it’s rare for me, in comparison to how often romance happens to romantic people and b) it takes me a hell of a lot longer to feel anything at all for a friend.

I imagine that if I tried dating—if I decided to go on a bunch of dates with someone from OkCupid or Tinder, for example—we’d be several dates in, they would try to have The Talk about becoming an official couple, and I would be at a loss because I wouldn’t feel anything whatsoever, beyond “Sure, you’re all right, we’ve had some decent conversations.”

I don’t understand how anyone can believe they “love” someone who they’ve known for less than a year. Or how you can become completely consumed by that other person within that same short amount of time. If someone I went on 10 dates or less with suddenly proclaimed that they were in love with me, my honest reaction would be along the lines of, “You don’t even fucking know me. You don’t love me, you’re just infatuated and in love with the idea of me and the romance you’ve created in your mind.”

With few exceptions, the people I’ve loved in my life were people I knew for years, and it took years for that love to develop on my part. Likewise, in no universe could that love evaporate or die in a matter of weeks or months, the way some romantic relationships do.

The bottom line is, loving friendship is slow to build, starts out light and superficial, deepens and intensifies over time; romance starts out intense, flares up fast, and burns out—either to nothing or to a much calmer kind of loving bond with substance instead of intensity. The way I naturally bond with people and develop emotional attachment to them is in line with friendship, not romantic relationships.

 

What I Want vs. What I Don’t Want in Intimate Friendships

I’ll keep this simple.

Stuff I Want in Intimate Friendship: genuine love, respect, quality time spent one-on-one, physical affection (which can include hugging, cuddling, kissing, co-sleeping, holding hands, leaning against each other, back rubs, etc), emotional vulnerability and sharing, intimacy, trust, fun, saying “I love you” when we mean it, loyalty, protecting the time and space of our friendship, humor, communication, being able to do some things together and other things apart, freedom, flexibility, taking the friendship into consideration when making life decisions individually that could impact the friendship, deep connection,

Stuff I Won’t Tolerate: possessiveness, neediness, obsession, loss of independence, loss of individuality, the expectation that you come first and before everyone else I know by default, the expectation that we have to spend all of our free time together and can’t socialize separately, invasion of privacy, blending our social lives completely so that we no longer have separate friendships, the expectation or demand that I damage or destroy my other friendships for the sake of pleasing you and/or indulging your insecurities, constant sentimentalism, restricting what I can and can’t do in other friendships, framing the importance of our friendship in terms of how it is superior to all of other relationships, a sense of entitlement to knowing where I am/who I’m with/what I’m doing at all times,

In other words, I wouldn’t last 5 minutes in the average romantic relationship.

 

I Want the Same Things from All People I Love

This was definitely something that should’ve tipped me off to my aromanticism when I was a kid, because it was consistently my experience back then, pretty much like it is now.

So the average romantic person has a long list of stuff they specifically want in romantic relationships, and for the most part, they ONLY want those things from romantic relationships. I am convinced that to a degree, this is caused by powerful social conditioning that teaches us you’re only allowed to access certain experiences through romance or that certain behaviors/feelings/experiences are innately romantic, but whatever the reason for romantic people limiting themselves to satisfaction through romantic relationships is beside the point. The point is, they want XYZ in their lives, to feel happy and loved and whatever, and they don’t want or need or look for XYZ in friendship or family relationships, even when they’re single. They associate XYZ with romance, period.

In contrast, there has never been anything—even when I thought I was romantic as a teen—that I exclusively wanted from romantic partners and not friends, except for maybe the partner label. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I had intense feelings for a variety of people, male and female, who I either wasn’t close to and wanted to be intimate friends with or was already friends with but not the way I wanted to be. I wanted emotional intimacy with all of them, I wanted to be loved by all of them, I wanted physical affection from all of them, I wanted to be important to all of them, and I felt devastated by the idea of being inferior to their romantic partners fairly equally across the board.

Looking back, even though at the time there were particular individuals who I wanted to “date,” nobody really stood out emotionally or in terms of the kind of interaction I wanted. There wasn’t a glaring difference between the people I wanted to be intimate friends with and the people I thought I wanted to date. If I had gotten all the relationships I wanted at the time, exactly the way I wanted them, outsiders wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between the friendships and the “romantic” relationships, except for who I would’ve called my boyfriend/girlfriend.

And now, knowing that I am aro and knowing that I have no interest in romantic relationships, it’s clear that there’s not really a significant difference in desire and emotion when it comes to the domestic partners I want and all the other intimate friends I want or have or could have. Living together as committed, intentional partners is pretty much the only thing that I want to separate those domestic friends from everyone else I love. The actual depth or intensity of emotion, the love I want to feel, the physical affection and intimacy I would like or be comfortable with, the quality time spent one-on-one, the trust and the openness and the sharing—all of that can and ideally will be the same amongst all of my friendships.

There is no Super Special Person that I fantasize about fulfilling all of my most important desires and needs for love, connection, emotional intimacy, affection, etc—while the rest of my friends and family are relatively cool and distant with me by comparison. Because nothing is inherently romantic, there’s nothing that I see as off-limits (physically or emotionally) in my friendships simply because they are friendships.

 

Jealousy

Jealousy is something I rarely experience as an adult, but I did experience it intensely as a kid, including through college.

I almost never feel any kind of jealousy or even envy when it comes to a close friend having other close friends. Or if someone I want to be close friends with has a close friendship with someone else. Regarding other people’s close friendships, I feel either neutral or happy on their behalf. I think it’s really cool when someone has the kind of friendship I favor myself, even if that person is someone I’m friends with or becoming friends with. There is typically no reason for me to feel threatened by a friend’s friendship with someone else, even if they’re technically closer to that other friend than they are to me.

But what can make me extremely jealous and/or envious is a friend’s romantic relationship with someone else. That was always the thing that hurt most when I was growing up and when I was in college, the idea of the friends and family members I deeply loved getting romantically involved with other people and leaving me in the dust.

Now I know what you’re reflexive reaction is to this: if I only get jealous or envious of a friend’s romantic partner, not their other friends, then I must have romantic feelings for them.

But you’re wrong.

My jealousy and envy of people’s romantic partners have always been rooted in the fact that romantic people are notoriously romance supremacist. If my friendship is automatically inferior to a friend’s romantic relationship, whether that RR has been going on for 3 weeks or 3 months or 3 years, why shouldn’t I be jealous? If my feelings, desires, and needs as a friend are subjugated or ignored entirely because of my friend being in love with someone else, why wouldn’t I be upset? If I can’t have the time or the affection or the intimacy I want with my friend, because all of it goes to their romantic partner or because what I want is perceived as “romantic” by nature and therefore off-limits when my friend is in a monogamous romance with someone else, isn’t it totally rational that I would be pissed off, sad, hurt, and offended?

I guess romantic people would say no because they’re so trained to believe that this state of affairs, this approach to relationship organization and conduct, IS “normal” and “natural” and friends have no choice but to get over it, when they’re shafted for romance.

But that’s why I don’t make friends with romantic people anymore.

So my jealousy was never about wanting to be my friend’s romantic partner; it was only about wanting to be equally or more important than their romantic partner of the moment, while remaining their friend. It was about wanting the time, touch, and value that I liked in my friendships and perceiving that it was the fault of my friends’ romantic partners that I wasn’t getting it.

It’s not that I want you to date me; I just want you to stop being such a God damn shitty friend.

The Outlier

February’s theme for Carnival of Aces is “cross-community connections.” I wasn’t planning on writing a contribution for it, but now I’m inspired to write a very informal and largely personal post that happens to qualify.

I’m an asexual who is committed to lifelong celibacy, despite having an active libido and (as far as I know) next to no sex-repulsion. I don’t understand or empathize with asexuals who have sex they don’t want to have, who think that they should be willing to get fucked for romance and love, who buy into sexual society’s message that wanting/having/and liking sex is the only way to be normal and liberated. I’m of the opinion that if you’re at all uncomfortable with sex, even if you aren’t repulsed, you shouldn’t do it. I think there should be far more sexual people going celibate in mixed romantic relationships with aces than there are. I think there should be far more aces who challenge sexual people they date to become celibate, instead of folding to the expectation that it’s the ace who’ll be making the sexual sacrifices without question. I think there oughta be more romantic aces who choose to stay single until they meet someone willing to have a nonsexual romantic relationship than there are and an active, community-wide interrogation of the idea that romantic relationships are the end goal into which aces should be pouring all of their social energy into.

I’m aromantic. I’m romance-repulsed. But I also want long-term, domestic friends I can have committed, intentional relationships with—friends who don’t date other people because they too are perma-single aromantics. I’m an aro who wants a lot of sensual, affectionate, physical intimacy in my close friendships: someone who loves to cuddle, who would like to kiss my passionate friends sometimes, who likes skin to skin contact and hugs and general physical closeness with people I’m emotionally attached to. I’m an aro who is capable of very deep, intense love and emotion, however rarely it happens.

I refuse to date romantic people in order to access love, intimacy, affection, attention, and value. I don’t see anything appealing about romantic relationships at all. Romance and people whose lives revolve around it are irritating at best. At their worst, they make me want to buy an island in the Caribbean and live there alone. It doesn’t matter if they’re sexual or asexual. It doesn’t matter if they’re monogamous or poly. It doesn’t matter if they’re fucking or not. Romance supremacy is romance supremacy, and nothing is more repellant to me. I don’t feel the need to play nice with romantics, whether in ace spaces or the world at large; I’m not going to tip toe around them to keep them comfortable in their assumption that they’re the normal ones and their way of organizing and creating relationships is the default because it’s natural or objectively the best. I’m never going to let them rest easy in their shitty friendship practices or their narrow-minded worldview concerning the nature of human relationships, behavior, and feelings.

I’ve seen romantic aces demonstrate romance supremacy in their words and actions, in education and visibility efforts as well as in online ace spaces. I’ve seen them express beliefs and feelings about romantic relationships as compared to friendship that are no different than what I typically expect of romantic-sexual people. Aromantics may make up one quarter of the asexual community—a pretty damn high number—but we’re still ignored, dismissed, misunderstood, and disrespected. In the end, it doesn’t matter what your sexual orientation is, when it comes to being an asshole in the name of romance. And even putting the assholery aside, there just doesn’t seem to be much about romantic aces that I can relate to. I’m years past figuring out the complexities of sexuality and making peace with my own asexuality, so all the basic level shit that new asexuals often talk about isn’t personally relevant to me. And all the noise romantic aces make about dating, living in dysfunctional or challenging romantic relationships, breaking up with romantic partners over sex, longing for their dream romance isn’t just irrelevant to me, it’s annoying. As annoying as it would be coming from sexual people.

Even politically speaking, I’m at odds with most of the asexual community once we get past the message that asexuality exists. For a long time, I’ve observed in the asexual visibility movement a certain degree of wanting sexual society to validate us, wanting to be accepted as “normal,” wanting to assimilate into their world without changing it much. I realize that once romantic aces get basic education about what asexuality means out of the way, their goals amount to finding romantic relationships that work for them, often with sexual people. They use romance as a way to normalize themselves in the eyes of sexual people, just as some try to win acceptance by reassuring sexual people that aces can still fuck (for “love”). I’ve got absolutely no stake in any of that shit, nor am I on board with the messages themselves.

I’m a relationship anarchist who doesn’t fuck or do romance. If polyamory is a lifestyle on the margins of American society, relationship anarchy is in the margins of polyamory—especially my nonsexual, nonromantic relationship anarchy. I’m happy to report that some polyamorous romantic-sexual people acknowledge the validity of nonsexual love and include nonsexual relationships in their own polycules. Some romantic asexuals are poly, and some aromantics (sexual and ace) are poly. But it seems that most poly people are very sex-centric. Furthermore, my relationship anarchy is a far cry from polyamorous romantic-sexual couples in open marriages who often practice a kind of hierarchical poly and categorize their romantic relationships vs. friendships just as normatively as monogamists do. Romance and sex are still the king and queen of most poly people’s lives, and nonromantic/nonsexual friendship is still an afterthought.

I’m a butch, but not a lesbian. I’m also a genderqueer nonbinary person who’s trying to sort out my complicated feelings about my chest while deconstructing any internalized femmephobia I may have. I’ve recently started to think about the fact that I, like so many others, have been attempting to break out of the gender binary while continuing to observe its rules. I want to be read and respected as masculine, as butch, as nonbinary, but I don’t think I want to have to bind my chest or make all feminine markers off-limits on my body. I don’t want to buy into the farce of masculinity as the neutral default. I don’t want that to be my androgyny, but I don’t know if any other androgyny can exist in the world at large where the gender binary is everywhere. Mostly, I’ve decided that this conundrum is less about my gender identity and more about learning how to let go of the desire for other people’s validation. Good to know that’s still something I have to work on.

Whether or not asexuals and aromantics belong in the LGBTQ community for their asexuality and aromanticism (not their corresponding romantic and sexual orientations) is a question that people still debate and fight over. I’ve long felt like asexuals specifically don’t need to latch on to an LGBTQ community that is sexual at its core, made of people who aren’t much different than heterosexuals in this regard. I acknowledge that there are homo-, bi-, and panromantic asexuals, many of whom will date LGBTQ sexual people and even fuck those people or marry them. But the way I see it, asexuals as a group have very different needs, experiences, and goals than queer sexual people do as a group. I acknowledge that there are aromantic queer sexual people, but how welcome they are in the LGBTQ community that is dominated by romantics remains to be seen on a grand scale.

I was around to witness the firestorm of anti-asexual hate explode out of the LGBTQ community online during its first wave, and I guess that encouraged and solidified my own aversion to unifying the asexual community with the LGBTQ community. I know that there are plenty of LGBTQ sexual people who welcome asexuals and aromantics into their own lives, personal communities, and spaces as fellow queers, and that’s cool of them. But I’m still not sold on the idea of lumping aces and aros in with the LGBTQ romantic-sexual people of the world. When sex and marriage are increasingly centralized in the mainstream LGBTQ/Gay Inc. political movement and in the lives of the more privileged (read: white, cis, middle and upper class) romantic-sexual queers, it’s hard for me to see what the average asexual or aromantic person has to gain from inclusion in that movement and the queer community itself.

Furthermore, I’m never going to allow anyone to forget that LGBTQ sexual people, the same as their heterosexual counterparts, are the abusers and rapists of asexuals who try to connect with them romantically. They are also fueling the engine of amatonormativity in our culture, drinking the Kool-Aid of romance fantasy no less than straight people and abandoning the truly queer family configurations and lifestyles that used to be all LGBTQ people had as a source of love and support, before they had the option to get on the straight path to the nuclear family. They can herald the empowerment and liberation to be found in fucking freely as queer people (disguising compulsory sexuality as sex positivity), then in the same breath turn around and slut shame aromantic queers who don’t want to date them, marry them, or fall in line with the homonormative image of the monogamous, romantic same-sex married couple that puts straight people at ease.

On a personal level, I’m in a strange position because the world and even my own queer friends usually look at me and see someone queer. My gender makes me queer, my relationship style makes me queer, my sexuality makes me queer, my politics and beliefs make me queer. It’s not even so much a conclusion they reach after running an in-depth analysis. It’s more instinctual: even if strangers can never guess that I’m an aromantic asexual genderqueer person, they can often tell I’m not heterosexual. There’s something very not-straight about me, even just visually. I think that they usually just mistake me for gay; after all, most people only know about straight and gay as categories, forgetting about other queer sexualities, being ignorant of asexuality and aromanticism and gender identities other than cismale and cisfemale.

But I don’t feel queer. I don’t see myself as queer. Not really. Queerness seems to be all about sex and romance, about desires and dramas that I will never experience, about lifestyles that don’t include people like me and relationships like the ones I want. In my eyes, the world is divided into people who center romance and people who center friendship, and most queer sexual people, being romantic, fall into the first group no less and no differently than the vast majority of heterosexuals. Friendship doesn’t factor into heterosexuality or homosexuality, into being straight or being queer. Even friendship that goes far beyond what it’s supposed to be relative to romance. Even friendship that is physically intimate and emotionally passionate.

In terms of my queer qualifications, it doesn’t matter who I love, who I live with, who I make commitments with. It doesn’t matter if I kiss, cuddle, and caress people I love, and it doesn’t matter who those people are or what their genders are. It doesn’t matter that I reject monogamy, marriage, and the nuclear family. It doesn’t even really matter that I’m a nonbinary butch that can confuse strangers regarding what my gender is. If I’m not fucking and falling in love, if I’m not claiming the labels “gay” or “lesbian” or “bisexual,” if I’m not taking steps to change my body into one less gendered or at the very least doing everything I can to hide my assigned sex, I’m not queer enough to be queer.

And beyond the fact that I don’t need or want partnered sex to be part of my life, I also don’t have much in common with other asexuals, 75% of whom are romantic. In fact, I feel closer to aromantic sexual people than I do to romantic aces, even the aro sexual people who need to be sexually active pretty much all the time. It’s funny: I don’t relate to most asexuals who spend most of their time in ace spaces moaning about romance and how hard it is to date when you don’t like sex, and I also can’t personally relate to aromantic sexual people when it comes to the particular difficulties of having a sex life while avoiding romantic relationships. Fortunately, aromantics seem to share a lot of common feelings about friendship as the most important and appealing thing in life, regardless of sexual orientation, but the fact is, in aro spaces, there is a certain division between aces and sexual people. In many ways, it’s easier to be aro and ace, than it is to be aromantic and sexual. There are struggles that sexual aros live with that I will never have to deal with. And there are some sexual aros who would still like to center sexual relationships, even if nonromantic, in their lives rather than nonsexual friendship. It’s easier for me to feel connection with aros generally, including aro sexual people, than it is with romantic aces….. But ultimately, it’s only other aromantic asexuals who I fully belong with. And even there, it’s the aro aces who aren’t dating, who embrace their aromanticism, who want queerplatonic friendships and won’t bother trying to masquerade as romantic.

I’m the asexual in a world full of sexual people, and I will not fuck you. I’m the aromantic in a world full of romantics, and I will die before submitting to normative romantic relationships as a way to access love and priority. I’m the genderqueer person who doesn’t fall into the male-female binary, the butch with big tits who occasionally wears nail polish or leggings or eyeliner. I’m the relationship anarchist who centers friendship in my life.

I’m an outlier, any way you slice it. And to some degree, it’s the intersection of all these different identities—asexual, aromantic, genderqueer, butch, relationship anarchist—that places me in the margins of each individual community. It’s easy for me to see the fractures in these communities, easy for me to recognize that there isn’t any cohesion or unity across the board, that there’s more internal rifts than anyone wants to own up to. I do feel a sense of kinship with people who are LGBTQ and people who are asexual and people who are polyamorous. But ultimately, the community I want for myself is a community of permanently single aromantics whose lifestyles and value system reflect the same prioritization of friendship that I feel. Their sexual orientations and gender identities don’t matter much to me, in comparison to their singleness and their aromanticism.

I feel like an ally, a supporter, of all these different groups of people that I share certain traits with. But I don’t feel a sense of complete belonging with any group, except the aromantic asexuals who are like me.

Carnival of Aces January 2015: Nonbinary Asexual

January’s theme for the Carnival of Aces is “nonbinary gender,” so I’m going to quickly write a submission. I think most of my gender-and-asexuality-intersection thoughts have already been explored in my post about femmephobia, but I’ll see what I can say here.

I identify as a nonbinary butch. What this means is, I fall under the genderqueer umbrella as a person who doesn’t fit into the “male and female” binary of gender. I am neither male nor female. I’m also not both or a combination of the two. Being nonbinary really does mean that I feel located completely outside of that “male or female” framework. The butch part of my identity is about my masculinity: I strongly prefer to have a masculine gender presentation, which encompasses my clothing, my hair, my makeup or lack thereof, my body’s appearance, etc. However, even when I’m presenting in a more gender neutral or even feminine of center way, internally, I feel more masculine than feminine or neutral. The “butch” term originated in the lesbian community, describing very masculine women who identify as women and who have sexual and romantic feelings for other women (often, but not always, their femme counterparts). But butch is also a gender identity unto itself that doesn’t have to be connected to lesbianism. I use it to describe my gender because it feels right and also necessary. “Nonbinary” is a very broad concept, like genderqueerness. Specifying that I’m butch is an acknowledgement of my feelings and preference for masculinity, which is important to me.

(That said, I do use she/her/hers pronouns. I might like they/them/their, but I’m so used to she/her and don’t have much of a problem with them, that I don’t think I’m going to start asking the world to switch over to they/them/their anytime soon.)

As for being a nonbinary asexual–and a butch nonbinary asexual in particular–I’ve already jumped into a detailed analysis in my femmephobia post, but I will say a few new things:

1. When it comes to my body, being both nonbinary and asexual makes me feel like my sexual and reproductive organs are very much pointless and useless. I do have an active libido and appreciate feeling genital pleasure on my own, but being someone who doesn’t identify as either “man” or “woman” and who also doesn’t want to have partnered sex or care whether other people find me sexually attractive gives me this sense that any body parts that exist solely or mostly for sexual and/or reproductive purposes shouldn’t really be part of me at all. If I could snap my fingers and have any body I want, I would choose to be a Ken doll, basically: a really fit cisgender man with no genitalia. Obviously, that isn’t possible, but it would be kinda nice to have a body that’s as similar to that model as possible.

2. Which brings me to the fact that physically, it’s kinda obvious and unmistakable that I’m female-assigned-at-birth. I’m average height, my facial features are definitely more feminine than masculine, and I’m very, very busty. I feel ambivalent about my chest: part of me wishes I were completely flat so I could look more masculine/androgynous, and part of me wants to challenge the bullshit idea that the only way to be genderqueer or gender neutral is to lean heavily toward traditional masculine images. That rebel side of me wonders why we should see breasts as “feminine” at all. I do what I can to minimize the appearance of my chest, mostly by wearing compression sports bras and masculine or neutral clothing loose enough not to hug my curves, but at this point in time, I’m not anywhere near sold on the idea of having top surgery just so I can appear more traditionally masculine or less traditionally feminine. It would be really nice to have one less physical feature that straight men or sexual people who are attracted to women can sexualize, and it would also be great to have a body that looks and feels more masculine….. But like I said, there’s a part of me that’s very aware of the gender binary and masculinity-as-default and doesn’t want to buy into that framework at all. I’m also aware of cultural femmephobia that I’ve probably internalized to some degree, and I want to make sure I do what I can to disengage from that, even while continuing to embrace my masculinity and butch identity.

So I’m not going to put my tits on display or go around wearing super feminine clothes that accentuates them, but I also have no plans or even any strong desire to have them removed. I know I can feel masculine with the chest I have, because I’ve felt it before, many times. I think I’d like to find a place inside myself where I always feel completely myself, where I am fully expressing my masculine energy, where I feel as butch as I can possibly be, while having the chest nature gave me.

Genderwise, my chest is somewhat at odds with my identity, but sexually speaking, it’s just plain useless. I’m never having partnered sex, and I have no wish to attract sexual attention from others because of my chest, nice as it may be. I’m also never having children, so the only real purpose that breasts serve–feeding said offspring–is also never to be realized by me. I don’t experience body dysphoria, but many times, I’ve looked at my chest and thought about what a total waste my breasts are. They look great filling out a cocktail dress, but I may never wear one of those again, or if I do, not for years to come.

3. Is there a causal relationship between my gender identity and my asexuality? I don’t know. It’s possible. There’s a very high number of genderqueer people in the asexual community, particularly people who ID as agender, neutrois, androgyne, or just plain genderqueer/nonbinary. Then again, there are plenty of aces who are not genderqueer at all, who are either cisgender or binary transgender. And there are a lot of sexual genderqueer people out there too. So there’s definitely not an interdependent link between asexuality and genderqueerness.

If we’re talking specifically about my identities: I figured out my own gender identity years after I started identifying as asexual. Going from a feminine cisgender female to a butch nonbinary person was a process for me, something that happened over time and is still happening. I’ve grown into it, rather than discovering the identity fully-formed in one moment, the way I did with asexuality. I don’t think I’ve become more asexual over time, nor do I think it’s possible to do so. I have, however, become more masculine over time and I’ve traveled further away from the gender binary over time.

I think being celibate actually serves my nonbinary gender identity quite well, by reducing the amount of gendered attention I receive from others. Getting naked in front of someone else and letting them touch the parts of you that tether you to one of the two binary genders must be likely to cause some degree of cognitive or emotional dissonance for a genderqueer or nonbinary person like me. It’s harder to ignore how the other person perceives your gender, when they’re fucking you or you’re fucking them, and gender obviously has something to do with their attraction to you in the first place. I have no idea how I’d feel about my body or sex, if I were a nonbinary butch person and sexual. I feel like being asexual smoothes out the experience of being nonbinary, by default, at least for me.

4. If my gender and my sexual identity share anything in common, it’s the fact that they are more about me and my feelings and my way of being in the world, than they are about other people interacting with me or viewing me in a particular way. I’ve been loudly coming out as asexual (and aromantic, more recently) for years, but I’ve been quieter about my gender identity, not because I’m uncomfortable being open about it but because I don’t feel any great need to convince people of it. If I stop and imagine what other people see when they look at me, then of course, I can say I would prefer it if they all saw a nonbinary butch person instead of a woman, but usually,  I don’t think about what other people think or see when they look at me. My gender identity is a very personal, internal, emotional, psychological, and yes, physical thing for me–and I care much more about how I experience it from the inside out than I do about how or if it comes across to other people.

And when we’re talking about my asexuality and aromanticism, it’s still more about how I feel and what I do and how I move through the world, than it is about what other people think or believe or want from me, regardless of the fact that my sexuality has a greater impact on my social interactions than gender does. I think that spending so many years living as an asexual–and a celibate asexual, no less–prepared me to embrace my nonbinary butch identity in a way that doesn’t concern other people. At this point, I’m a pro at ignoring the world’s expectations, ideas, desires, and opinions, and I got most of my practice through asexuality. Adding on genderqueerness has just given me one more place to get comfortable with being apart from most of the species and with feeling totally confident and rooted in who I am, without looking for others to validate me.

I know that there will always be people who read me as a woman, no matter what I do or say. I know that when strangers look at me, they assume I’m sexual and romantic, and even people who get to learn about me may be skeptical of my asexuality and aromanticism–either because they don’t believe in these identities at all or because I don’t fit into their idea of what an aromantic asexual is. And I’m cool with that. I feel no need to convince anyone to see me the way I see myself. My identity is not for you. My identity is for me. These labels I’ve chosen to pick up are a way of naming myself, for myself. They are tools I use to better know and understand who I am and my feelings and how I experience my body, my relationships, the psychic space where I am a distinct and individual entity. I’m not here to make you understand or accept me. I’m here only to understand and accept myself, to know myself as deeply as I can, to express my freedom and uniqueness with honesty.

That’s why I don’t feel strongly motivated to ask people to use gender neutral pronouns when addressing me. I recognize that I don’t need anyone to see me the way I want to be seen, in order to see myself as I am. The reality of my feelings is not dependent on outside confirmation, and it’s how I feel that is everything.

A Response to Blueberry Overlord: On Cupioromanticism

So, I see that a self-identified cupioromantic took the time to respond to my post protesting the cupioromantic identity. I have some things to say, in reply to their defense of the concept.

I appreciate that in this instance, the person identifying as cupioromantic openly acknowledges that in fact, amatonormativity is behind their desire for romantic relationships. I understand where they’re coming from, in terms of the emotional and psychological struggle to accept being aromantic, especially with a coinciding desire for loving primary relationships/partnerships. I understand, better than perhaps people have previously realized, the way being aromantic and wanting love and living in this aggressively amatonormative society all come together and interact in emotionally explosive and/or cognitively dissonant ways.

It occurs to me that all the emotional and psychological suffering that many people experience upon realizing they’re aromantic, I experienced through the lens of asexuality instead. I’ve been identifying as asexual since I was 15, but it took me until about a year ago to finally accept my aromanticism, after going through a transitional phase of not specifying romantic orientation at all. I grew up thinking I was romantic, but in retrospect, I doubt that was ever true. At best, I might have been grayromantic in childhood and in my teen years. See, when I was younger, I made the mistake of believing that it was my asexuality–not aromanticism–that made me want passionate friendship and value nonsexual love so much. I thought I was going to be alone forever because I was asexual and didn’t want to have sex, not because I’m aromantic and want passionate friendship instead of romance. By the time I got to aromanticism, I’d already spent all my social deviant misery chips on the asexuality portion of my identification journey, and frankly, I’d already become someone who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about being part of the Normal Crowd and having my existence and choices validated by total strangers. Picking up the “aromantic” identity was easy.

I know what it is to be in deep psycho-emotional agony caused by my own deviant desires and nature, and to be beyond anyone else’s ability to help or comfort. I grew up living with untreated, intense depression that was constant for about 11 years, and there was always a strong connection and interaction between the depression and my desire for love, the love I actually felt that was almost always unrequited. I used my asexuality and my unique relationship desires as fuel for the fire of my pain and grief. I was the most pessimistic kid you could possibly imagine–and in true depressed, pessimist fashion, I was spectacular at twisting anything and everything into doom and gloom, into the worst case scenario, into more reason for misery. “Nobody loves me, and nobody will ever love me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” That was my story.

I spent most of those 11 years being profoundly, passionately suicidal. I wanted to kill myself so much that I thought about it daily, wrote about it endlessly in diaries and poems and social media messages, fantasized about dying and about my funeral, which I planned in some detail when I was still a high school student. Suicide became my default response to anything painful that happened to me: “If I were dead, I wouldn’t have to deal with this. If I kill myself now, I’ll never feel pain again. Death is the only solution.” I got as far as choosing a method and window shopping for the tools, but I never made a serious attempt. I think the reason for that is, as strong as my desire to die was, all of my other desires were stronger, and maybe because I was a kid or a repressed optimist, part of me never quit hoping that if I stuck it out a little longer, life would eventually get better. I was in a wrestling match with the Universe, and maybe if I made it very clear that I was going to commit suicide in lieu of being happy, it would finally cry uncle and throw me a bone.

I wanted love more than almost anything, when I was growing up. I spent all those years writing love poems to people who weren’t even my friends and sometimes to people who were, crying on a fairly regular basis because I always loved and wanted someone somewhere who didn’t reciprocate or because I wanted to meet somebody I hadn’t met yet and didn’t know if I ever would. I went to college, and it didn’t get any better. In fact, that first year was horrifically devastating on an emotional level. I had meltdowns over my own deep knowing that my oldest friendships were all going to disintegrate in the near future, because my romantic-sexual friends were going to get sucked into the black hole of romantic relationships and marriage. I got my heart broken by someone I loved who didn’t understand me or what I wanted in friendship, not for the first time or the last, but it felt more like a nuclear bomb had gone off and left me with nothing but a burnt soul.

After that, when I turned 19, I reached a point where I realized that I couldn’t keep living the way I had been for so long. I couldn’t keep being that depressed, in that much pain all the time. I had to find a way to feel better, or I had to die. So, I decided to feel better–and slowly, gradually, I did. I didn’t see a therapist or get on medication or use recreational narcotics. I didn’t suddenly meet the perfect person for me with whom to share my ideal friendship. The world didn’t change, there wasn’t suddenly millions more asexuals and aromantics, people around me did not suddenly understand me and support me. I changed. I did everything I could, on my own, to feel relief mentally and emotionally. Somewhere during this process, I developed a real self-esteem, I really got to liking myself and loving myself, and life did improve.

So I understand, clearly and intimately, what it feels like to be a major outcast living in a society that completely opposes who you are and what you want at every turn. I understand what it feels like to have no one in your life who is like you, to not know anybody who understands who you are and what you want and why. I understand what it feels like to be the weirdo in every room, to not see yourself anywhere: in TV, movies, music, books, commercials, magazines, or the radio. I understand what it feels like to be totally turned off and fed up with all the crap that the rest of the world considers “normal” and to want nothing more than to go live on a deserted island somewhere cut off from mainstream media and 99.9% of mankind. I’ve been alone with my pain and my sorrow too many days and nights to count, and I’m sure there’s more of those moments in my future: where I cry in private over shit that I can’t change or control, then eventually pick myself up and keep going because ain’t nobody here to call on for comfort, and even if there was, I never really liked empty platitudes. I understand the deep, simmering rage and frustration. I understand loneliness. I’ve had my times of asking God why they would create someone like me and then put me in a world like this one.

I’m going to be 25 this year. I know exactly what I want, relationship-wise. More clearly and specifically than ever before. I am at peace with my asexuality and my aromanticism. I’m proud, actually. I am at peace with being permanently celibate and permanently single (romantically). I know who I am, and I like who I am. I haven’t been depressed in years, and I rarely angst about being who I am in the context of this romance supremacist, sex-normative world. I’m mostly hopeful about meeting the right people for me and having the kind of friendships I desire. I realize I am young and I have most of my life ahead of me. I’m trying not to be in a hurry for any particular relationship, especially because friendship is slow to build.

I gave you all that information so that you know I’m not ignorant or inexperienced with whatever pain and turmoil that you felt in the past or feel now, which contributes to your choosing of the cupioromantic identity or the desire for romantic relationships in general.

Now, I’ll respond to specific points in the post.

“The thing is, the people I become close to are not necessarily going to be aromantic.  The things they want out of a relationship may be things that I can’t give them.  Yes, I have an intense friendship with someone I value with everything I’ve got.  But it’s platonic, non-exclusive.  Whether I like it or not, amatonormativity does exist, and we exist alongside it, so when she begins to go out with someone, and maybe someday marries them, that will be the relationship that society prioritizes, and potentially the one that she and I will prioritize as well, because we both grew up in a society that values romantic relationships above all others.  It’s just how our society works, and it’s not likely to change drastically in the next several years.”

Well, if I were you, I would make a decision to seek out perma-single aromantics who you CAN count on in friendship. That’s the decision I’ve made, and I’m convinced that it will change the course of my life from what it would’ve been were I just going to passively make friends with whatever individual I happen to bump into. If you don’t actively look for and reach out to other perma-single aro people, if you don’t make noise about the fact that you are one of those people and want a certain kind of friendship, well, then no shit your odds of meeting a whole bunch of average romantic-sexual people are much greater than meeting people you can actually have satisfying, reliable friendships with. When you’re part of a very small minority, as aros and aces are, you have to be exponentially more proactive than just about any other group of people, about meeting and connecting with others like you. Heterosexuals can’t walk a fucking block without meeting each other, but that’s not how it is for aros, aces, and permanently single people. We have to look, we have to advertise, we have to talk about ourselves, we have to go to meet-ups and the right online spaces. We have to try. And no, it’s not as easy as flushing a toilet, but trying does increase your chances of meeting other aros/perma-singles.

And not only do you have to take initiative and seek out the right people, but you also have to be willing to set boundaries and stick to your standards. You are not obligated to be friends with romantic people. You are not obligated to get close to someone who’s regularly in romantic relationships. You are not obligated to emotionally invest yourself into a friendship that realistically doesn’t have a future beyond the standard, shallow, meaningless, inferior “We’re just friends, let’s hang out once a month when my romantic other is busy and can’t be with me” scenario. If you choose to spend all your emotional energy and all your social hours on ordinary romantic people, that’s your choice, but don’t pretend that it’s the only option or that you’re the only aromantic person on the planet. Because none of that is true. You choose who to spend time with, you choose whether or not to set standards in your personal relationships, you choose whether to continue or terminate any given friendship, and you choose what kind of treatment you’re going to accept in your friendships. Society may set the environment and rig the game, but you’re not some helpless robot lacking the agency to deny your programming. You’re responsible for your life, your relationships, and your choices. Now that you know what amatonormativity is, you’re also responsible for the beliefs you hold about relationships.

“And here is exactly why I disagree with the charges raised against cupioromanticism: amatonormativity exists whether we like it or not.  It’s not something that exists in our pasts, it’s something that exists in the present, in the society we live in on a day-to-day basis, and probably in our futures.  To say that we have been affected by it would be inaccurate: we are being affected by it, and we almost certainly will continue to be affected by it.  But we didn’t set it up, and there is absolutely no reason we should be responsible for tearing it down in a way that denies the effect it has had (and continues to have) on our identities.  Do not ask us not to identify as cupioromantic because that identity shows the effect amatonormativity has on us.”

Here’s where you lose me completely. What the fuck is this, “that’s just the way things are” bullshit? Is that the attitude we should adopt about all the unacceptable norms alive and well in our world? By this logic, we should all resign to racism and sexism and transphobia and heterosexism. By this logic, everybody guilty of those -isms get to excuse themselves because they’re just products of their social conditioning, and there’s nothing they can do about it because they have to live in this racist, sexist, heterosexist, transphobic society and can’t single-handedly dismantle those harmful paradigms.

We shouldn’t be responsible for tearing down the systems of oppression that affect us on a daily basis? Oh, really? Who should be responsible, then? The people who benefit from those systems? Yeah, I’m sure making the world a better place for other people by abdicating their own privilege is at the top of their priority list.

Maybe you haven’t noticed, but white people are not the ones who originally wanted the end of slavery, segregation, and Jim Crow laws. Heterosexuals are not the ones who originally wanted to throw gay pride parades in city streets and legalize same-sex marriage and feature queer characters in media that don’t die at the end of the story. Cisgender people are not the ones who first started to push for justice, equality, safety, and medical care for trans people and other gender nonconforming individuals. Men did not come up with the idea of allowing women to vote and go to college and own property and work any job they wanted.

Every social justice movement in the history of the fucking world has been led by the people who have the most to gain from it. Every improvement we’ve achieved as a society since 1900 happened because black people and women and queers and transgender people and other people of color put themselves on the front lines, showed up and demanded that they get their rights and representation. Nobody handed that shit to them. They died for progress, they went to prison unjustly for progress, they got beat up by cops and people who opposed them for progress. Whites have never given black people anything out of the goodness of their hearts, and men didn’t suddenly quit treating women like cattle because they had an epiphany in the night. There is not a single nice or fair or just thing that LGBTQI people or POC or women or any other disadvantaged group have secured for themselves that they didn’t have to fight for, tooth and nail, for YEARS. And they’re STILL fighting. They’re going to be fighting the rest of the century and most likely the one after this and the one after that. Even after all the progress made, they still have to combat the system, and they’re not done getting what they deserve.

So, why you think it would be or should be any different for aromantics is beyond me. Romantic people aren’t looking out for us. They’re not the ones who are going to tear down amatonormativity and trash their romance supremacist movies, TV shows, books, and music. They’re not the ones who are going to create legal support and protection for nonromantic/nonsexual relationships. They’re not going to become better friends of their own volition or turn their backs on traditional romantic relationships because they just randomly feel like it. They’re not going to hand us anything on a silver platter, at their own expense.

If you want the world to be better, if you want things to be different, you’re damn right you have to do something about it. Somebody has to. If you want to sit back and let other people like me do the hard labor of accomplishing change by sheer force of will and being an unrelenting pain in the ass of everybody who stands in my way, so be it, but don’t think for one second that amatonormativity and romance supremacy and all their manifestations are going to spontaneously evaporate one day or that the romantic population is going to experience enlightenment and correct the system themselves.

“I may be cupioromantic because of amatonormativity, but that in no way invalidates my identity as a cupioromantic person.”

Actually, yeah, amatonormativity invalidates the cupioromantic identity in general. You don’t have to deny that you’re someone who doesn’t experience romantic attraction yet desires romantic relationships–because that’s a fact–but you don’t need to create a new category, a new identity, to accommodate a fucked up head space that’s more a condition to be resolved than a place to set up camp and nest. I’ve said elsewhere on my blog that I think if you don’t experience romantic attraction but desire romantic relationships, you can and should use the grayromantic identity, which already exists and predates “cupioromantic” and covers a wide variety of experiences fitting in between the aromantic or alloromantic categories. The danger in legitimizing “cupioromantic” as its own unique identity is allowing people to believe that wanting romantic relationships for fucked up reasons is a state of being that can and should be permanent, accepted uncritically instead of worked through.

I’ve already acknowledged that there are valid reasons why someone aromantic would choose to get into romantic relationships, but ending up in them because of extenuating circumstances–like being sexual and fucking just one person at a time, or not knowing you’re aro, or not wanting to disappoint a friend who asks you out, etc–is very different than having an abstract, ongoing desire for romantic relationships that can’t be satisfied by anything else and is purely for your own happiness. It’s the difference between an asexual who has sex because they have to do it for the sake of dating, and someone who doesn’t experience sexual attraction but actively wants partnered sex for their own personal satisfaction (which I consider to be a type of gray-asexuality).  So we’re not talking about participating in romantic relationships as aromantics; we’re talking about wanting romantic relationships for their own sake, as people who don’t actually feel romantic attraction, love, etc. The motive is what we’re discussing, and motive is important.

“We cannot fully reject amatonormativity anyway until society also does, because regardless of whether or not we acknowledge it, it affects us every day, so saying that people shouldn’t identify as cupioromantic because the orientation reinforces the idea of amatonormativity is very much not ok.”

False. If we all waited for society to get its shit together on all fronts, nothing would EVER fucking improve anywhere. I reject amatonormativity, here and now, every day. I reject it when I call it out for the bullshit it is. I reject it when I criticize romantic narratives for being toxic, ridiculous, and unrealistic. I reject it by choosing not to date. I reject it by choosing not to get married and advocating for the abolition of marriage. I reject it by not consuming romantic media whenever I can avoid it. I reject it be rejecting the bullshit conduct of romantic people in friendship, letting them know that it’s bullshit or otherwise rejecting them as friends completely. I reject amatonormativity by believing in the core of my being that my ideal friendships are beautiful, desirable, possible, real, and valid, and that I am a human being who is intrinsically worthy of the love and joy I desire, even though I am aromantic and permanently single and asexual and celibate. I reject it by writing about friendship in my creative fiction, not romance. I reject it by trying to be the kind of friend I want to be and forming the kind of friendships I want to form, even if there’s always a chance I’ll be misunderstood or misread or turned down. I reject amatonormativity by saying to the world, “No! I’m not the one who’s the problem here, you are!” I reject amatonormativity every day of my life, and I will continue to reject it until I breathe my last breath. I don’t care whether I do this alone forever or not. I’m doing it.

“Yes, amatonormativity sucks.  But when we have been conditioned and conditioned to value romantic relationships and then eventually find out that we’re aromantic, are you really going to tell us that the desire for romantic relationships that we’ve been conditioned to have our entire lives should just…stop on a dime?  That we can’t want romantic relationships anyway? That they’re Not For Us because of something beyond our control and anyway honey, you can always have something else, even while society is screaming at us in a hundred different ways that non-romantic relationships just aren’t quite as good?”

Stop on a dime, no. Personal development is a process. It does take time. But actively engaging in the process of deconstructing your internalized poisonous beliefs is something you have to choose to do, not something that magically happens all by itself. Acknowledging that you’ve got a problem isn’t enough; you have to do the work. And if you do the work, yeah, eventually you will think and feel differently.

This is probably not going to be helpful to you at this moment in your life, but I need to say it anyway because it’s true: you really need to get over caring what society thinks. Easier said than done, sure, but it can be done. That’s the real problem here, with cupioromantics in general, along with most people: caring more about what society says instead of what you feel, caring more about what other people think you should want instead of what you actually want, looking out instead of in. Society doesn’t give a fuck about you. Society doesn’t care if you’re happy or unhappy, if you’re well or unwell, if you’re living with authenticity or not. Society only cares about using you as a tool to perpetuate its systems of power and control, for the benefit of the ruling classes. Society only cares about profiting off of you. Other people care more about using your conformity to their rules to makes themselves feel better about what they’re doing than they will ever care about you. Everybody’s out for their own personal gain, and their telling you how to live, what to think, what to feel, etc is virtually always motivated by their own selfish desires.

So the sooner you dedicate yourself to liberating your psyche, to watching less TV, to spending less time monitoring what other people are saying, the sooner you can start paying exclusive attention to your true self, which you may not yet know because you haven’t bothered to get in touch.

“Yes, there are lots of other kinds of wonderful relationships out there, and objectively they’re worth every bit as much as romantic relationships, but don’t you dare tell me I can’t wish I could just introduce somebody as my wife or my girlfriend.  Don’t you dare tell me I can’t feel a little twinge of hurt when the only words I can use to explain how I feel about someone are all related to romance, or when I introduce the people closest to me as my “friend,” the same word you might use to introduce an acquaintance, because nobody outside the internet has a goddamn clue what queerplatonic means.  I don’t want to have to give a vocabulary lesson when I want to explain what someone means to me.  I just want to spend the rest of my life with someone in a loving relationship that I don’t have to explain or justify.  I don’t want to make a statement with the way that I love people, or to see my relationships as secondary over and over and over again.  I just want society to value my relationships the way I do.  And for that, I would need a romantic relationship.”

You don’t want to have to do the work to make the world a more hospitable place for people like you, and you don’t want to deal with the shitty reality of being outside the privileged group in society. You want to have been born into a life where everything is easy for you, and you’re part of the “normal,” dominant majority. You wish you were an ordinary romantic-sexual person who wanted traditional romantic-sexual primary relationships, so that you could live your live oblivious that anyone unlike you exists or has problems because of the very culture that you directly benefit from and fit into without even trying.

And I’m sure every person who isn’t a white, cis, heterosexual male has felt similarly at least once in their life. You think people of color want to devote time and energy to fighting racism? You think women want to devote time to fighting sexism and putting up with bullshit from men? You think queer and trans people want to spend time and energy fighting against queerphobia and transphobia, socially, culturally, and legally? Don’t you think all of these people wish they could just live their lives in an environment where they are respected, supported, secure, and equal by default? Of course, they do.

Instead, we live in a world where not being a white, cishet man means you’re going to have issues. We live in a world where being aromantic and wanting a long-term, stable, loving friendship with someone who is committed to you, prioritizes you, and treats you like a partner is harder than being any kind of romantic-sexual person who wants a conventional romantic-sexual relationship and a conventional romance-centric lifestyle, harder even than being asexual and romantic and dating conventionally. If you want to pretend to be something you aren’t and try to find happiness within the bullshit system that rejects who you really are and what you really want, that’s your choice. You can be aromantic and pretend to be romantic and date and get married, just like a queer person can pretend to be straight or a trans person can pretend to be cis or an asexual can pretend to be sexual or have partnered sex for the rest of their lives just to appease someone who doesn’t love them enough to stay in a nonsexual romantic relationship. Nobody’s going to stop you, and sure, on some level, you’d benefit from living life like a member of a privileged group, a group that is considered acceptable and normal. Instead of being single and unpartnered for who knows how long as you look for a compatible friend, you could ride the dating merry-go-round instead and have <50% chance of living happily ever after in a long-term monogamous romantic relationship. You can get together with your romantic friends and bitch about being single or bitch about that recent breakup or bitch about how your current romance is no longer satisfying. You can get married just like all your romantic-sexual friends and then get divorced at least once like half of your romantic-sexual friends. You can turn your back on friendship and all the alternatives to traditional romance completely, not even bother looking for anything else, write off queerplatonic partnerships as mythical pipe dreams, and pretend that the Romantic Fantasy really is the only thing you’ve ever wanted and could ever want and you would be incomplete without it.

And at the end of the day, you’re just one more person feeding amatonormativity, one more person perpetuating The Way Things Are, one more person standing in the way of all the permanently single aromantics who want to be respected and supported in our own right and do relationships our way and have our primary or domestic or committed friendships respected–not because they’re like romantic relationships but because friendship fucking deserves equality for being what it is.

You want to spend the rest of your life in a loving relationship that you don’t have to explain or justify? Great. So do I.

And I’m not going to fold to Romantic Society’s gospel of romantic relationships just to get it. I’m not going to date a bunch of romance supremacists and pretend to like it, to compensate for a lack of faith in friendship and the possibility of the kind of nonromantic relationships I really want. I’m not going to close myself off from other aromantic people who want the kind of friendship I want, by burying myself in romantic relationships.

I’d rather die alone.

You do what you want. But “cupioromantic” is an unnecessary term.

Some Aromantic People Fit the Stereotype, and That’s Okay.

I just want to briefly chime in on a conversation that’s going on over at Aromantic Aardvark about the “cold, unemotional aromantic” stereotype. Some aros have objected to the common message of aromantics NOT fitting that stereotype and still being very emotional, passionate people, both in and out of personal relationships, because they (these aros who are complaining) do fit the stereotype, by their own estimation, and don’t think it’s fair to demonize aromantic people who are less emotional, less passionate, etc.

I think I’ve probably been one of those voices who try to correct the stereotype of aromantics as categorically less emotional, loving, etc than alloromantics, without actually affirming people who are in fact all of those stereotypical things. So first, I want to say that I don’t think there is anything wrong with aromantics who are not very emotional or warm or passionate people. I don’t think there’s necessarily anything wrong with any person who fits that bill. Some aros are unemotional, some aros aren’t very passionate about anything or anyone, some aros do have cold or standoffish personalities and demeanor. And some romantic people are like that too, which is why I don’t think those personality traits have anything to do with being aromantic. You can find any personality type in any romantic or sexual orientation group. My problem  has always been with romantic people and romantic culture believing that aromanticism is the CAUSE of a cold, unemotional, apathetic, unloving personality. My problem is romantic culture thinking that the only reason a human being could have feelings at all is because of their romantic attractions, which is a fucking disturbing line of thought when you assume that it’s true and then make logical conclusions about the natures of romantic people.

The discussion amongst aros about how we present aromanticism to the world is interesting for me to watch because I feel like I’m on both sides of the fence simultaneously. On the one hand, I’m a very cerebral person who always defaults to thought, not feeling. I don’t care about much of anything. I’m the most unenthusiastic person ever, to the point where people have commented on it to me. On the rare occasion I get excited about something, nobody can tell because I’m likely to just sit there and feel that excitement or enthusiasm internally without expressing it. Communicating ideas and thoughts comes naturally and easily to me. Expressing emotion while actually feeling it, does not come naturally to me.

On the other hand, I can be extremely passionate about the short list of things I do care about. The same goes for people and relationships: I’ve always been a very deep-feeling person, when I am attached to someone. I love passionately, more often than not. I can be very emotional about a person or relationship that is important to me, more than anybody probably realizes because again–I’m an introverted person who lives in my head and am not naturally expressive emotionally. I can actually get mixed up because I assume that other people know how I feel, when I’m feeling something really intense that is central in my experience, and I forget that I haven’t actually told them or demonstrated to them what I’m feeling or how strongly I’m feeling it. Intellectually, I know that assumption makes no sense, but in the emotional moment, I’ve made it anyway.

The thing is, there are so few people and things that I have feelings about, that even if I can and do experience passionate emotion for them, I spend way more time not feeling anything at all. Much of the time, when I love something or someone, it takes enormous emotional energy, so I’m actually glad that it doesn’t happen often.

In many ways, I do fit the aromantic stereotype. If you aren’t my friend–which goes for most people in the world–then you would probably describe me as aloof, intimidating, mysterious, even cold. (My MBTI type is INTJ, like hardcore.) Add to that super rational, logical, practical, unenthusiastic, intellectual, anti-romantic, sarcastic, etc. I acknowledge that I can be very harsh when someone gets into a heated argument with me, and downright cruel in the rare event that somebody pisses me off or offends me. I realize that from an outsider’s point of view, I’m about as far from cute, warm, and cuddly as I can possibly get.

However, those who have been really close to me would also say I’m one of the most passionate people they’ve met, sweet, loving, caring, affectionate. God knows I’m open about the fact that I love to cuddle and be physically intimate with people I love. I have my moments of kindness for no reason, and somewhere, there is a part of me that’s rather sensitive about a limited number of things. I certainly do have feelings and a heart that can be hurt and broken and likewise softened up. I want to be a warm partner, friend, sibling, companion, and I’m trying. I’ll always try.

Maybe comparing myself to a turtle or a crab or something like that would be an apt analogy. Except I’m probably 70% hard shell, 30% soft and vulnerable core. And not many people can make it through the shell, let me tell you.

I’ve never really stopped to consider the aromantic stereotypes as they might apply to me, until now, and even though I recognize that they do more than not, I don’t feel offended that others might see it as a bad thing. I’m not motivated to defend myself. I am who I am, and I’m comfortable with it. I’m trying to be more in tune with my emotions, just because I think it’s good for me, and I do know now that when I’m in friendships that are emotional, I should try to consciously be and express those feelings instead of just stewing in them privately. (In true INTJ fashion, I kinda see it as a life project.)

That said, it’s cool if you’re an unemotional aro. It’s cool if you don’t feel passionate about anything or anyone. It’s cool if you have a more standoffish, chilly, or remote personality. (Likewise, it’s cool if you’re aro and don’t want a partner, like living alone, don’t want kids, don’t really like to be physically affectionate with anyone, etc.) What matters is that you like yourself and that you treat others with respect. As long as you’re good to people and happy, be however you are and embrace it.

Unconditional Love and Long-Term, Committed Relationships

Longevity has always been really important to me when it comes to relationships. (I mean, interpersonal relationships generally, not romantic relationships specifically.) I want passionate friends who I can happily live with and love for the rest of my life. I want deeply loving friendships that last until death and continue to grow stronger and more meaningful over time. I want commitment from my domestic partners. I want loyalty from every friend I love. I want to know that if I love someone, that person is still going to be in my life 30+ years from now, still connected to me, still caring about and loving me—just as I expect myself to do for them.

I’ve had discussions with people of all ages online about the topic of relationships (not just romantic ones) ending in break-up, and I’ve often been at odds with many of them. I see a severed relationship as a failed relationship. Something went wrong, and that’s why it dissolved. I define “successful relationship” as one that lasts happily until death. People who disagree with me believe that a relationship’s success is based only on how well it served its purpose however long it lasted. They also argue that a relationship that is unhappy but continues is not successful at all, which I agree with. To me, both happiness and endurance define a successful relationship. To the people who disagree with me—and there seem to be a lot, particularly in my age group—happiness in the moment is the only thing that defines whether a relationship was a good one or a successful one. Commitment and loyalty aren’t important or necessary to them.

These people likely don’t understand why I place such an emphasis on longevity. If they knew me personally, maybe they would ask, “Why do you care so much about your friendships and partnerships lasting forever? Why don’t you just let go of that need and be satisfied if you get something that’s good for a couple years and when it ends, just get a replacement? Why can’t you be happy with a bunch of pretty good short-term relationships instead of a few long-term ones?”

Simple. I want long-term, committed relationships with friends because I want unconditional love. When I commit to someone, I’m not committing to the relationship itself so much as I’m making a commitment to love that other person no matter what happens. Staying with someone, a friend or a partner, is about loyalty, sure. Loyalty’s important. It’s a great character trait and one that I want to possess. But more important than loyalty, more important than keeping a promise or commitment for it’s own sake, more important than anything is love.

There are only two kinds of love: conditional and unconditional. That’s the bottom line.

Conditional love says: “Do what I want you to do, make me feel good, and then I’ll love you. As soon as you quit behaving yourself for me, as soon as it’s not effortless to feel good with you, I don’t love you anymore.”

Unconditional love is: “I love you. Not because of anything you do or say or feel. I love you because I choose to love you. I love you because love feels good to me. You don’t have the power to take my love away, nor does any event in our relationship.”

Here’s the thing: it’s easy to love someone when they’re acting the way you want and giving you everything you want and when nothing challenging is going on in your life or theirs. It’s easy to love someone when everything around you and between you is going smoothly all by itself. It’s easy to love someone when all you do is have fun together. It’s easy to love someone who’s loving you all the time, just the way you like.

But the love you feel in those circumstances is not unconditional. That love doesn’t require any focus or effort of you. That love doesn’t even necessarily coincide with loyalty or commitment; you’re there loving that person because it’s easy to do so, not because you’ve chosen to be loyal or committed.

Unconditional love is proven through the testing of it. And I’m not just talking about commitment or loyalty in times of trouble. I’m talking about loving someone when it requires your focus, your will, your deliberate intent, your commitment to the feeling of love—not just to the relationship agreement. I’m talking about appreciating another person’s positive aspects and their presence in your life, even when they’ve said or done something you don’t like. I’m talking about forgiving someone when they hurt your feelings or make a mistake. I’m talking about deciding that you’re going to feel good, about yourself and them and the relationship, without asking them to change or behave differently. I’m talking about deciding that you’re going to look at them and feel love—not just say the word, not just intellectually think you love them in the abstract—but feel the emotion of love, because you want to. Not because they did something lovable.

And I’m talking about staying tuned in to that emotion of love, even when something difficult happens in the life you share with the other person. This is especially relevant to primary partnerships/domestic partnerships. When you are someone else’s main source of support, when you’re really in this life together—financially, physically, emotionally, etc—unconditional love keeps you there even when you’re both facing a challenge that makes it harder for you to feel good on a daily basis. Anyone can bail when shit hits the fan. Bailing’s easy. Leaving the problem with your friend is easy. Moving on to someone else who’s in a better situation is easy. Staying and making the best of things and being happy with your imperfect circumstances requires love. Your love, your positive focus. Not your partner’s or anyone else’s.

If you’re young and figuring out what you want or if you don’t have any interest in long-term primary partnerships or you’re not yet ready to commit to somebody, that’s all well and good, but if you do want a long-term partnership of some kind, you need to realize that there is no perfect person, there is no guarantee of a problem-free life or problem-free partnership for anyone on the planet, and your happiness is not dependent on anyone except you. You’re not going to find someone who’s flawless, who’s always well-behaved by your standards, who never makes mistakes and never challenges your patience. You’re not going to ever find a relationship that’s sunshine and rainbows all day every day forever. You cannot prevent challenging things from happening to you or any other person in the future, so you aren’t going to meet someone whose life is guaranteed to be always smooth and easy and comfortable that you can effortlessly participate in. None of that shit exists.

So, at some point, you either decide that you’re going to be committed to someone you do love and stick it out when shit temporarily sucks, or you just never experience a long-term partnership. If you can’t be loving and loyal to another person even when it’s hard as fuck, you aren’t long-term partner material. If you’re waiting for someone else to please you all the time or most of the time and you make your commitment conditional upon that, you are not long-term partner material.

Having a happy, loving, satisfying, long-term partner isn’t about finding the perfect person. It’s about finding a person you adore who has flaws and bullshit you can live with indefinitely. Personal growth and improvement happens; human perfection doesn’t. The happy long-term partnership isn’t about bitterly resigning to the other person’s flaws or bitching about them until something changes. It isn’t the denial of romantic infatuation that goes, “This person is perfect in every way!” It’s loving acceptance that sounds like, “Yeah, I know my partner is weak in those ways, but that’s okay. Not a big deal. They have so many positive qualities, that I don’t mind the negative ones, and I’m not going to pay the negative ones much attention.”

And here’s the flaw in logic that all those people who say “leave unhappy relationships no matter what, commitment is bullshit!” fail to understand: being happy in a long-term, committed partnership or friendship is not about your partner pleasing you or life being perfect. It’s about you deciding to be happy. That’s all. The only thing happiness takes is your intent and focus. Sure, it’s easier to be happy with someone when everything’s exactly the way you want it to be, but when things are not the way you want, you still have the power and the capability to be happy anyway.

I’m not saying, “Stay in a miserable, unfulfilling partnership/friendship until you die.” I’m saying, “Find a way to be happy independent of the conditions and partner changing.” There’s a huge difference. Happiness is the only thing that matters, you should be happy, you deserve to be happy, but you don’t need anything or anyone to be a certain way in order to feel happiness. Most people believe that happiness is a reaction, so if something isn’t pleasing to them, they have no choice but to leave the situation and go find a better one. But we have so much more power than that—power to emotionally focus ourselves however we want, power to think better-feeling thoughts instead of wallowing in a negative loop, power to distract ourselves from conditions that feel bad, power to find the good in everything and everyone.

I want long-term partnerships and intimate friendships because I want to feel unconditional love for other people and I want to receive it from them. I want domestic life partners who I’m passionate friends with because I want the sweetness and fun and love of sharing home with them, and I want long-term loving friendships because I want to just keep mining them for more joy and more fun and more affection and more intimacy and more connection and more growth. I want my relationships to last forever because I want to love forever because love is the best feeling in the world. I want my life partnerships to last forever because I want to show myself and my partners that I can be unconditionally loving, that I can love them and be happy with them no matter what’s going on, that I can find the good in them over and over again.

I know that I am capable of being committed to my domestic life partners and my intimate friends until I die, regardless of the conditions. I know I am. And I want to do it. I am 100% serious, and I would never make a commitment to someone otherwise. Of course, I prefer it if my life and my relationships are mostly easy and comfortable and smooth, just like everyone else. But I’m not afraid of challenges in my partnerships or other friendships, because I know that I can feel love anyway, and if my partners and friends want to stay with me, I’ll never back down. I sure as hell would never abandon someone I love when they’re going through a tough time.

I’m not interested in marriage, the relationships I desire are nonromantic, but I want to say to my life partners and my other beloved friends (and really mean it):

“I love you, and I’m going to love you until I check out of this world. I adore you, just as you are. I take responsibility for my own feelings and my own happiness, so you’re off the hook there. I’m going to look for the positive aspects in you and in our relationship as much as I can, and I’m not going to ask you to change for me. I will always forgive you and I will always do my best to show you kindness and love and respect and I will promote your freedom and independence unconditionally. I love you so much that I’ll let go of things that don’t matter. I love you whether you have money or not, whether you have a job or not, whether you’re healthy or sick, whether you’re happy or unhappy, whether you agree with me or disagree with me, whether we’re together every day or not. I love you no matter what you look like. I love you, and I’m going to always make the best of everything and try to nurture positive energy between us, even if it takes work. And I will get bucked off the horse more than once, I’m sure, but I am not going to give up in a moment where I feel anything less than blissful love. If I feel bad, I’m going to find a way to make myself feel better, and then I’ll give you and our relationship my attention again.

And I want you to hold me to this unconditional love. I want you to remind me when I forget, that this is what I want and this is what I signed up for.”

So, do I think that people should stay in toxic, unethical, or abusive friendships and partnerships? No. Of course not. But there’s a difference between a rotten relationship and an imperfect relationship that challenges you sometimes. I refuse to live my life as someone who’s only committed to a partner or friend if it’s effortless to follow through with that commitment. If life wants to test my love and commitment in my partnerships and friendships, I’ll welcome it from the standpoint of wanting to master unconditional love. You never get good at anything without practice.

A Loving Reflection on Passionate Friendship

Ever since I was a child, I’ve felt that passionate friendship is the most beautiful form of human love and relationship possible. It doesn’t matter anymore what name I use or what name other people use: romantic friendship, queerplatonic relationship, passionate friendship, primary friendship, platonic life partnership, sensual friendship, some combination of those or none of them at all.

It is the idea of a friendship between two people—without sex or sexual attraction, without romantic attraction or attachment—that is so passionate, full of overwhelming love, intimate and emotional and sensually physical, deep and powerful and spiritual, a bond so strong that it cannot be broken or resisted except through death and even death cannot extinguish the love and desire still felt by the living friend for the departed. It is a friendship that is also a partnership: a primary partnership, a domestic partnership, a family tie no different than legal or religious marriage, a relationship that is the source of committed companionship and support and care and love, a relationship that matters so much that both friends will prioritize its survival.

I just love and adore the idea of two people choosing this kind of relationship for their primary partnership or one of their life partnerships, rejecting traditional romance and even sex, rejecting traditional marriage and the nuclear family and the whole concept of primary romantic-sexual relationships, and instead living their lives in a passionate friendship that takes them to the heights of love and emotional intimacy and spiritual intimacy and even physical intimacy that does not intersect with genital sex.

I love the idea of passionate friends being primary life partners and domestic life partners, sharing a home and a future and being there for each other always.

I love the idea of passionate friendship families and networks, of people being so blessed as to have more than one passionate friend in life and allowing their friends to have other passionate friendships if they occur. I love the idea of families and tribes made of friendship, of nonromantic and nonsexual love and commitment.

I love how passionate and sensual nonsexual/nonromantic physical intimacy can be: how much you can desire and adore someone else’s body and their physical closeness to you, without sex and without romantic attraction, how much pleasure you can experience physically in a nonsexual/nonromantic relationship. I love that passionate friends can hug and cuddle and kiss and hold hands and caress each other and kiss each other’s body and even be together almost naked and experience a deep, pleasurable, sensual, intensely intimate and loving physical connection with each other from a place of nonsexual, nonromantic love. I love that they can love each other and desire each other and share pleasure and connect because of an emotional attraction, not romantic attraction, from spiritual and sensual attraction, not sexual attraction. I love that they live and prove how much love and intimacy and touch and pleasure is possible outside of sex and romance.

I love people who want passionate friendship and who want their primary life partner to be a passionate friend and who don’t need romance or who don’t even need sex to be happy. I love people who have sex but want a passionate friendship instead of a primary sexual partner. I love people whose ultimate idea of happiness is to have a lifelong passionate friend who they live with and love. I love people who see and appreciate passionate friendship as the greatest form of love and relationship because they just value and prioritize and love friendship in general that much.

I want to be surrounded by these people: by perpetually single aromantics, by people who desire and dream about and choose nonromantic/nonsexual life partners, by people who have passionate friendship and know what it is and value it as the most important relationship in their lives, by sexual people whose desire and appreciation for sex is nothing in comparison to their desire and appreciation for friendship—especially primary friendships, loving and passionate and committed friendships, queerplatonic friendship, romantic friendship. I want to be surrounded by people who revere loving friendship the way I do, who respect it and love it and prize it and desire it and create it and protect it and feel unspeakable joy flowing through them when they’re living that friendship. I want to love and be friends with these people who feel the way I do about friendship and love, who will marvel at the sacred event of true and loving friendship that reaches these levels of passion and love and intimacy and connection, who will desire me and love me and admire me and appreciate me because I am who I am and I feel the way I do about friendship. I want to love and be friends with these people whose greatest happiness is in passionate friendship and romantic friendship and queerplatonic friendship. I want to love and be friends with these people who are capable and ready and eager to experience complete emotional openness and connection, physical and sensual intimacy, love and affection, care and tenderness in friendship.

I want to spend the rest of my life in two passionate friendships, with my male partner and my female partner. I want to love them with every particle of my body and soul. I want to care for them and appreciate them and support them always. I want to love them unconditionally. I want to have fun with them and always see the best in them. I want to share beautiful domestic lives with them. I want my love and appreciation for them to deepen and grow and intensify as time passes. I want to open myself completely to them: mentally, emotionally, spiritually, physically. I want the bliss of physical, sensual intimacy with them: I want to hug them every day and cuddle them and touch them with love in my hands, I want to kiss their mouths and their bodies, I want to look into their eyes with pure love in my own, I want to let go and allow them to touch me and hold me and kiss me and love me and my body, I want us to sleep side by side some nights, I want us to spend hours in bed together stripped to our underwear—just touching and kissing and holding each other and basking in the love we feel for each other. I want to love them and stand by them no matter what happens in our lives. I want us to always find our love for each other, even as we evolve individually and rediscover each other’s new incarnations. I want us to be kind to each other, sweet and gentle and supportive and nurturing. I want us to love each other unceasingly, no matter what the physical or material conditions: as we age, as our bodies change, no matter what our health or wealth statuses are, no matter who else we’re friends with and who else we love, no matter how many days or months of the year we spend physically apart, I want to love them and I want to feel their love for me unchanged and sure of itself. I want these two people in my life until the day I die, and on that day, I want to look back on my life and feel blissful that I loved them so well and was so well-loved in return.

I raised myself through childhood and adolescence in devotion to friendship, and now I am an adult and my desire and passion and admiration for it is stronger than it’s ever been. I know more about it than I did when I was younger but not as much as I’ll know when I’m older. I know my incredible worth as a friend and a partner, and I want to give all of this love and affection and care I possess to my own passionate friends, my life partners, and the other queerplatonic/romantic/sensual/intimate friends I make throughout my life. I am sure that I am the passionate friend and partner that some wonderful man and wonderful woman desire more than anything, and I’m sure that there are other people who want someone like me for a loving friend too. And I am ready for them. I am so ready.

I dedicate myself to this practice of loving, high friendship the way priests and monks dedicate themselves to God. Friendship is my own way to spiritual enlightenment, to the cosmic source I believe in, to my higher self. Friendship is what will teach me love, hold me in love, call me back to love when I’ve disconnected from it. Loving friendship is my bliss, my heaven, my passion. Friendship is my holy love. The cosmic source I believe in is nothing but pure, unconditional, eternal love—and the friendship I desire and adore is that too.

I am forever thankful that my asexuality and aromanticism enhance and support and nourish my devotion to friendship, my desire for passionate friends who are also my partners, and my capacity to love and care in friendship and to treat friends as my social and emotional priority. I would not be the person or the friend I am without asexuality and aromanticism. I would not believe in and desire passionate friendship with so much intensity if I were not asexual and aromantic, and for that reason alone, I am so happy and thankful that I am exactly as I am.

On Sex-Indifference vs. Sex-Aversion & Sex-Repulsion

This post is a response to the July Carnival of Aces, the theme of which was “sex-repulsion/sex-aversion.

I’ve written plenty on this blog about sex-repulsion/sex-aversion and its intersection with asexuality, and I will continue to spotlight those experiences and those particular asexuals because it is vitally important for sex-repulsion/sex-aversion to be supported, accepted, and represented both in and outside of the asexual community. I want sexual society to know that the majority of asexuals are sex-repulsed or sex-averse and do not want to have sex with anyone ever, and I want to live in a world where not having sex and not wanting sex are equally as acceptable as sexual activity. I want to dismantle compulsory sexuality and sex supremacy in our society, and promoting sex-repulsed/sex-averse asexuals is key to achieving that goal. I also want to contribute to an asexual community that supports, protects, and nurtures the sex-repulsed and sex-averse and celibate, because asexual spaces should be the one place where those aces are safe, heard, and empowered.

I read one of the other submissions to this month’s Carnival, and I have to respond to it because it raises a great point that is personally relevant to me. Sara K. over at thenoteswhichdonotfit pointed out how common it is for both asexuals and allosexuals to lump sex-indifferent aces in with sex-favorable aces, to the point where the sex-indifferent asexuals are expected to have sex, to enjoy it, or at least to be willing to have sex with any and every allosexual romantic partner who comes along. I confess that I’ve fallen into the habit of viewing self-identified sex-indifferent asexuals as categorically willing to have sex if they have to in order to be in a romantic relationship with an allosexual, and because of this view, I’ve generally felt like sex-indifferent aces are distanced from the experiences of sex-repulsed and sex-averse asexuals.

I think part of the problem is how we define “sex-indifferent” vs. “sex-repulsed” and “sex-averse” and “sex-favorable.” Taken at face value, “indifferent” indicates neutrality, which is very different from “aversion” and “repulsion.” Indifferent, to me (and obviously to a lot of other aces), means that you don’t have a problem with sex to a point where you would be unable to comfortably participate in it. I think of sex-indifferent asexuals as people who could certainly live without sex forever, who may prefer not to have sex, who would be happy to be in nonsexual romantic or nonromantic relationships if they get that chance, but who will pretty much always submit to an allosexual partner’s desire for sex rather than firmly refusing and who won’t be upset by sex emotionally or psychologically.

Sara makes a great point though, when she says:

“The point I do want to make is that, under compulsory sexuality, you need a *reason* to opt out of sex rather than a reason to opt-in in the first place, and the assumptions made about sex-indifferent aces are made because we have not provided a reason for opting-out.”

This is definitely true from the perspective of the average allosexual: if you can have sex without crying or having a panic attack or wanting to die, and certainly if you can have sex that is physically pleasurable/orgasmic, you should be doing it. That’s the gist of compulsory sexuality. There is no good reason NOT to have sex, as far as sexual society is concerned. Even asexuality isn’t a good reason, to a lot of people; it’s something to be “cured” and “overcome” because life without sex isn’t worth living.

I’m one of those semi-rare asexuals who tirelessly defend the asexual person’s right to reject sex, even within a mixed romantic relationship, and who thinks there is no good God damn reason why it should always or even mostly be the asexual’s responsibility to sacrifice on the sexual front to make a partner happy, instead of the allosexual partner becoming celibate to make their asexual partner happy. Sometimes, I feel like a lone voice howling in the void about nonsexual romantic relationships being possible and something that all asexuals have a right to ask for, no matter who their partner is. The default assumption is that romantic asexuals must date allosexuals because they outnumber aces and that “compromise” (I cannot express how much I fucking hate that word) amounts to the asexual having sex.

So, yes, sex-indifferent aces should be able to say “no” to sex just as often as sex-repulsed and sex-averse aces, and we shouldn’t–as a community–give sexual society the impression that you can fuck all the sex-indifferent aces.

 

I consider myself and have been telling the world for a while that I am sex-averse, because I think that’s a softer term than “sex-repulsed” and more accurate a descriptor for my attitudes toward sex. A lot of sex-repulsed aces can’t be exposed to any kind of sexual content, let alone be put in sexual or potentially sexual situations, without feeling physically ill or otherwise viscerally disgusted, horrified, etc. Some sex-repulsed aces experience dysphoria toward their own genitals or their sex drive and arousal. Some sex-repulsed aces can’t think about themselves having sex without feeling super uncomfortable. All of that is okay. I myself am nowhere near that uncomfortable with sex and sexuality, which is why I use the term “sex-averse” rather than “sex-repulsed.” I use that term “sex-averse” to communicate the fact that I am not willing to have partnered sex of any kind, and that I feel strongly about long-term celibacy. I am sex-averse because I would never remotely consider having sex to please or keep an allosexual partner.

But I’m also an asexual with an active libido, who masturbates on a regular basis, who is totally comfortable with my own body, my genitals, the fact that I experience arousal, etc. I’m an asexual who’s been using porn since I was a kid, in all of its forms. I’m an asexual who can be around other people engaging in sexual activity or who are talking explicitly about sex and not have a problem at all. I can talk about and think about and imagine sex in graphic terms and be comfortable. Even sexual or erotic type acts that I find off-putting—like open-mouthed kissing with tongue or blow jobs or BDSM sex—don’t make me all that uncomfortable, certainly not to the point of panic or tears or strong disgust. (Making out’s pretty gross, but I’m not going to freak out if I see it.) I can have sexual fantasies involving myself and enjoy them as arousal material for when I need to masturbate.

I’m also really, really interested in heavily sensual physical intimacy, in the context of intimate and loving friendships. I want to explore physical affection and touch to a point of nonsexual/nongenital eroticism. I don’t know what I’ll like or how much I’ll like it or what I’ll be comfortable vs. uncomfortable with, but I’m open to pretty much everything under the umbrella of “nongenital/nonsexual physical intimacy” except for making out. Hugging, cuddling, caressing, massages, co-sleeping, kissing the body, maybe kissing the mouth, nonsexual body worship, etc. I’m significantly more open and enthusiastic to sensual physicality than a lot of other asexuals and aromantics are, as far as I can tell. (Assuming, of course, that I’m with a friend I can trust not to pressure me into sex, either because they are asexual or not sexually attracted to me/my gender.)

Yet I won’t have partnered sex. And I have several reasons for this.

First and foremost, sex is obviously not intuitive to me because I’m asexual. I’m not naturally motivated to seek it out. I don’t need it to be happy or to feel connected to another person or to feel loved. It’s like any other activity that I have no interest in: why the hell would I say yes to doing something I’m not interested in? I wouldn’t go skydiving to please a friend, and I sure as hell won’t fuck to please a friend either.

Second, I can easily satisfy my libido through masturbation, and masturbation is infinitely easier, safer, and more comfortable than partnered sex could ever be. Masturbation happens on my terms, and I never have to worry about STDs/STIs or unwanted pregnancy. Not having sex with other people makes life easier. It’s also much safer, as far as I’m concerned, when it comes to avoiding sexual abuse and assault by partners; fuck if I trust sexual people on the whole to be consistently ethical and respectful toward asexuals in a sexual context. That trustworthiness must be proven on an individual basis, and until it is proven, I wouldn’t recommend any asexual who is less than sex-favorable all the time to give an allosexual the impression that they are sexually available in the same way that allosexuals are.

Third, there are definitely some sex acts I know I would not want to perform on another person or with another person, because they do gross me out a little bit. Making out, which isn’t even sexual, grosses me out, and there’s no way I would want to do that with anyone.

Fourth, having nonsexual relationships is really important to me. I’m somewhere on the aromantic spectrum, and friendship has always been the ideal love to me. I know sexual friendship is a thing that exists, but I’ve always conceived of perfect friendship as this nonsexual, nonromantic relationship that has the most passion, love, intimacy, emotion, touch, and commitment possible between two human beings. That, to me, is the most beautiful and desirable relationship that could ever exist. I would never want to be in a traditionally romantic relationship, and I would also never want sex to be part of the most important and emotional relationships in my life. The ideal friendship, in my mind, is special in part because it is nonsexual. To be profoundly connected and intimate with someone, emotionally and physically and spiritually and mentally, without wanting or needing sex (or romance) in that relationship is really special and unique. Romantic-sexual relationships are the most common in the world, but a passionate friendship is rare to the point that I don’t believe everyone capable of it. I don’t want to be friends with someone who loves me because they want to fuck me or because they do fuck me, and I don’t want sex to be a reason that my important friendship(s) are important.

Fifth, sex cannot be used as a tool to build the relationships I actually want. This ties in with my desire and definition of ideal friendship. Maybe if I wanted traditional romantic relationships, I would be more willing to use sex as a tool, because it is a tool for building and securing romantic relationships. But I want passionate friendship and other queerplatonic friendships. Sex is totally antithetical to passionate friendship, and while it can technically exist in other QP friendships, in a world dominated by alloromantic allosexuals only aware of and interested in normative romantic-sexual relationships, sex is only something you use to build those normative romantic relationships, not to build a QP friendship.

Basically, the benefits of celibacy far outweigh any benefits of having sex. There’s no good reason for me to bother having sex with anyone.  Having sex can’t give me anything I actually want, that I can’t give myself anyway.

 

Now, given my reasons for celibacy and my feelings about sexuality, maybe “sex-indifferent” is a more accurate label for me than “sex-averse,” according to some people’s definitions. But the fact is, most sex-indifferent aces I’ve encountered in the last 8+ years are having sex or will have sex in romantic relationships, and most sex-repulsed/sex-averse aces aren’t having sex and won’t have sex ever, even if that means forgoing the relationships they want. So, I gravitate significantly to the “sex-averse” term and to the portion of the asexual population that’s sex-repulsed. There are a lot of reasons why I feel unable to connect or relate to large portions of the asexual community, and my celibacy is one of them, though not necessarily the most divisive difference. I just feel like there’s no way any sexually active ace, whether indifferent or favorable, can fully understand what it’s like to be a person who doesn’t have sex and won’t have sex and specifically wants nonsexual love and relationships in this hyper-sexual world. Even if sex-repulsed people, asexual and allosexual, are a lot less comfortable with sexuality in the abstract than I am, they know what it’s like to be celibate long-term and to want nonsexual relationships and attempt to form them.

That said, I do agree with Sara K. that people should understand a lot of sex-indifferent aces don’t want to have sex and won’t have it, and that for them the term “sex-indifferent” means being comfortable with sexuality as a concept or as content exclusive to the self, rather than “indifferent to participating in sex with other people and therefore open to it.”