Grayer than Gandolf (aka: Graysexuality)

Secret shhh

I have a deep, dark secret. One that most people would never, ever suspect. Ready?

I am a sucker for romance movies.

Some of my all-time favorite movies include a selection of romantic and romantic comedy films. Pride and Prejudice (2005). Shakespeare in Love. You’ve Got Mail. Sleepless in Seattle. The Notebook.

I don’t just watch these films. I watch them repeatedly. I swoon when the meant-to-be couple falls in love. I am thrilled when they paddle through a pond full of ducks, or rendezvous in the rain, or write beautiful plays an poetries inspired by their true love. I ache inside when they are separated from one another by time, distance, or unlucky circumstances, and rejoice when they come together in the end. Ah, love…

But as much as I am an inner romantic, I have another secret — one that more or less means that no matter what, my own life will never reflect those beautiful, romantic happy endings.

I am asexual.

Gray Asexual, Gray Ace, or Graysexual, to be specific. The “A” in LGBTQA. My brand of sexuality is represented by the gray stripe in the Asexual flag:

What does that mean? Well, asexuality in general means the lack of sexual attraction to other people. Graysexuals, like me, are very, very rarely sexually attracted to other people, though it does happen once in a very blue moon. You might call us…highly selective.

Highly Selective Clueless

Being graysexual does not mean that I am not ever romantically attracted to others. I am heteromantic, which means that I am only ever attracted to the opposite sex. But for me, being attracted to someone doesn’t automatically translate into wanting to be with them in a sexual way. In fact, it almost never means that. I am far more likely to daydream about doing fun things together, holding hands, or watching a sunset and snuggling.

Sex doesn’t really interest most asexuals. I know. What a waste of sexiness! For me, it just isn’t something that seems fun or interesting. Trying to convince me otherwise is like trying to convince a coffee hater to keep trying coffee, because maybe one day, something will click, and they will begin to crave that morning cup of java like everyone else. It just doesn’t work that way.

Spilled coffee mess

It’s not like I was once into sex, then the desire went away. I married as a 21-yr. old virgin, then learned during the honeymoon that sex was really not for me. During that 17-yr. marriage, I tried all kinds of things to learn how to like it, but mostly, I hated it. My ex-husband had a very hard time believing this, and took it quite personally. I don’t blame him.

The only time in my life during which I actually really enjoyed sex was while I was dating Mr. Right, my dream guy, last summer. He was the third man I ever had sex with, and will be the last one I ever have sex with, as well. It was all so different with him. Maybe because of how I felt about him. It made me want to share everything with him, to be close to him in every possible way. This is a rare occurrence for asexuals — possibly a once-in-a-lifetime connection. No, I don’t foresee any relationship like that ever happening again for me. The very idea of being romantic or sexually intimate with any other man is revolting. Ugh. No thanks.

I’m sure that the idea of asexuality is super weird to most typically sexual peeps. After all, it is rare. Only 0.5 to 1% of the entire population claims to share my spot on the sexuality spectrum. But it is a very real thing. I’m not sure why it occurs at all. Perhaps it is an evolutionary design, to control human overpopulation. Or maybe it is just further evidence that I’m an alien from another planet.

So no, my real life is never going to resemble those romantic films I adore so much. Because I just don’t believe that there is a man out there I would connect with, who would also be perfectly fine with a completely platonic, or at least sex-free relationship. Sure, the sea is full of “fish.” But I am a vegetarian. So this fisherwoman has hung up her pole, and plans to live out her days pining over the One that Got Away. Because he was the one cup of coffee that suited my very, very picky tastebuds.

Asexual flag