All the Things

There were only a few weeks left until you had to go back to work, and you and Ben put the days — and nights — to good use. Evenings were spent on the couch, watching a movie or show while simultaneously exploring your newfound physical relationship. Ben was patient with you. Most nights you did little more than cuddle together, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm snug around you. But other times, you kissed and hands roamed underneath shirts. You learned to appreciate the drift of fingertips across your skin, the brush of lips against lips.

Ben found an article online about the difference between sensual and sexual touch and it made sense to you. Feeling his breath against your throat was sensual and you enjoyed it. Your fingers carding through his hair was sensual, and you enjoyed it. Sensual made you feel good without bringing up those mysterious "feelings" and "urges" that you'd read about but never truly experienced.

One night, as you ignored the movie on the television, Ben trailed gentle kisses down your throat and across your collarbone. You burrowed your face into the side of his neck, just below his ear, where the hair started to grow. You could smell the faint scent of his shampoo and the minty soap he used in the shower. His hands were on your waist, holding you loosely in his lap. You shifted one leg to get more comfortable, almost straddling him. And then you felt it, an unmistakable firmness against your thigh.

"I'm sorry," you gasped, scrambling away from him.

"For what?" He looked confused for a moment, his eyes not quite focused. "Oh. Ignore it."

"I can't. I didn't mean to …." You didn't know what to say, where to look, what to do. Things had been going so well, you had been enjoying each other, and now you'd crossed a line. You'd pulled him from the safe shores of Sensuality into the fearsome waters of Sex.

"You didn't do anything," he reassured you. "It's an involuntary reaction."

"But if I hadn't been kissing you …. I didn't mean to lead you on."

He carefully took your hand and laid it against his crotch. "See, it's already gone," he said. It was true. The stiffness you'd felt through his pants had turned back into the vague lumpiness you'd brushed against several times.

"But it was there. You wanted to …"

"My dick wanted to," he said. "Because it's a primitive organ operating on instinct and hormones. You'd be surprised what can set it off. Getting a hard on does not mean I want to have sex."

"But it does. It means your body is ready. And mine … never is."

"Have you ever tried to get it ready? I mean really tried? Touched yourself?"

The idea made your brain hurt. People in books touched themselves when they were already turned on, fantasizing about someone they were attracted to. It was a substitute for the real thing. And you didn't want the real thing, so why would you want the substitute?

Ben brushed a strand of hair out of your face. "I'm not saying you need to do this," he said softly. "But I think it might help you see how much of sexual arousal is just physical reactions to stimuli. You can't be afraid of your body."

It was too much. You got up without a word and went into your room. You couldn't talk to Ben right now; you could barely think straight. I knew he'd want sex. How can kissing feel so good but the idea of — that — feel so wrong? This was never going to work out. I need to be alone. I feel so lonely. Why am I different? Why do I want him so much?

You curled up on the bed and let your mind spin. It was no use trying to focus on any one of your thoughts right now. You just let them run amok and tried to breathe.

Sometime later there was a hesitant knock on your door. You lay perfectly still. Maybe he'd think you were asleep and go away.

"Hey, I — I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out like that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Silence. "Um, well, I guess you're asleep. Or you just don't want to talk right now. Which I understand. Um, good night."

You sat up. "Wait."

"Can I come in?"

You took a deep breathe. "Yeah, if you want."

The door opened and Ben stood just outside the door frame. "You sure? We can talk later if you'd rather."

"No, it's okay." You tucked your legs up, making room on the bed for him to sit down. "I was kind of rude just running away like that."

He sat down, careful to leave some space between the two of you. "If this is going to work, we need to be able to communicate better," he said. "I can't just say stuff like I'm a freaking sex therapist, and you can't shut down. You need to trust me."

"I do trust you, I'm just … confused. Definitely naive. It should have occured to me that you'd get — excited — from what we were doing. And I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said.

"I got you turned on with no intention of following through," you said. You felt miserable.

"You were enjoying yourself. And so was I."

"I just think, maybe this is a warning sign. This isn't going to work. We want two different things."

Ben took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, honey, I know what a warning sign is and this wasn't it. This is just two people still figuring each other out."

"But —"

Ben held up a hand. "Trust me on this. Please. I'm not ready to — well, maybe I am. Maybe I should get it out there." He ran his hand through his hair. "This is hard."

A chill flooded your body. What could Ben possibly have to say that could make him this uncomfortable? He seemed so sure of himself, so at ease talking about stuff that tied your tongue and stomach in knots.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head down, eyes on the floor. "Okay, let me tell you a little story."

"I was dating this woman. Her name was Celia. Really nice, we had a lot in common. And she liked sex. Our third date, she took me back to her place and every date after that, we slept together. Which, okay, sex once or twice a week, fine by me." He laughed ruefully. "So we go on like that for several months and then she suggests we move in together. Again, okay, we're saving on rent, we got along, things were going well. So I moved into her apartment.

"At first, it was great. She wanted sex every night and I thought it was just because of the novelty, you know? But sometimes I'd come home and I was tired and the last thing I wanted to do was 'perform'. But she'd pout until I gave in. So I'd do it just to make her happy.

"Then one night I'd had a rough day and I was not in the mood at all, but she kept after me, and finally she shoved her hand down my pants and … 'See, you're in the mood after all,' she said and she got her way.

"It happened a few more times, but I just wrote it off. She had a strong libido, most men would kill for a girlfriend like that. If I really didn't want to, I wouldn't have been able to get it up. Stuff like that.

"Then one of her friends started telling her about how she and her husband were into anal. And Celia wanted to try it. I said no way. I do not find the butthole erotic in anyway, no judgement, that's just me. But she kept bringing it up and saying I'd try it if I really loved her and shit like that. But I wasn't comfortable and I said so, multiple times.

"One night, I wake up and — she had her finger up my ass. I was asleep and she stuck her finger up there …" He broke off, taking a deep breath. "I lost it. I yelled at her. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I left. Went to my friend Tommy's place and crashed on his couch. I told him Celia and I had had a fight but I couldn't tell him over what. I was too embarrassed.

"The next day, I went home and Celia was so dismissive about the whole thing. 'You fucking assaulted me in my sleep,' I said but she laughed. I packed up my stuff and moved out. So trust me, sweetheart, I know what a red flag is and I know what it feels like to be pressured into intimacy you're not ready for. And I would never in a million years do anything that even remotely resembles that to you."

You put your arm around his shoulders and laid your head against his back. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, and I'm sorry that you had to relive it just now," you said.

He huffed out a low chuckle. "See, that's why I like you," he said. "You aren't self centered."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Seriously? Every issue we have in this relationship or whatever it is is because of me. If I was normal —."

He cut you off. "You are normal," he said firmly. "You aren't typical but you are certainly not abnormal. Besides, what everyone calls normal is boring. And life with you is definitely not boring."

You sat in silence for a while, still leaning against his broad shoulders. If only you could stay like this forever, no words, just being next to each other.

"Can I ask you something?," you said after a bit.

"Sure."

"Is what happened with Celia why you're with me now? I mean, why you don't mind me being the way I am?"

Ben sat up. "Probably that's part of it," he said with a shrug. "Because I know you won't hurt me the way she did. But it's not the only reason." He looked at you, holding eye contact for several seconds. "This isn't a rebound from her. I've been with a couple of other women since her. And I learned from them what I don't want in a partner. I don't want someone whose goals aren't aligned with mine, who isn't content with a small house and a modest lifestyle. I want someone who is happy with quiet weekends, who chooses her clothes for comfort over fashion and doesn't mind if I do the same, who thinks watching butterflies and birds in the garden with her cat is better than going to clubs and parties. I want someone like you."

You closed your eyes. "I — I want someone like you, too," you managed to say. "Actually, no, not someone like you. You." You opened your eyes. "I want to be with you, Ben. And if I ever decide I want to have sex, it'll be because of you. Not to make you happy, but because I want to be close to you."

He smiled. "That's enough for me."

It was enough for you, too. At least for now.

"Well, it's getting late. I should get ready for bed." Ben leaned over to kiss your cheek, then stood up. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night," you replied. You were still feeling roiled up inside, although the anxiety now had more of a hopeful flavor to it. Things were still scary but going in a positive direction.

While you waited for Ben to finish in the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and navigated to one of the asexual groups you'd found. No one online seemed to be in the exact same situation as you, which made sense, but was frustrating. There was no template for you to follow. Still, you often found posts that rang true with you. This time you focused on a thread that you hadn't given much notice to before, one about self-pleasuring. Your face heated with embarrassment as you skimmed the posts for advice on how to, well, touch yourself, as Ben had suggested.

Later that night, after you'd made your ablutions and put on your nightshirt, you slipped under the covers and took a deep, shaky breath. Your hand slid down to your thigh and you tentatively began to explore a part of your body you'd mostly ignored all your life. At first, it was underwhelming, but then your fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot and you gasped. It was subtle, but unmistakable. You returned to that spot and felt it again. Frightened, you pulled your hand away. Maybe Ben was right. Maybe part of sex was purely mechanical, instinctive reflexes that even you could enjoy. You still weren't comfortable with the idea of anything inside of you (you'd always used pads instead of tampons for that very reason), but that wasn't where most female pleasure came from, according to most of what you'd read.

There were only a few weeks left until you had to go back to work, and you and Ben put the days — and nights — to good use. Evenings were spent on the couch, watching a movie or show while simultaneously exploring your newfound physical relationship. Ben was patient with you. Most nights you did little more than cuddle together, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm snug around you. But other times, you kissed and hands roamed underneath shirts. You learned to appreciate the drift of fingertips across your skin, the brush of lips against lips.

Ben found an article online about the difference between sensual and sexual touch and it made sense to you. Feeling his breath against your throat was sensual and you enjoyed it. Your fingers carding through his hair was sensual, and you enjoyed it. Sensual made you feel good without bringing up those mysterious "feelings" and "urges" that you'd read about but never truly experienced.

One night, as you ignored the movie on the television, Ben trailed gentle kisses down your throat and across your collarbone. You burrowed your face into the side of his neck, just below his ear, where the hair started to grow. You could smell the faint scent of his shampoo and the minty soap he used in the shower. His hands were on your waist, holding you loosely in his lap. You shifted one leg to get more comfortable, almost straddling him. And then you felt it, an unmistakable firmness against your thigh.

"I'm sorry," you gasped, scrambling away from him.

"For what?" He looked confused for a moment, his eyes not quite focused. "Oh. Ignore it."

"I can't. I didn't mean to …." You didn't know what to say, where to look, what to do. Things had been going so well, you had been enjoying each other, and now you'd crossed a line. You'd pulled him from the safe shores of Sensuality into the fearsome waters of Sex.

"You didn't do anything," he reassured you. "It's an involuntary reaction."

"But if I hadn't been kissing you …. I didn't mean to lead you on."

He carefully took your hand and laid it against his crotch. "See, it's already gone," he said. It was true. The stiffness you'd felt through his pants had turned back into the vague lumpiness you'd brushed against several times.

"But it was there. You wanted to …"

"My dick wanted to," he said. "Because it's a primitive organ operating on instinct and hormones. You'd be surprised what can set it off. Getting a hard on does not mean I want to have sex."

"But it does. It means your body is ready. And mine … never is."

"Have you ever tried to get it ready? I mean really tried? Touched yourself?"

The idea made your brain hurt. People in books touched themselves when they were already turned on, fantasizing about someone they were attracted to. It was a substitute for the real thing. And you didn't want the real thing, so why would you want the substitute?

Ben brushed a strand of hair out of your face. "I'm not saying you need to do this," he said softly. "But I think it might help you see how much of sexual arousal is just physical reactions to stimuli. You can't be afraid of your body."

It was too much. You got up without a word and went into your room. You couldn't talk to Ben right now; you could barely think straight. I knew he'd want sex. How can kissing feel so good but the idea of — that — feel so wrong? This was never going to work out. I need to be alone. I feel so lonely. Why am I different? Why do I want him so much?

You curled up on the bed and let your mind spin. It was no use trying to focus on any one of your thoughts right now. You just let them run amok and tried to breathe.

Sometime later there was a hesitant knock on your door. You lay perfectly still. Maybe he'd think you were asleep and go away.

"Hey, I — I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out like that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay." Silence. "Um, well, I guess you're asleep. Or you just don't want to talk right now. Which I understand. Um, good night."

You sat up. "Wait."

"Can I come in?"

You took a deep breathe. "Yeah, if you want."

The door opened and Ben stood just outside the door frame. "You sure? We can talk later if you'd rather."

"No, it's okay." You tucked your legs up, making room on the bed for him to sit down. "I was kind of rude just running away like that."

He sat down, careful to leave some space between the two of you. "If this is going to work, we need to be able to communicate better," he said. "I can't just say stuff like I'm a freaking sex therapist, and you can't shut down. You need to trust me."

"I do trust you, I'm just … confused. Definitely naive. It should have occured to me that you'd get — excited — from what we were doing. And I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he said.

"I got you turned on with no intention of following through," you said. You felt miserable.

"You were enjoying yourself. And so was I."

"I just think, maybe this is a warning sign. This isn't going to work. We want two different things."

Ben took a deep, shuddering breath. "Oh, honey, I know what a warning sign is and this wasn't it. This is just two people still figuring each other out."

"But —"

Ben held up a hand. "Trust me on this. Please. I'm not ready to — well, maybe I am. Maybe I should get it out there." He ran his hand through his hair. "This is hard."

A chill flooded your body. What could Ben possibly have to say that could make him this uncomfortable? He seemed so sure of himself, so at ease talking about stuff that tied your tongue and stomach in knots.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, head down, eyes on the floor. "Okay, let me tell you a little story."

"I was dating this woman. Her name was Celia. Really nice, we had a lot in common. And she liked sex. Our third date, she took me back to her place and every date after that, we slept together. Which, okay, sex once or twice a week, fine by me." He laughed ruefully. "So we go on like that for several months and then she suggests we move in together. Again, okay, we're saving on rent, we got along, things were going well. So I moved into her apartment.

"At first, it was great. She wanted sex every night and I thought it was just because of the novelty, you know? But sometimes I'd come home and I was tired and the last thing I wanted to do was 'perform'. But she'd pout until I gave in. So I'd do it just to make her happy.

"Then one night I'd had a rough day and I was not in the mood at all, but she kept after me, and finally she shoved her hand down my pants and … 'See, you're in the mood after all,' she said and she got her way.

"It happened a few more times, but I just wrote it off. She had a strong libido, most men would kill for a girlfriend like that. If I really didn't want to, I wouldn't have been able to get it up. Stuff like that.

"Then one of her friends started telling her about how she and her husband were into anal. And Celia wanted to try it. I said no way. I do not find the butthole erotic in anyway, no judgement, that's just me. But she kept bringing it up and saying I'd try it if I really loved her and shit like that. But I wasn't comfortable and I said so, multiple times.

"One night, I wake up and — she had her finger up my ass. I was asleep and she stuck her finger up there …" He broke off, taking a deep breath. "I lost it. I yelled at her. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?' I left. Went to my friend Tommy's place and crashed on his couch. I told him Celia and I had had a fight but I couldn't tell him over what. I was too embarrassed.

"The next day, I went home and Celia was so dismissive about the whole thing. 'You fucking assaulted me in my sleep,' I said but she laughed. I packed up my stuff and moved out. So trust me, sweetheart, I know what a red flag is and I know what it feels like to be pressured into intimacy you're not ready for. And I would never in a million years do anything that even remotely resembles that to you."

You put your arm around his shoulders and laid your head against his back. "I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," he said.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, and I'm sorry that you had to relive it just now," you said.

He huffed out a low chuckle. "See, that's why I like you," he said. "You aren't self centered."

Now it was your turn to laugh. "Seriously? Every issue we have in this relationship or whatever it is is because of me. If I was normal —."

He cut you off. "You are normal," he said firmly. "You aren't typical but you are certainly not abnormal. Besides, what everyone calls normal is boring. And life with you is definitely not boring."

You sat in silence for a while, still leaning against his broad shoulders. If only you could stay like this forever, no words, just being next to each other.

"Can I ask you something?," you said after a bit.

"Sure."

"Is what happened with Celia why you're with me now? I mean, why you don't mind me being the way I am?"

Ben sat up. "Probably that's part of it," he said with a shrug. "Because I know you won't hurt me the way she did. But it's not the only reason." He looked at you, holding eye contact for several seconds. "This isn't a rebound from her. I've been with a couple of other women since her. And I learned from them what I don't want in a partner. I don't want someone whose goals aren't aligned with mine, who isn't content with a small house and a modest lifestyle. I want someone who is happy with quiet weekends, who chooses her clothes for comfort over fashion and doesn't mind if I do the same, who thinks watching butterflies and birds in the garden with her cat is better than going to clubs and parties. I want someone like you."

You closed your eyes. "I — I want someone like you, too," you managed to say. "Actually, no, not someone like you. You." You opened your eyes. "I want to be with you, Ben. And if I ever decide I want to have sex, it'll be because of you. Not to make you happy, but because I want to be close to you."

He smiled. "That's enough for me."

It was enough for you, too. At least for now.

"Well, it's getting late. I should get ready for bed." Ben leaned over to kiss your cheek, then stood up. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night," you replied. You were still feeling roiled up inside, although the anxiety now had more of a hopeful flavor to it. Things were still scary but going in a positive direction.

While you waited for Ben to finish in the bathroom, you pulled out your phone and navigated to one of the asexual groups you'd found. No one online seemed to be in the exact same situation as you, which made sense, but was frustrating. There was no template for you to follow. Still, you often found posts that rang true with you. This time you focused on a thread that you hadn't given much notice to before, one about self-pleasuring. Your face heated with embarrassment as you skimmed the posts for advice on how to, well, touch yourself, as Ben had suggested.

Later that night, after you'd made your ablutions and put on your nightshirt, you slipped under the covers and took a deep, shaky breath. Your hand slid down to your thigh and you tentatively began to explore a part of your body you'd mostly ignored all your life. At first, it was underwhelming, but then your fingertips brushed against a sensitive spot and you gasped. It was subtle, but unmistakable. You returned to that spot and felt it again. Frightened, you pulled your hand away. Maybe Ben was right. Maybe part of sex was purely mechanical, instinctive reflexes that even you could enjoy. You still weren't comfortable with the idea of anything inside of you (you'd always used pads instead of tampons for that very reason), but that wasn't where most female pleasure came from, according to most of what you'd read.