I recently got engaged and it got me thinking about my journey with sexuality. I am in a straight relationship and I consider myself to be straight and demisexual. Maybe it's not even right to say I'm straight if I'm also demisexual. I'm not sure. I always found it hard to talk about the asexuality spectrum because it's less about who you like and more about what you like, and I feel like that is an entirely different conversation than if you like men, women, or whatever. But anyway, here's the incredibly long drawn out version of all of my experiences that led me to feeling comfortable with the demisexual label, and being engaged to the love of my life. Enjoy:
Content warnings: mentions of SA, manipulation, sex, sexual feelings, sexual acts, weight loss and dieting, and mental health problems
I was in high school when I had my first relationship. Sophomore year to be specific. He was nice, and being a hopeless romantic ever since I hit puberty (thanks to fanfiction for making that a much bigger part of my personality than it probably should have been), I was just excited to have someone interested in me. I mean this was a classic romcom story. The plus size friend is helping the guy get the conventionally attractive girl he wants to ask to the dance, and somewhere along the way he realizes he actually wants the one that's been helping him. So when he asked me out, I said yes. It was too perfect not to, and this was my rom com moment. The first time anyone showed romantic interest in me. We went on a few dates, hugged, held hands, and that's about it.
It didn't last long though. Three months to the day of becoming "boyfriend and girlfriend" we broke up. I broke up with him over text (I know, not my best move but in my defense, he wouldn't talk to me at school. I had no other way to reach him.) He had been dealing with some mental and family issues and basically ghosted me for a week. While I was empathetic, I knew that this isn't how I wanted to be treated as a girlfriend and suggested we just go back to being friends while he deals with his stuff, and I'd be there when he was ready to talk. While he didn't answer my text and didn't speak to me for a while after that, he did later apologize to me and we're on good terms to this day.
No harm no foul. Until the next boyfriend came along.
Now this is the one I regret. This guy was in my friend group and I had gotten to be closer with him as my relationship with boyfriend #1 was getting unsteady. He was a sounding board and helped me through it. Until not long after that break up (maybe 3 days) I got hit with the "I know someone who likes you." Oh brother... is what I would say now. But I was an insecure 16 year old. So what did I think? "OMG someone else likes me! I was lucky enough to get one, let alone TWO???" Once again, simply excited to be the object of a boy's affections.
So when he finally did admit it was him and asked me out, I of course said yes.
The first few months were fine. We had fun, hung out with our friend group like always, except now I wore his sweatshirts and we would hold hands when walking to class. Somewhere along the way he kissed me, and later said "I love you." Both were exciting at the time, my first. But looking back, kinda lackluster (though maybe I'm jaded now given everything that happened after). I started to notice that we never once went on a date just the two of us. We always had a friend with us. One particular friend actually, was always there. We never really learned how to be alone together. And in the small amount of times we were, there was always an air of discomfort.
About 6 months in, he went to stay with his grandparents in a different state for the summer. He worked some grocery story job while he was there. This was my first taste of long distance. Our summer consisted of him going to work, going home, and facetiming me while he played video games. He didn't talk to me much though, and he always seemed angry. I wrote it off as being tired from work, and annoyed with his grandparents for being more strict with him than he was used to. But it didn't stop when he came back home.
Not long after returning home, he started to get handsy. I didn't like this too much. I may not have necessarily wanted to wait until marriage for any type of sexual contact but I knew I wasn't ready yet.
Bit of a sidebar: I always kind of felt behind in that aspect. I never really knew what attraction was or how to feel it. Friends would point out a guy and ask "do you think he's cute?" and I wouldn't know what to say. My answer was usually "I don't know, I don't know anything about him."
I always had crushes on fictional characters, but those were usually based on actions. Actually always. It was something in their personalities I found attractive, not how they looked. But there was always the understanding that they were fictional, so those feelings were purely romantic. I never even thought about sex. Why should I? They're not real.
But when asked about real people, I didn't know what to do with that.
Okay back to the story.
There was a lot I let happen in those first few weeks of him being back that I probably shouldn't have. Granted, I had a line that I was firm in not crossing. NO PENETRATION. Whatsoever. Not with hands, and certainly not with any other appendage. But even external hand and mouth stuff made me uncomfortable. But, I let it happen at first. And there was a slight part of me that didn't entirely hate it. The biological part I think. Sure it felt nice, and I was excited to be attractive to someone in a new way, but knowing I didn't truly want it made it impossible to enjoy.
After a few times I eventually spoke up. I told him no. I didn't want to do anything sexual. I came over to study, and that was what I intended to do with him. He said "it's fine" in that cold way someone does when it's definitely not fine.
"Are you sure?" I would ask. He'd nod, turn on his play station, and start a game with our friend. He'd ignore me the rest of the time I was there.
It seemed he only wanted it more after that. Almost like being told he couldn't have something made him want it more. I could not interact with him without him wanting to do "stuff." We couldn't watch a movie, do homework, or even be in a car (mind you neither of us drove so there was always someone else in the car with us) without him trying something. When we were alone, it got to the point where I'd let it happen again. I didn't want to, but it was easier than being ignored. It felt safer than to risk anger.
There was one specific instance I remember like it was yesterday. I didn't want to do anything. He tried to convince me saying "come on, you always feel better after." He didn't know that wasn't true. He didn't know that I would give random numbers of "how many times" when the actual number was ZERO because I DIDN'T WANT TO BE DOING ANYTHING. I let it happen, and I'll never forget what he said after.
"Don't you feel better now?"
No, I most certainly did not. I was miserable and filled with self-hate and dread.
That wasn't even the worst day with him though. The worst had to be the day he crossed my line. With his hand, but still. Without asking, he switched from external to internal. It was so fast and a completely new feeling for me, to the point I didn't even realize what he did until it was too late. I had to ask. "Are you-?" "Yes."
I stopped and pulled away from him and called my parents to come get me. Got dressed and left. He was pissed. I cried the rest of the night.
We had been together around a year at this point. I was starting to feel that enough was enough. I was scared to see him again. I was lashing out at my parents, who knew something was wrong with the relationship but I was too embarrassed and scared to admit what had happened.
I got lucky when covid hit shortly after. The one blessing from that horrible time was it bought me time from seeing him to figure out what I wanted to do.
He grew increasingly distant, which worked out in my favor. I was starting to get feelings of dread whenever I would get a text on the chance it was him. I had to change my text tone three times in about a month. I was being Pavlov-ed to have anxiety every time it rang.
After about a month in quarantine I finally felt the relationship was in a bad enough place that I felt justified in breaking it off. Though I kind of let him do it for me. I texted him "I don't feel like you treat me like your girlfriend anymore." He responded: "I think I need some space. We should break up."
I agreed, much to his surprise. He started to try and, comfort me? I guess? Saying we should get together to have closure. He was going to come over, mask up and all that. I told him no, I didn't need closure. I had my best friend over instead.
It was weird at first, not having someone to text goodnight to when I went to sleep that night. But I felt so free. Well almost. There was still the nagging thought that we were still in band together, both in leadership, and my mom was his primary ride to school and rehearsals. (My mother didn't know what happened with us. Just that we broke up. Otherwise she never would have continued to give him rides.)
He eventually quit band and I stopped having to see him altogether. We graduated high school, and I moved out of town for college, thinking that I was 100% asexual, and I would never do any sexual acts ever again.
This terrified me. I had heard stories about college guys. All they do is fuck as far as I was concerned. I had no hope whatsoever that I would find a guy in college. At this point I was identifying as a heteroromantic asexual, because of course the hopeless romantic in me was very much still there. But what man on this earth today would be okay with being romantic with a woman they could never have sex with? I don't think they exist. I accepted the fact that I would either have to change or die alone. I chose the latter for the time being and continued on with college. I went about a total of 4 years being single.
About half way through my freshman year of college I started this crash diet that limited me to like 1000 calories a day. It sucked but it worked and I lost 70 pounds, and then my gallbladder. Not fun, do not recommend. But that's a story for another day. The point here is I was much closer to being conventionally attractive going into my sophomore year. I mean I still never broke 200lbs but I'm relatively tall so even at a size 14 pants, that was kinda skinny for me. It was the skinniest I'd ever been anyway. All that being said, I started getting some male attention. I was still asexual, still desperately craving romance, and with no hope I'd be able to have both. Those two things felt very mutually exclusive, especially after getting a direct glimpse of how college guys are when they're pursuing someone.
I would be asked to come over at like 2 am to "watch movies," and invited to frat parties as if it was some super secret thing. ("Just let me know and I'll get you in anywhere you want to go.") I was feeling the pretty privilege and to be honest it felt good. I didn't entertain any of them past a little bit of flirting, but I'm not heartless. I didn't want to lead them on knowing that I wasn't going to give them the one thing they wanted. I never met any of them in person. Except one...
This guy was different. Mainly because he didn't reach out to me. I reached out to him, which was incredibly out of character for me. At the time, snapchat had a "class story" feature, where everyone who logged in with "class of ____" at ______ University had access to a shared story. I joined it thinking it would be cool to make some friends, posted here and there and that's usually where these guys would see me and reach out. But one day, someone posted "hey let's all share our tattoos." I didn't have any at the time, but I enjoyed seeing everyone else's. Especially this one, some guy who I had seen post on the story before (very casual, kind, seemed to also just be looking to make friends) post his bicep tattoo. It was the iron banner emblem from Destiny, which I didn't know at the time, on a very strong looking chiseled bicep. It was a mirror selfie from the nose down and what I saw of the face looked very much like Bucky Barnes (long hair, beard, me likey). I don't know why but I added him and messaged him. Something about "hey cool tattoo! Is it from something? It looks like a Viking symbol. He responded and informed me what it actually was, but the conversation just blossomed from there. It felt very natural, and I didn't feel on guard of needing to be careful with what I say lest I lead him on and give him the wrong idea. Just kindness, curiosity, and comfortability.
About two months of us texting went by (including me not-so-subtly asking if he was single on Valentine's Day). Some important context here is he attended a different campus about an hour away. I had accepted our texting friendship as nothing more than that, given that I don't have a car and he'd never drive all the way here just to see me. But he can be just a good friend, a disappointing thought but I was content just to have him to talk to. Then he texted me one day, saying "hey, I was thinking I might have classes on your campus someday, maybe you can show me around some time so I know where everything is." And I wrote it off like that would never happen but I of course agreed if he ever did manage to get up to my campus, and to my surprise HE DID! He actually made the trek, just to walk around a big ass campus on a hot day with a random girl he's been texting for two months.
It was a wonderful day. I didn't even bring my pepper spray with me. Something in me knew I didn't need it. He dressed in black jeans, which he doesn't usually wear, and a star wars shirt, an outfit he'd correctly assumed I would like. I showed him the botanical gardens, the lake, and the buildings he'd reasonably have classes, and then we walked back towards his car. But it was so fast and we weren't ready to leave. So, we checked out the student center, where he paid for my food and then walked me back to my dorm. We said our goodbyes and that was it. I left beaming, my heart ready to burst and I didn't fully know why yet.
Our first hug happened the next time he came up to campus. We went to a baseball game together and then I awkwardly asked "would it be okay if I hugged you?" He said if I hadn't asked he would have. Then the next month, I invited him to be my plus 1 for a banquet I had to go to, and no fucking way, he agreed. Holy shit. As you can guess we eventually became official, and what we like to call "medium distance," which got a little bit farther once we graduated college and I moved back home, adding an additional hour to our commute to see each other. Luckily I got my license somewhere in there. I had been too scared to drive until I really had a reason to: seeing him.
I'm jumping around in the timeline a bit. Let's go back to college, junior year. We've just recently become official, and I've just moved into my first apartment. He came over to help me set up, and no setting up was done.
We made out. For like 6 hours. What the fuck. That was so unlike me. (this was after our first kiss and first ILY). And I... really liked it. I didn't really know how to kiss well, but I figured it out that day. I was clear with him before this, that I had some trauma, and I wasn't ready to be handsy or physical. And I didn't know when I would be. He understood, and from what I remember I think I was the initiator of said make out sesh. His hands never wandered, clothes stayed on, and damn we were both horny as fuck after but nothing more than what I was comfortable with happened. (Yes yes bare minimum I know, but this was a first for me.)
That was the case for a couple of months. We would make out, I would start to feel things I hadn't felt before (not to say I'd never felt horny, I had partaken in some self indulgence, I was simply not comfortable with inviting another person into that part of my life). But now, I was wanting more. I was wanting to try things I hadn't wanted to try before.
We started slow. Incredibly slow. I feel horrible for the blue balls I caused this man. We started with just kissing, while taking off some clothes. Taking off just top half, just bottom half, or everything but underwear. Then we tried a little further, getting comfortable being fully unclothed in front of each other. I started crying when he tried to take off my bra for the first time.
And instead of freaking out or getting upset with me, he simply reclipped my bra and hugged me until I calmed down.
It went on like this for a bit, gradually trying some new ways to be close and intimate, and stopping if it got too overwhelming or triggered anxiety attacks. When they came up, I would tell him why it was triggering. He'd help me work through it.
Eventually, finally, months later, we got to the point where I was truly 100% comfortable with him. 4 months of officially being a couple, 7 months from starting to "date," and 10 whole months from texting each other that first time, we slept together. My true first time. On my 21st birthday. Happy birthday to me amiright
Everything prior to that faded away. I could feel I was safe, and I could feel, for the first time, everything that was happening. Without fear, without anxiety, I could just be present. And man did it feel good.
Those few months getting to that moment made me start to question my asexuality. Wanting it more and more I started to think maybe I wasn't actually asexual. I did research on the ace spectrum. Maybe I had just gone from sex-repulsed to sex-neutral. But this felt more than neutral. I was actively wanting it. From him.
At some point I thought "oh well, I guess I'm just straight and needed to find the right person, just like everyone told me." Though I hated I was making that stereotype true.
I went along in my relationship, discovering I was actually quite the freak. Funny to say that but hey. The sex is good what can I say. If it weren't for the seeing each other once a week if we're lucky, I'm sure we'd be going at it like crazy. I've discovered things I like during, I wouldn't go as far to say any of them are kinks per se but it's definitely things I never would have expected liking. Sex in general being one of them.
At some point I learned about demisexuality: only experiencing sexual attraction after forming a deep emotional connection with someone. What do you mean that's not how everyone operates? Is that why I never wanted it before? I didn't have a deep enough connection? Is that why I could never just find someone cute? Is that why I would only form crushes on friends I knew very well, or fictional characters whose personalities were on full display for the audience? Is that why I had no problem with self pleasure but doing it with someone else scared the crap out of me? IS THAT WHY???
It all started to make sense. My inner freak was locked away, literally until I met the right person.
It's kinda funny, when I first thought I was asexual I had a moment like Rapunzel in Tangled looking around her room and noticing all the sun symbols. I was looking around at everything I owned. Purple, black, grey, ace flags all over my life. I just felt that it was right to be asexual, and was honestly a little sad to not be anymore. So I was really happy to learn about demisexuality, and that it is part of the ace spectrum. I can still identify with that community, and feel welcomed by that flag.
But yeah! I am engaged to that man now. So as you can imagine, things have gone very well since then :)
My new long ass title, heteroromantic DEMIsexual soon to be wife of a man I love very very very much.
If you actually read all this you might be crazy, but hope you enjoyed my late night ramblings and intense lore dump. My triumphant return to Tumblr.
