Sarah, 37
I’ve never been fond of sex. During my upbringing, I felt flawed as everyone idolized it.
The sole aspect where Cameron and I have disagreed is our sexual relationship. When we first met nine years ago, both in our late 20s, it was clear that Cameron desired sex far more than I did. After around six months together, we chose to explore an open arrangement, allowing Cameron to engage with those who have a higher sexual drive than I possess.
Initially, there were feelings of jealousy, but our relationship grew stronger thanks to our solid communication, and I became much more secure in our connection. It’s been incredibly beneficial for us because I’ve never really enjoyed sex. Growing up, I often felt inadequate due to the way sex was esteemed by others, yet I never grasped its appeal.
In 2021, discovering a book about asexuality on social media felt like seeing my reflection. I was taken aback, as I thought of myself as a sexual being at that point – I enjoyed masturbation and had experienced a fair amount of sexual encounters in my 20s. However, I believe much of that was due to a sense of guilt, a remnant of my teenage years in a culture that emphasizes the need to satisfy your partner.
The book enlightened me on the wide range of asexuality. For instance, I don’t experience sexual attraction, not even towards those I find visually appealing. I recognize their attractiveness, but I have no desire to engage sexually. However, I do enjoy orgasms; they are entertaining and provide a pleasant release – a means of clearing my mind.
Revealing my asexuality to Cameron was liberating. He embraced it. We still engage in sex because I feel a profound intimacy and closeness with him during those moments, and I consciously choose when I wish to connect with him in that manner. It’s not a question of having sexual desire, but there exist other motivations for sex, such as seeking closeness with someone. Observing his enjoyment brings me satisfaction. Similar to how someone who isn’t asexual might choose celibacy, I can opt to have sex for reasons beyond mere arousal.
Cameron, 36
Just because sex isn’t paramount doesn’t imply that romance lacks significance.
Sex used to hold immense importance for me. It was a significant source of my self-worth. My frequent illnesses and hospital stays as a teenager made sex feel like a form of control over my own body. This perspective shifted significantly when I met Sarah, as sex wasn’t the focal point of our relationship.
With Sarah, I began to recognize the value in different aspects of myself, leading to a de-emphasis on sex. I no longer feel the urge to engage sexually with anyone else. If the thought arises, there are alternative ways to manage it. Masturbation is one option, but a long walk, contemplating my thoughts, or engaging in watercolour painting can be just as fulfilling.
As Sarah uncovered her asexuality, I came to understand that attraction is largely about emotional connections. This connection can manifest through sex, but there are also other equally valid and satisfying avenues. I previously possessed a narrow view of asexuality – equating lack of sexual activity with absence of sexual feelings. However, it is a spectrum that requires time to navigate and understand my position within it.
Having been together for nine years, just because sex isn’t prioritized doesn’t suggest that romance is overlooked. We make it essential to dedicate time for that. Occasionally, we tackle adult Lego sets together, completing a little bit each morning, which feels very intimate. Other times we enjoy a date night with mocktails and pizza. We cuddle and discuss our future plans, which is a form of nurturing. I derive considerable joy from cooking for others, which brings me happiness akin to the afterglow of sex.
Sarah’s asexuality has broadened my understanding of our relationship. It’s like having limited tools to create – one must be more innovative with what’s available. It encourages you to think differently. However, it hasn’t diminished my love for her in the slightest.
