Last night I was feeling the tension. Okay, so that kind of tension too… but I’m talking about the tension between wanting to accept myself as a perfectly imperfect creation—and wanting to be realistic if there’s a Phoenix Huber design flaw I’d honestly be SO much better without.
I believe in sex-positivity, don’t I? Since we are sexual beings (most of us), we might as well have Pride. We ought to love our kinks, see beauty in our quirky tastes, and appreciate our unique styles of lavishing affection on others. I grew up with the idea sexuality was a terrible secret I had to keep to myself—due to people’s general embarrassment around the subject, and queerphobia—so I don’t want anyone else to have to wade through that shipwrecked sea of shame. Please, feel good about your sexy selves, everyone!
But taking my own advice is hard on a day like this. It seems to me so much of my dissatisfaction in life is due to sexuality:
- My hair OCD, my gender dysphoria, the looming dread of aging… None of that could be as bad if it weren’t for the underlying paranoia, Am I hot enough to be loved the way I want to be?
- I’m restless without a partner—it’s been a decade and a half since it started—and I wish I could magically turn off my sexuality till I found the right person.
- The way my sexuality developed just isn’t optimal for my wellbeing. I don’t like being BDSM. I wish I were turned on by men’s success and by their souls, instead of by their clothes or by their humiliation. It’s hard work finding the balance between trying to re-program myself in a more positive direction, and embracing “the devil inside” since it’ll probably always be an indelible part of my psyche.
Eventually, I get sick of the unceasing hankerings for every past guy who scored an A+ on my fetish-o-meter. I go on OkCupid, and I reply to random men. Even though I can tell by their profiles that none of them are what I am looking for in a life partner.
I’m destined to have to reject them before long, and rejection hurts, so it’s unlikely I make a net-positive difference in those men’s lives, right? I’m a tease. I wish I could just lock my sexuality away and not have to hurt anyone.
Which brings me to my next point. Sexuality also appears to have been detrimental to my character development.
When I’m attracted to someone, it can make me care more for their wellbeing—but in a partial way, like a teacher who has a favorite student. I’ve noticed that the fact I find certain men “hot” make me de-value the men who are “not.” At the same time, the way I feel towards those I fancy is often objectifying… I’m distracted by the acute excitement I get when I look at them, so I fail to focus on the pleasure I can give. My sexuality is mostly about me and what I crave; I feel like a sexual narcissist, and I hate it. I wish I were one of those people who just wants to pleasure their partner, who gets off on smiles and moans. Freaking saints.
Imagine the sheer number of hours around the world that go into porn and masturbation. Sexuality takes extra energy.
If I ever get plastic surgery, it will be because I want to raise my seductiveness points, or because I want to be capable of vaginal sex. That’s money right there I could donate to a malaria fund and save someone’s life.
Sexuality birthed me and you. Other than that, I’d have to think of it as harmful in its overall impact. The intense longings and addictiveness trick us into thinking this sexuality thing must be supremely important… but it only makes us unpleasantly distracted and disappointed more often than not, does it not? We’d be better off without it and we wouldn’t know what we were missing. Like how a person in the 17th century wouldn’t mind that they never got to go to Six Flags and ride a rush-filled-yet-vomit-inducing roller coaster.
Instead, sexuality is like a drug almost everybody snorts, and which nobody can give up, because our own bodies produce it. I’m a damn cocaine machine, sweetie!
An asexual society would surely be more egalitarian. Looks couldn’t possibly be as influential or as envy-triggering. Less favoritism, and higher IQs. No unwanted pregnancy. No #MeToo, only #MeNeither. Except we would still need to teach our college kids “asexual consent” to make sure every hug is a wanted hug. Sounds like the life.
Alright, I’ve vented.
And I don’t believe I’ve done any harm by speaking how I feel. It might be taboo to explore the possibility that sexuality is literally kind of fucked up, but it’s a relief to admit this is genuinely how plenty of people feel. Like we’d rather be asexual—at least on many days. I don’t mean to rain on anyone’s parade, and I bet sexuality does feel net-positive for some lives, but here I can express solidarity for those like me who are tired of the perpetual pain and puzzle. My own complaints are just the tip of the iceberg. Whatever your gripes with sexuality may be, they are valid.
All that’s left now is to wonder if I could be wrong. Or if I am right, what can I do? Good, bad, or neutral, I’m stuck with my sexuality. I want to know how to make the best of it. What habits might I form to associate sexuality with ease—with focus—with actual satisfaction—and with my highest values?
I honestly believe I’d be happier, and a more helpful, giving person, if I were asexual. The saddest part is that I know others out there feel the same about themselves. I wish I could prove them wrong. ❤
To be continued…