Queerness Isn’t About Sex for This Autistic Disaster!
Here’s what happens when all your wires are crossed…
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I had an interesting conversation with a family member recently about Pride Month. Even though said family member has always been relatively open-minded about queerness and the LGBTQ+ community, he told me that he still sees Pride as a celebration of sexuality at its core — basically, a month-long orgy. Because he sees it in this way, he understands why others take issue with attempts to incorporate children into Pride celebrations.
His remarks suggested a common misconception that people like us are trying to sexualize kids by providing spaces like drag story hour in libraries, or for encouraging kids to try on drag for themselves. While these more family-focused activities have been relatively harmless and done in good taste, there are still members of the straight world who are convinced that us dirty little “el-gee-bee-tee-ers” are out to get their precious little babies. Lately, our allies have fallen for this hysterical thinking as well. You know, “think of the children” and all.
Naturally, in the straight world, it took the time span of a year (2022–2023) for many U.S. states to pass a positive plethora of anti-trans legislation, effectively labeling members of the community as pedophiles. Meanwhile, it took seven years for Josh Duggar to be convicted for possession of child pornography. I was in high school when his case first broke, and I struggled with crying spells and anxiety attacks for weeks, once again reminded that as long as I have a specific type of genitalia, I am open season for good Christian boys and men.
Hell, I don’t even have to be fully developed; as long as I–a genderfluid person–present femme in any capacity, my body is forfeit. However, because I have the audacity to be attracted to multiple sexes and genders, and because I only identify with my birth sex half the time, I am a groomer. Sure, Jan.
Now, I’ve had more than a handful of conversations with straight people who declare themselves allies yet express hesitation about the sexual aspects of queerness. It is a sobering reminder that I clearly haven’t done enough to advocate for myself and my community about the realities of queer identity.
At its core, queerness has never been about sex for me. Queerness is the glass wall I’ve been pressed up against since the day I was diagnosed as autistic (well, Asperger’s technically, but that’s a moot point). Queerness is the hours upon hours I spent reading books as a child. Queerness was my need to please, obey, and pacify at a time when I was expected to rebel, an impulse that I am struggling to break free from because rebellion goes against this AFAB autistic’s code of survival.
I was disgusted from being painted as a sexual creature, and I was lonely.
My queerness cannot be isolated from the glass wall I’ve cut my lips on time and time again attempting to surmount the fierce anger and isolation I felt as a teenager. The constant terror I felt of being raped that turned out to be a manifestation of undiagnosed obsessive-compulsive disorder (new game: take a shot whenever I mention a new diagnosis).
I was a rigid rule-follower in a culture that deemed rigid rule-following to be ludicrous. I had meltdowns if I was going to be late for class. I prayed for God to take away my sexual thoughts and consecrate myself as a virgin to Him forever. I fought hard to desexualize myself throughout my whole adolescence, to “starve the flesh,” to demonize myself for the innocent schoolyard crushes I had on female classmates.
As I prayed and hid, the evangelical heterosexuals in my life sought to sexualize me all the more. My body was painted as this gorgeous sexual temple that I needed to both hide and make endlessly available. I was whipping my own thighs with belts after school to correct my deficits and beat all sexual thoughts out of me. Simultaneously, I was taught that all “the gays” want to do is bump uglies and indoctrinate the youth. I was disgusted from being painted as a sexual creature, and I was lonely.
I dreamed about kissing and holding hands with girls even as I was fiercely warned not to date boys. I ran away from a stranger who exposed his penis to me even as I was taught that I was a fallen creature, a frog slowly being boiled to death. Evangelicals like their metaphors, and they love to talk about sex. I hated sex, hated myself, and still turned out queerer than Wonderland.
Clearly, I haven’t been communicating my queerness as loudly and proudly as I should have been if the straight allies in my life think queerness is all about flashy pecs and having sex.
Losing my virginity to a woman was far from the queerest thing I’ve ever done. It was when I begged a youth group leader to pray fervently for a boy-crazy heterosexual friend of mine. As a teenager, I was genuinely convinced that straight girls being attracted to boys was pathological at best, an egregious sin at worst. If that isn’t a declaration of being wired differently, then what is?
It was never about sex for me. Sex traumatized me during my teenage years, made me feel unclean, even thinking about it made me pray all the harder. I still struggle with the distorted messages I absorbed from purity culture, which fought hard to make me like boys when all I wanted to be was a bride of Christ.
The reality of my queerness was apparent when my parents noticed I wasn’t hitting developmental milestones, not when I was dreaming about kissing Arwen from Lord of the Rings. I was more queer when I was creating a fantasy world at age seven of anti-sexual prude-humans than when I downloaded my first LGBTQ+ dating app.
I will always be too queer for the mostly-Christian heterosexuals I grew up with. Simultaneously, I will never be queer enough elsewhere because being autistic also makes me a rule-following killjoy who isn’t fun at parties. It was never about sex for me; one day, I hope it won’t be about the glass wall, either.
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