Momma, I’m Asexual… But, You Wouldn’t Believe Me Because You Know I Lost My Virginity Four Times…
Not every path to asexuality is smooth.
Asexuality is complex as a whole. The various degrees of it are hard to digest as one thinks: I like guys (or girls) but I feel deep connections only after I get to know them. Or: I have no sexual attraction towards anyone nor do I feel romantic attraction no matter how well I know them. For me, I am still mapping out the degree of my asexuality. I discovered I am asexual when I turned 21. I am 22 now and do I wish I had known sooner? Not entirely. There is a huge possibility that I would not have thought there was something wrong with me and had felt the need to act out sexually in order to feel something. At the same time, I feel that not knowing and discovering something about yourself on your own, in your own way, is beautiful. It is like finding a dusty puzzle piece underneath a sofa after months and you are one step closer to finishing something challenging. Personalities, identities—the mind—it is all complex. I am not a complete rebel, but I do like to discover things on my own when it is against the wishes of others. Within reason. My virginity was one of these things.
Old friends, media, old friends, and old friends insisted I was supposed to be some type of sexual beast. Visually seeing myself sitting at my old high school table with people I thought I knew well, all talking about things I did not have desire for—yet, I did not know that yet. I thought it was something that it just not had been developed so I forced it. Of course, if I have done research, entering into the Google query: Why am I not sexually attracted to anyone? Where is my sex drive? Why is sex talk boring? I certainly would have found the same plethora of information of asexuality as I have done now—yet, the path to finding it out would not have been the same. Or, maybe I would have taken in the information and still challenged it to see it true. How else would I know? Simply taking things face value does not necessarily make them true. That is why the scientific method is there: I have a hypothesis… I have to test it… I get my results. In my life, I think there are certain things worth being tested. My virginity was a price, but it was something I could afford. It was mine. I had control over it. I decided what to do with it to add another label to my arsenal: Leo, writer, ENFP, animal lover… ASEXUAL.
Momma found out her daughter was no longer precious 2 years ago. She saw all the conversations between friends and an old boyfriend. Although it was not pleasant, I can whole-heartedly say I do not regret losing my virginity four times. It was a path that I decided to take to understand myself. Virginity is a social construct and my conversations with God about my sins are between Him and I alone. I do not let anyone’s words make me feel disgusting about the things I have done in my past. I do not ever see myself regretting the times I have spent these these four different guys. Each had taught me something that I would not have learned on my own otherwise. Including waiting for marriage. I had broke my initial promise with God and that is something He and I discuss, but I am celibate again. I know for certain that the paths of casual sexual pleasure are not for me, will not ever be for me, and is something I will not look towards again.
The guys I have dealt with in my past were fairly decent. They were not dirty, seedy, hasty, and forceful. Each were considerate of my feelings and my limits. As long as I had that and there was mutual understanding, I consented. It was okay. I had no intentions of disclosing how many guys I have been with to my momma of course. In fact, I always had this childish thought that parents always believed their children to be virgins even after they had their own children. A silly thought, but it was based on what I grew up around. I used to tell myself when I was a bit younger than I am now, maybe around 15 or 16, that I would insist to my momma that I was still a virgin even after I had children. The concept of virgin was extremely sacred, and I felt I had to hold onto with all of my MIGHT. I was petrified to ask her sexual questions. I never formally had “the talk” and I was terrified to even mention it. You could imagine how uncomfortable I was during sexual education in high school. I did not want homework in that subject.
Thinking back on that now, I must have felt like my body was not my own. That my virginity was not my own and just automatically belonged to my future husband. I believe that maybe that was another reasoning for me acting out sexually. Ideologies like these can really tick a girl off—for me, at the least.
I had always had a problem with the thought of (mainly) girls promising to not have any sexual relations with guys (or whichever gender is applicable to the reader) until marriage. A frequent, fervent thought would be: Why do girls make these promises when guys are taught to rack up as many sexual experiences as they can? Why are girls the only ones expected to remain pure for their future “husbands”, the very same “husbands” that have been absolutely everywhere? (Please keep in mind I am not being exclusive and including every single person, I am fully aware there are those that choose to remain celibate/abstinent) But, as I wrote the beginning to this, it clicked in my head… maybe it was God speaking to me just now… I was told by that little voice in my head said to me: These promises are made to God because it is the conversation between person and God, the promise was not made for man. Ah! A wonderful thought.
My asexuality is an identity of mine that only few know of. Well, now that I am writing this and publishing it, many more will know. But, my momma does not. I do not feel that she ever will. I do not feel comfortable sharing this part of my life to her because I strongly feel that she would not believe me. In her eyes, I have lost my virginity to four different guys and asexuality is a not a possibility for someone who has experiences like that. This is what I feel, what I gather, from tense conversations about my past sexual relations. I understand her hurt and pain of her daughter not being precious—which is why bringing up my sexuality may never be a thing in the future. Yet, I hope that there are those who have read this, can somewhat relate, and can feel strength in sharing their asexuality to their parents or family if they do not know. Sure, being asexual probably is not as ground-breaking as coming out as another sexual orientation, but that narrative is a dead one. One’s sexual preference and orientation is their story and it may or may not be their biggest one to personally share, but it is their story. This is mine.