#110 - What's Sex Got to do With it?

Today’s words: Physical, Honeymoon, Gin, Snow

Word count: 517

Completion time: 50 minutes

Summary: Sex is not mandatory, and it never will be.

--

Somebody once told me it didn’t count as a real relationship unless things got physical...you know, if they had sex. They said it may as well be another form of friendship, something masquerading as romance. Masquerading, heh.

I imagined a masked ball full of elegantly-dressed couples dancing under chandeliers, maroon and gold curtains lacing the walls. Everybody’s having a great time when suddenly, someone shrieks. The music stops, and all eyes are on a couple whose masks have fallen off. Underneath the masks are a couple who were not supposed to be there – the ball was strictly Real Couples Only, and everyone knew that they hadn’t had sex.

Next level is off-limits; please touch genitals to advance.

This fool masquerading as a relationship guru happened to be dating my friend, and after the “painful, sexless” honeymoon period, only one thing was on his mind. So, over a bottle of gin, he asked as casually as he could, when they were going to do it – not if, but when. I was there when this happened, him thinking nothing of discussing it in my presence.

“You said you’d think about it, so what’s your answer?”

My friend knotted her eyebrows and looked at the table. “Could we discuss this later?” Her blue eyes looked towards the exit.

“You always say that. If I keep going along with this, I’ll never get laid.” He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “You’re like the sun...and I’m like snow. You’re killing me, baby.”

How poetic.

Her eyes widened and it felt like my jaw locked; I wanted to tell him to fuck off, to leave my poor friend alone, but I couldn’t get the words out.

She looked like a defenceless mouse but managed to say: “I’m not doing this here.”

Two months ago, she told me about meeting this “really sweet guy” on Tinder. He asked for her bra size before he asked how she was, but apparently that’s just what guys were like on there. Aside from that, I was assured that he was extremely sweet.

“You’re not doing it at all, apparently,” he continued.

I put a hand on his arm. “If you want sex so bad, why not find someone who actually wants it?”

“I know she wants it,” he said quickly. “She said ‘maybe’ so many times...’maybe’s turn into ‘yes’s eventually.”

“No they don’t,” she said. “’Maybe’ means ‘maybe’. I’m not comfortable with it, so drop it.”

“Look.” I still held onto his arm. “Clearly she doesn’t want to. Your words aren’t magic dust, so stop trying to convince her.”

He looked at me like I was speaking Korean, but I continued.

“Maybe she’ll change her mind, maybe she won’t, but don’t you dare act like you deserve it.”

She stopped running her fingers through her hair and smiled. “Thanks.” Her facial expression changed when she looked at him. “You knew what I was like before you got with me, so why are you being like this? You can’t change me.”

Thankfully, they broke up a few days later.

Sex is not mandatory, and it never will be.

#106 - Goodbye, Camp, Gay Male

Today’s words: Exorcism, piercing, rainbow, Chanel

Word count: 108

Completion time: 19 minutes

Summary: Stupid stereotypes

--

Hello, camp, gay man trope

Hello to your feminine style

Tight jeans, tight top

Fashion designer look

Chanel, Armani, Gucci

Hello, epitome of rainbows

Everything fabulous

Flamboyant

Hello, flick of the wrist

Hello, high pitched laugh

Hello, right ear right queer piercing



I want to perform an exorcism on you

I want everyone to see

That underneath that feminine fashion

It’s possible to be gay

Without being camp.



I want to force the two apart

Stop them from being synonymous

Because when you say someone’s ‘really gay’

You mean camp

And when you say someone’s camp

You think they’re gay



Stop.

This is not accurate gay representation

...Stop.

#104 - Girls Only

Today’s words: Lesbian, Melancholy, Sorbet, Submission

Word count: 400

Completion time: 26 minutes

Summary: Sexuality isn’t as black and white as it seems

--

I’m sat in the conservatory, listening to the stabbing drops of rain and spooning strawberry sorbet, pretending that it’s summer. Everything seems a little brighter then.

My eyes are closed to forget the melancholy mood and I’m sat on a beach under a parasol, watching children run around in swimsuits that are too big for them, hair stuck to their faces from the sea and sweat, and, as if to interrupt me, he pops into my head again.

I’m forced to submission as the cold dessert hits my back tooth and a sharp, searing pain runs through my mouth. Winching, I tilt my head and try to focus on the beach again, eyes squinted in the thirty-degree sun. My skin prickles with goosebumps and I think harder – the excited voices, the sandcastles, the sea, him emerging from it, eyes glinting as he stares at me.

I drop the spoon and suck the sweet flavour from my tongue.

I’m not supposed to have these feelings. I told everyone that I was a lesbian years ago, so I can’t go back on it now. I can’t let them think that I did it just for attention, to get guys to like me, or because I wanted a free pass to make out with girls. It had been seven months now, seven months since I first met him, seven months since I tried to stop him from entering my head. Out of bounds, you know? Girls only.

Once you come out, it feels like there’s no going back. You’ve said it, out loud. You’ve told everyone you’re this, meaning you’re not anything else. What’s worse is...the people who said it was just a phase...they’ll think they were right all along when that isn’t the case. I can tell them that they don’t know me at all, they’ll reply with, “You don’t even know yourself.”

I wrap my hands around myself and lightly squeeze my upper arms.

Fuck it. Fuck labels. I’m not going to restrict myself just because the ‘lesbian’ tag says I’m not allowed. Do Not Remove. Like the label on mattresses. Fuck, I’m not a mattress, I’m a person...a person who has the ability to change her mind, no matter what people conclude.

Picking up the spoon again, I scoop the last sloshy red bits from the cup and press them against the roof of my mouth.

I’ll tell him tomorrow.

#98 - The Weeping Man

Today’s words: Nutritious, Alleged, Display, Wax

Word count: 764

Completion time: 47 minutes

Summary: Sometimes you raise your expectations only to be punched in the genitals by the fist of Life, figuratively

--

There is a stone statue that stands outside of Waterloo station.

The alleged amount of time it’s been there is undetermined by most, but people who know of him say that they can’t remember a time when he wasn’t there.

A lot of people use it as a landmark, telling friends, family, lovers, colleagues, that they’ll be waiting by the Weeping Man (that isn’t its official name, but the locals have named it so).

People walk by it, amazed by the realism etched in the face, the detail in the eyes, the anguish that seems to capture everyone who regards it; like a wax display at Madame Tussauds. Some say that to look at it carries the curse of a bad love life for at least a year. It’s never been proven, but the rumour continues to spread like a plague in the playground and the office.

This statue wasn’t always made from stone; let me tell you a short tale of how this statue came to be.

A man called Christian got in contact with another man online when he was twenty-two. He was the first person he came out to; not even his mother knew, and she thought she knew everything about him. The guy he met was charming, humorous, and he actually got what Christian was going through, because he too was bisexual.

They talked for months on end until Christian took the plunge and asked to meet up; they both lived in different areas of London, so it was easy to commute and plus, they seemed to be getting along as if they’d known each other since primary school, so what was the harm?

On the 16th of July 2010, after eagerly consuming a nutritious breakfast of avocado on toast, he kissed his mother on the cheek, grabbed his keys, and headed to meet this unnamed man.

It took everything he had not to throw up on the Underground train as he held his stomach and focused on the brown linoleum floor instead. He told himself that everything would be okay: they’d meet up, go to the park, eat a nice meal, and leave eagerly awaiting the next time meet again. They would be together for a few hours, but they would have so much fun that it would feel like five minutes.

He nodded to himself as he wiped a line of wetness from his eyes.

The next stop is Waterloo. Change here for the Jubilee Line, the Northern line, the Bakerloo line, and National Rail services.

His didn’t stand up until the last minute, ordering his legs to move as he stumbled on the platform.

Since the guy was driving there, he told him to meet him outside the station, so that was where he stood.

Fifteen minutes passed and, despite wearing the desired moss-green t-shirt and red skinny jeans, no-one had identified him. He checked his phone to see if he had texted; no luck. Christian cursed himself for forgetting to ask for his number too.

Twenty minutes.

Twenty-five minutes.

Twenty-six.

His phone vibrated.

Grabbing the phone, he opened the text that read: ‘As if, fag. You’ve been stood up xoxo’

Re-reading the message several times, he slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket and continued to wait. There was no way that someone that nice could stand him up. It wasn’t possible, he thought. They had built such a strong foundation, shared so many interests, and it was the first time he had ever felt that way about anyone, let alone another man. Someone must have stolen his phone or something.

His jaw tightened and a lump formed in his throat but he refused to cry. Every muscle was ordered to restrain the tears, but no-one can stop a flood with barriers made of paper.

Night time came but Christian stood where he was, looking forwards, keeping his eyes on a kebab shop opposite the road as if cheap, processed meat had the answer.

The next day, he was still there.

And the next.

And the next.

He refused to move.

Maybe there was a family emergency, he thought. Or a death. Maybe he’s too grief-stricken to text or call. I’m right where I said I’d be; he can’t miss me.

The reality of the situation never sunk in, never become his reality, so he stood there for days, weeks, months, and then years, anticipating a meeting that would never happen.

If you’re not scared of the so-called curse and you look into Christian’s eyes, you’ll understand what it means to be broken beyond repair.

#91 - Catching the Gay

Today’s words: Committee, Ray, Blood, Grade

Word count: 482

Completion time: 30 minutes

Summary: A boy desperately tries to chase away any gay feelings he may or may not harbour

--

When Cyprus was young, he thought that being gay was contagious. If a gay person sneezed on him, coughed in front of him, or if their blood somehow got mixed in with his, he was certain he’d grow up gay.

To try and battle this paranoia, in tenth grade, he put up an abundance of posters featuring scantily clad women in suggestive poses that were to act like medicine and repel any dormant homosexual feelings. He’d stare at his walls and burn the images into his retinas as he got into bed and touched himself, proving that he was straight, proving that if he came, he was definitely hetero. That was his ray of hope, his light at the end of the tunnel. He was straight. He was sure of it. The orgasms and desire to do nasty, borderline illegal things to the poster-women proved it.

When he reached university age (still a hardcore hetero, in case you were wondering), his ideas about ‘catching the gay’ had been muted by maturity, but he was still homophobic. He got the idea that gay people desired to make straight men gay too, not by a transferring of bacteria or blood cells, but by flirtation and coercion. He had no real evidence for this claim, but it stuck in his mind like a hardened piece of blu-tack.

At the final event for the first years, he followed the swarm of people to check out clubs that he might want to join. Rowing looked appealing, so did Climbing, maybe he’d even have a try at Kung Fu if he felt up to it. His eyes scanned the tables that were manned by students with encouraging smiles, willing people to check out their society. He smiled politely at most of them until he spotted the ‘LGBT community’. The committee members looked just as bright and cheerful as the rest of the groups in the room, which made Cyprus feel a little irritated, even offended.

The guy who was sat in the middle with short, neatly trimmed hair locked eyes with Cyprus and grinned, raising his eyebrows slightly. He had seen the guy before, but had no idea he was affiliated with that group. His temperature rose rapidly.

“Fuck this,” he said internally, pushing his way past the group of first year students to get to the exit.

Once he was out, he sat on a bench by the edge of the university grounds and snapped his eyes shut, grunting under his breath. The pulsating feeling in his crotch intensified, making him cross his legs and rest his forehead on his knees.

Once he had spent a sufficient amount of time burning the guy’s image from his brain, he got up and took the next bus home.

For the rest of the day, he decided to watch girl-on-girl videos in an attempt to detach himself from anything gay.

#86 - Bi Erasure

Today’s words: Kaput, Jolly, Historical, Check in

Word count: 604

Completion time: 30 minutes

Summary: Being bisexual can sometimes feel like you’re stuck in limbo with the straight and queer community...made to feel insignificant by both sides when you desire acceptance from both

--

I had never been to a Brighton Pride before, so I felt particularly jolly and liberated that weekend; I was surrounded by people who understood and respected what it was like to be queer, something other than the heterosexual norm that I was forced to partake any time I turned on the TV or read any books. I wasn’t a passive character without development, I was the hero of my own story, someone with a group that for once had their voices heard, even amplified by pink glittery megaphones. Straight privilege seemed kaput for a weekend, and that comforted me, even if it was heavily constructed and artificial at times.

I stood tall within the mass of people; that was my crowd, those were my allies, I was one of them, I—

“Bisexual? That’s sort of half gay, right?”

“My mum calls it ‘one foot out of the closet’.”

My ears were lured to a conversation that took place right behind me. I decided to book a room and check in; my thoughts were with them and only them until I decided to check out again.

“My brother says that they just can’t make up their minds – straight or gay – so they pick an in-between until they can decide who they want.”

“This is why people don’t want to date a bisexual person...they could just change their mind and go for someone of the opposite sex.”

“You’re right. I know someone who dated a bisexual and they left them for another girl. You can’t test the food out from a buffet and put it back once you’re bored of it, that isn’t fair, it’s disgusting.”

“Bisexual people don’t know what it’s like for real gay people...they can go back to being straight if they run into any homophobes...gay people can’t.”

“So true. If a bisexual were dating someone of the opposite gender, no-one would even know that they were bi. They’re not oppressed, it’s just a convenient excuse to try and be quirky. Being gay is so much harder than being bi, bi people shouldn’t even be involved.”

“Yeah, why are they trying to hog some of the spotlight? You can’t choose to be a bit gay then go back to being straight, just like you can’t choose to be black for a day and go back to being white when you realise how oppressive it is on the other side.”

I checked out. I checked out in such a rush that I probably left half of my belongings in the unwelcoming room.

I had heard conversations like that before, but to hear it so blatantly, and on a day where queer people are supposed to feel proud and included? I had never felt so invisible. Where did I fit? It wasn’t in the straight community...nor was it in the queer community, apparently. So where was I supposed to go? Was I going to be forever stuck in limbo? People can’t tell me that I don’t exist, that I’m not valid; I’m standing right here, clear as day.

The conversation seemed historical in nature, something that, in several years’ time, they’d look back on and wonder why they ever said something so ignorant.

It was possible to fall for any gender at all, just as it was possible to fall for one.

With the muted conversation still, no doubt, continuing behind me I bit my lip, blinked back tears, and screamed my frustrations into the loud crowd full of vibrant colours and personalities.

It was my day, and no-one was going to make me feel bad for something that was out of my control.

#85 - Hetero Incognito

Today’s words: Mark, Poison, Fund, Juvenile

Word count: 585

Completion time: 39 minutes

Summary: Is someone still bisexual even if they get with someone of the opposite gender? No. Obviously not. Bisexuals who get with people of the opposite gender realise that heterosexuality is where it’s at. They shed their bisexual skin and step into the tight-fitting lycra clothing of the glorious hetero. 



--

I think that everyone goes through a ‘bicurious’ stage, whether it’s to add a little interest to one’s personality, or because yeah, they find people of the same gender attractive, no matter how deep or not those feelings go. Once, a classmate was willing to fund me if I kissed a girl in front of him; that was how attractive same-sex relations were, so no wonder people wanted to be affiliated with it. Only a few people graduated from ‘bicurious’ to ‘bisexual’, and I was one of them.

I was made to think of other girls as any smart person would think of poison – something to avoid and not to be ingested by any means. But, dear reader, I had already acquired a taste of the sweet nectar that was a fellow females’ lips, to go back after that was unthinkable.

The first girl was Charli, who I spent four months with. In her I saw my future, my only light, and to be around her would excite only positive emotions. I’ll never forget the way her body felt whenever we embraced. The second was Madeleine.

I met her when I was a little older and she entirely caught me by surprise. I never expected to fall for someone like her but, like an enthusiastic bungee jumper with a weak bungee cord, I fell, and hard. We met at a concert through a mutual friend and ended up kissing during a song (or several) that I don’t even remember the name of. I would have kicked myself a thousand times if I didn’t ask for her number, so I did. We were together for a little over two years until the magic just dissipated.

For eight years I indentified as bisexual, until I met him.

The juvenile affections that I shared with Charli and Madeleine were a mark or smudge on a page compared to my feelings for Owen.

Yes, I had shared many years with girls, but the introduction of a penis into my life and my vagina felt like a fire hose that blasted away any and all of my bisexual tendencies. How could a mere vagina compare to the powerful, regal stature of the phallus? There is no better cure for bisexuality in women than a penis; was it not Freud who said that women have penis envy? That is all the evidence you need, wayward reader.

What of the men who do not possess a penis? Well, men are superior in any way regardless, as society makes sure to tell us, so how could I ever think myself bisexual when women are far overshadowed by men?

Owen treated me better than any woman could: he kept my emotions in check, made sure to inform me what clothes looked best on me, and paraded me around like a trophy he had won in a football game. I felt wanted. Hell, I felt loved.

The next time that you ask if a woman is really bisexual when they get with a man, the answer is no, no we are not. Even though we were attracted to women in the same way that we were attracted to men, men are superior in intellect, strength, and performances of the carnal nature.

The promise of a relationship with a man has forever eliminated any deep affection that I ever had for women, and I am glad for it. I am glad that Owen has shown me the light, and that light is entirely occupied by men.

#74 - I'm Not Gay, I'm Dating a Girl

Today’s words: Incarnate, Zest, Troubled, Posture

Word count: 624

Completion time: 50 minutes

Summary: It’s never that easy to hide your sexuality...something’s going to give eventually

--

It wasn’t very fair on her, but they had the same eyes, same relaxed posture when sitting down, same zest for life that encouraged me to try my best; to me they were the same person. Not to mention the fact that they were twins. They weren’t identical, but when I found out that they shared the same womb for nine months, my brain made up similarities that would have remained undetected otherwise. It’s a very exhausted stereotype that twins were two parts of a whole, but I couldn’t help myself...I suppose that the more similar I found them, the easier it was to deal with my troubled mind and fucked up situation.

Jody was bisexual, and he didn’t hide it so most people knew and he didn’t care...that’s what was so attractive about him – his confidence. A few people had made fun of him in the past but it didn’t seem to get to him, he’d just laugh it off and play along because he was secure in his sexuality; that and Kim was likely to raise hell like Satan incarnate if anyone crossed paths with her brother.

Kim. She was the person I originally went for, and it took me a while to realise that I had chosen the wrong gender, let alone the wrong sibling. Don’t get me wrong, she was great and still is, but it was Jody who had a futon reserved in my heart. However, instead of breaking up with her when I realised, I pretended that she was Jody to try and make it work. Now, they didn’t look very similar at all, so my imagination got a bit of a workout and my eyes were closed a lot more often – when we would cuddle on the sofa, when she gave me blowjobs, when she fell asleep on my chest.  And it worked – I got hard, I performed well, and we were both happy, so what was the harm [?] I asked myself.

Dishonesty. I hated myself. I could pretend that everything was okay, but Kim was in love with a lie, a projection of someone she thought she knew. Someone she thought loved her back. Someone she thought wasn’t, could never be, gay. How could a gay man kiss her, touch her, fuck her like that? If someone insisted that I was gay, she wouldn’t have believed them.

Why didn’t I just tell everyone the truth, tell Kim that I didn’t, couldn’t like her anymore because I liked Jody? Then tell Jody exactly what I told Kim? No-one knew that I was gay, and I had only been informed a couple of months earlier when I found myself on the ‘gay’ section of a porn site, wanking through about four videos before noticing that something was up. Liking guys doesn’t automatically make someone gay, but it made me question everything and eventually I concluded that I didn’t feel the same about girls as I did about guys, not even close. But by then, I had already been seeing Kim for five months.

So what did I do about Kim? Furthermore, what did I do about Jody? I had to end it with Kim eventually, I couldn’t keep it up...what if she wanted to get serious? I couldn’t pretend to love her as a serious partner, a husband, a father, all the while stealing glances at Jody and mind-wanking to explicit fantasies at family events. As for Jody, I decided that I couldn’t go there after I’d dipped my nib in the family ink, so I forced myself to move on and find another guy.

I haven’t found him yet, but I know he’s out there and when I find him, I’ll tell him how I feel.

#69 - Girls Girls Girls

Today’s words: Copy, Riband, Distribute, Establish

Word count: 490

Completion time: 23 minutes

Summary: Sometimes the things you want to say can’t come out

--

At school, I always copy the other girls. I listen to music in the charts, gossip about celebrities I don’t know, and tell them all about some guy I liked.

That was the hard bit.

It was difficult to establish exactly what made the guy so special, why I chose him over the others. Was it the way he styled his hair? His smile? How friendly he was? Just exactly what was it about him that I was supposed to highlight? The other girls would go on about how ‘cute’ certain boys were, or how they were so ‘hot’ and which ones they wanted to kiss, but I found it hard to make that up without sounding like a bad actress in an equally rubbish film. That’s exactly it...it sounded like a performance.

Each girl would get her turn in the spotlight to drool over some guy and everyone would have to sit and listen, occasionally squealing or prodding for further information, a little like an animal at a zoo that they want to hear growl again. I didn’t have to do it, but if I didn’t, I was scared that they’d find out.

“Yeah, he’s nice, I really like him.”

I thought I could leave it at that, but apparently I had to expand, I had to distribute words for them like playing cards that they could hold between their fingers and analyse, or scrutinise.

“Why do you like him?? I heard he eats his own eye gunk.”

Well what made their guys so special? They were either dirty, vulgar, mean, unsympathetic, ugly, or all five at the same time. And the ones that weren’t felt like siblings, people I’d never want to go out with for fear of feeling morally unsound.

Then, of course, there was the question of why I didn’t make any moves on them, or why I never talked about them much afterwards. I said that I didn’t like them as much anymore, so they’d ask if I liked anyone else. Foolishly I said yes, but hastened to add that they didn’t know him, that he went to another school.

“What’s he like? Go on, tell us!”

He’s...he’s, beautiful, I suppose. He has long flowing hair and the way he smells always makes me hungry. He always wears a blue riband on his backpack from when he got second place in a cooking contest a few years ago. Sometimes, when we’re just sitting around, I’ll steal several glances at him and wonder how on earth anyone could look so good, so perfect. Oh and his laugh...it didn’t sound like a regular laugh, it sounded like the titter of a shy choir before a big performance at the Albert Hall, real sweet, you know?

“Wow, he sounds amazing!”

Well yeah, he is amazing. He’s better than that, he’s...incredible.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell them that he didn’t exist, but she did.

#64 - They Won't Have Me (part 2; final)

Today’s words: Origin, Yield, Zeitgeist, Yenta

Word count: 950

Completion time: N/A – this story was thought about since I wrote the first part

Summary: Two completely different people meet each other unexpectedly

For more in-depth information on asexuality, go to http://www.asexuality.org/home/. No one asexual person is exactly the same as another.

 ** Part 1 **

--

He stared at the new phone contact and wrinkled his brow. Alexis.

He wondered: was it normal to ask for the number of a girl, a stranger, who had tried to have sex with him? Had he just felt guilty that he didn’t yield to her impromptu advances?

The phone vibrated, ceasing any further thoughts.

‘hey! u free this evening?’

~

The mood inside the carriage of the underground train was the same as ever, but David was uneasy about what was going on. Yes he had agreed to meet her, at a cocktail bar; yes he had met her less than 24 hours ago; and yes, he thought he might be harbouring some feelings for her which was ridiculous because he didn’t know anything about her, her origin, what she cared about, which position she slept in, if she liked cats or not...

He knew it was irrational and stupid and pointless and a bunch of other negative words, but she intrigued him. He concluded that it was something to do with the look in her eyes just before she’d said her name. It felt like they had wordlessly exchanged secrets in a language meant just for them.

But...she had tried to have sex with him. What if she tried to take him back to her place?

He swore under his breath and stared at a Durex advert pasted by the ceiling. “If it gets to that, I’ll just be honest.”

~

The agreed meeting place was on a side street in Shoreditch, off of the main road. Lacey’s Cocktail Bar. A generously-sized place that looked a little like an American diner with more booths and sofas. After stepping onto the slight ledge and opening the door, he looked around and tried to spot her. She had shoulder-length brown hair in an asymmetrical bob, and he was sure she had a mole by her eye...but on second thoughts, it could have been make-up.

“David, right?” a voice from behind him asked unsurely.

Turning around, he saw her standing there in a cream jumper and a flower-print above-knee skirt. “Yeah, right. Alexis?”

She nodded, walking past him and motioning for him to follow. “You have got to try the Sex on the Beach they do here, it’s,” she paused, looking up to the ceiling and back at him, “delectable.”

~

“Sorry, what’s a yenta?”

“Oh,” she put her drink down and leaned forwards, “someone who gossips...kinda nosey, you know? A German friend asked me if I knew what it was once, before proceeding to bitch about someone who had two men on the go,” she laughed and bit on her black straw, “that was a few seconds before she realised who she was talking to.”

A red flag flew up. “Oh?”

“I’m not a slut,” she sipped some more of the multi-coloured cocktail, “I just like sex.”

“Fuck,” David thought, not sure if the word had made it out of his head or not. “Yeah?” he added, in case it had.

“Yeah. I mean...who doesn’t, really? I mean, really,” she raised an eyebrow.

His heart beat nervously. “I...don’t really get it...why do people like it so much?”

She studied his face. “What?”

“My mum used to call me someone who retained the zeitgeist of the 18^th century, assuming I was waiting for marriage, assuming I was still a virgin.”

“Well,” she finished the rest of the drink and clasped her hands on the table, “I like it because it brings two people together closer than...probably anything else.”

False, he thought. “What about...hugging? Falling asleep together? Holding hands? Sharing yourself,” a pause, “emotionally?”

“Nothing beats an orgasm. Haha,” she laughed, trying to assess his expression, “are you a sex critic or something?”

“No...I’m asexual.”

~

After listening to his basic explanation of what being ‘asexual’ meant, she looked at him, tilting her head and furrowed her brow. “So...you just don’t have sex? Because you don’t want to?”

“It’s more like,” he searched for the right words, “I never feel the desire to, so it isn’t really a choice, it just how I feel. Not everyone has to like or want sex, right?”

She nodded slowly. “I guess, but I’d never thought of it like that before – never having sex...” she looked into the distance like she was trying to figure out a complex maths equation.

He figured he’d just go for it, say what he really wanted to say. “I don’t want to be presumptuous, and it’s probably this horrible-tasting cocktail, but I felt something with you last night, and I don’t know if it was imagined or what but...fuck, what I’m trying to say is, can you imagine spending time with me if you’re probably never going to have sex with me? Because if that’s what this is, you’re looking at the wrong guy.” He looked down into his drink and played with the straw.

“As long as we’re being honest...”

He reluctantly looked up.

 “...Yeah, I did want to,” she bit her lip, almost apologetically, “but if it’s never going to happen, I guess I’ll need to see how I feel about you. After all, we just met, and I’m not about to give up a big part of my life for someone I don’t know yet.”

“Don’t feel like you need to agree to anything with me,” he said quickly.

“Same here!” she raised her eyebrows as she said that. “I’m not about to try and change your mind. This works both ways.”

“Cool.”

“And I’m sorry about last night...I assumed...”

He put a hand out. “It’s okay,” he smiled, “it was kind of funny.”

“I guess, yeah.”

They both laughed.

“Soooo...” David began. “Do you like cats?”

#63 - They Won't Have Me (part 1)

Today’s words: Acquiesce, Whetstone, Fellatio, Soliloquy

Word count: 768

Completion time: N/A – research and things got in the way, but I started research at 8pm (4 hours ago)

Summary: Two completely different people meet each other unexpectedly

Part 2 will be written with a different selection of words on 17/11.

For more in-depth information on asexuality, go to http://www.asexuality.org/home/. No one asexual person is exactly the same as another.

--

This couple’s relationship would likely end with disaster or unfulfillment, feuding families or poison aside. That’s not to say that it was wrong or bad for them to get together, it just wasn’t ideal, especially at the beginning.

The first person in the couple was Alexis – a confident twenty-one year old who apparently had had more sexual partners than Russell Brand. Every night out would result in at least one sexual encounter, and if she went home empty-handed, she’d collapse onto her bed, close her eyes, and pretend that her Rampant Rabbit was that guy in the club who had definitely been making ‘come to bed’ eyes at her. Exhausted and temporarily satisfied, she’d sleep and probably have erotic dreams to prolong the fantasy.

At the beginning of puberty, Alexis developed a higher sex drive that normal; she found it inconvenient and incredibly frustrating, but it was what it was.

The second person in the couple was David – an energetic twenty-three year old who had only had sex once (when he thought it would be rude not to acquiesce) and never wanted to again. In school, it went around that guys thought about sex every few seconds, so David found it strange that he never thought of it (in that way) at all. Nearly any time he found a promising relationship, the bond would be tested when he said that he didn’t want to have sex; instead of understanding, a lot of them would take it personally – “You don’t find me attractive?” He did find them attractive, just not sexually, which is completely separate from aesthetic or romantic attraction. As a teenager, he would constantly try to make himself think ‘normally’, like a whetstone sharpening a dull knife, but it wouldn’t work – he just wasn’t sexually interested in anyone, he was asexual.

David would often perform a ritualistic soliloquy in front of his mirror before he went to work that went a little something like:

“There is nothing wrong with me, it’s everyone else that makes me feel wrong. I am not broken, unnatural, or incomplete, I am me and this is who I am. Ignore people that try to make me feel bad about it – it’s something that I can’t help. I am just as valid as my friends and anyone else who wants to have sex. Sex is not the be all and end all of any relationship and it never should be.”

So how did these two people meet? At a house party hosted by a mutual friend. There was alcohol, public displays of affection, loud voices, louder music, and in the host’s room, Alexis was joined in the room by David.

Alexis propped herself up on the bed with both hands beside her. “Hey,” she began, trying to figure out who he was, “you’re not the guy I said to meet me here. I’m pretty sure he was blonde...”

David’s heart jumped uncertainly and he looked to where the voice came from. Sat on the bed in a red strappy top and black fitted skirt was a girl he didn’t recognise but who he immediately thought was beautiful. “And...this room isn’t empty,” he said, bashful but confused.

“What made you come up here?”

“I need to go, and the coats are all up here,” he explained, walking towards the pile of coats next to Alexis.”Sorry, it should be somewhere underneath all these...”

“Don’t leave,” she said, putting a hand on David’s as he went to reach for the coats.

He stopped moving his hands and said, avoiding eye contact, “What are you doing?” His hand tingled uncomfortably.

Her eyes flicked up to his and she gave him a look that she voiced out loud: “What do you think?”

David didn’t move from the spot he was in as Alexis began to pull her top over her head.

“Hey!” David exclaimed, holding onto her hands. “Don’t.”

“Oh,” she put her top back down, “you want fellatio?” she questioned, putting on a ‘posh’ accent and getting on her knees. “I can do that, too.”

He backed away and knelt down so they were on the same level. “I don’t want that either. Listen, I really do have to go right now, but, fuck...do you want to exchange numbers? I’m not gonna have a chance to talk to you, so...”

She stared at him, slightly open-mouthed before laughing and putting a hand to her forehead. “I really don’t usually do this, but yeah why not...you look a little like Orlando Bloom.”

“I do?”

“Orlando Bloom in Pirates of the Caribbean,” she continued to stare. “I’m Alexis.”

“David.”