I didn’t know I was demisexual… I didn’t know what demisexuality was… Two of the most common sentences that grace my inbox over and over again.
Personally, I think it’s a great idea. The more stories we share, the more chance we have of getting them in front of people who need to see them.
Why Are Stories Important?
Stories are one of the most incredible parts of the human experience. One of the things I’ve been most inspired by since starting this website and the social media accounts (Facebook | Instagram | Twitter) is how diverse the community is and how varied the experiences are that lead people to discovering and (hopefully) accepting their demisexuality.
I’ve been lucky enough over the past several months to have heard quite a few stories about how people came to identify as demisexual. One of the things that comes up time and time again is feelings of being broken, defective and in some ways less than because of the ways we’re different.
So often there’s a moment where someone shares a courageous story, a part of themselves and their journey and suddenly things start to click into place. No two people have the same story but there’s always that will connect the story, something that will resonate with others and perhaps lead to that light bulb moment and help others start on their journey to self-acceptance.
Are you a demisexual with a story to share? Send an email to thedemisexual (at) gmail.com
How did you discover you’re demisexual? How did you learn to accept that part of yourself? Did you come out to friends and family? Were you able to find a happy relationship as a demisexual?
Big small, it doesn’t really matter. You never know who’s going to see it and who needs to hear that story.
A Demisexual Story
“I didn’t know I was demisexual
As a freshman in high school, I was uniquely blessed: the girl I was crazy for also fell for me, and for three years we were us and life was grand. She even led me into sex, insisting I use a condom, and giving me such knowledge as I had. (I’m not terribly smart, and was also ignorant having no siblings or friends who gave me practical sex education.) But we learned together, and life was good until we both went to college.
When I was nineteen I went to a party and there was a cute girl with whom I eventually paired off. She was ready, and I was willing, and we wound up bare on the couch, but I couldn’t get it up! She couldn’t get it up either, and believe me she tried. Between us we couldn’t get it up with a crane! I was SO humiliated. I eventually went down on her, with what I hope was some success, then I made my excuses and left, feeling just terrible.
A month or so later I had a similar experience at another party, with another girl. And I’m talking dismal failure here too. Not just not really hard, but not even a soft-on, not even a sort of growing but not hard enough… No I’m talking, “Where’d the damn thing go?” kind of failure. Shit that’s embarrassing. And you tell the girl it’s not her fault, (and it’s truly not!), but you both feel lousy, and try to avoid the mirror in the morning, because who is that useless fool anyway? (No one can hate themselves like a teenager, let’s face it.)
I did not know, then, that I was demisexual.
What I learned, in those and other similar experiences, was that spur of the moment, unplanned, unforeseen, surprise sex was not on the table for me. I knew I was not gay from my activities with my former girlfriend. But I did not know what the problem was, and just learned to walk away from parties. I wasn’t really comfortable even kissing girls I’d just met, never mind going further, which was always a disaster anyway. Nope. No wallflower, no failure, no sir, no thanks, got other things to do…
A few months later I was home on holiday, and… my ex dropped by! OMG did she look good! And a nice hug says she feels good, and she must have thought something similar because pretty shortly we had found a secluded space, and – hot damn – I was hard as a ROCK. Oh hell yeah…
Oh hell no, asshole. I didn’t have a condom. Casual sex being off the table, I had thought “why carry for no reason?” so I didn’t. The look on her face… Well, you only really hate yourself when someone you love looks at you with disgusted disappointment. Then, yeah, you crawl away and die inside. At least I did.
A few days later, January of the next year, holiday was over and I was out hitchhiking to start my way back to school. I got this crazy idea, so I went downtown and withdrew everything from my credit union account, hitched to the city, bought a ticket, and flew to Minnesota! Surprise visit to my ex, see, try to recover some, and see if maybe she wouldn’t really hate me after all. I mean, I knew that getting back together was out of the question, but damn I did not want that girl to hate me. Maybe I can just pop in, say Hi, be cool, and maybe, just maybe, patch up her opinion of me. God I hoped so.
Now, Minnesota in January is cold. Real cold. I had on running shoes, jeans, polo shirt, and a down jacket – the only warm bit of kit I owned. Hitching from Minneapolis St. Paul to mid-state, I was flipping a mental coin whether I might have a chance of crashing on the floor in some random guy’s room, or maybe break into a library or something to sleep in the basement. I damn sure wasn’t sleeping outside, that much was certain.
But, after a surprisingly warm welcome, a bit of tag-along to a class and such, and then – poof – her roommates vanished and left us alone with the rooms for the night! Just us! How freaking wonderful was that? Well… yeah. I hadn’t thought to hitch to a store to get condoms. What. A. Fool. My mind had been on maybe she won’t hate me. Maybe we can be friends. Sex hadn’t entered my mind at all – and then there I was – again.
I can still imagine the anger in her voice as one of her friends asked, the next day, “So? How was it? Nice time?” I wasn’t there, had to split early to hitch back and catch the plane. But I’ve always seen the look on her face in my mind’s eye, as she said angrily, “stupid asshole didn’t have a condom. He NEVER has a condom. Asshole never thinks about me!”
No. Wait. I always thought about her. I just didn’t think about sex. I mean that boat had sailed. Right? Never going to get that chance again. Wrong. Surprisingly, girls will often give you chances you don’t deserve. They like sex too, and may not hate you as much as you think. But I didn’t know that. I was an ass. That much I knew.
I gave up dating. Tried suicide. Existed for awhile…
One day, years later, I somehow wound up reading a glossary of sexual terms. (You know how the net is; you start here, follow your mouse, and wind up waaaaay over somewhere else.) So I’m reading. Interesting. Some new phrases, things I didn’t know… then…
Demisexual: cross between sexual and asexual. In a practical sense, demisexual individuals cannot form a sexual attraction without a prior friendly relationship of some strength. (Paraphrased. Forgotten the source, sorry.)
Well damn! It might as well have had my name on it. I was dumbfounded. “OMG, there’s a name for it!” For so long I had wondered what was wrong with me, and now I knew, and it’s not “wrong”, it’s a thing, and there’s a name for it, and that means I’m not the only one. I’ll be damned… Demisexual. How ’bout that?
Are you Demisexual?
If this story has seemed to strike a chord, ring a bell, hit you hard, or other phrases like that, then you might be demisexual too. And that’s Ok. And you can be demi and straight, or demi and gay, or demi and…you name it. In the end, I’m a demisexual, demiromantic, hetero male of sufficient age that none of it matters to me anymore. But knowing who you are when you’re young? Priceless. I hope this has helped in some way.
And I never did carry condoms. After marriage to a nice girl, and fathering two wonderful boys, I got a vasectomy. Solved that damn problem right there. But for my two boys? I bought them condoms myself and said, “Let me know if you need more. Always have one. You never know…”
Even a demi can get lucky now and then.
Did you have a moment where thing clicked? When did you start thinking maybe you were demisexual?
Want to share you story with the world? Send an email to thedemisexual (at) gmail.com and we can get started.
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