They were words I didn’t expect to hear from my therapist: “I don’t believe a person could possibly be asexual.”

Two weeks into life as an asexual-spectrum-identified human being, and I was already facing that age-old reaction to any act of coming out: the “does not compute” response. Normally I shy away from conflict, but in this case I had to put my combat-booted foot down.

“I’m going to have to disagree,” I said.

But my therapist’s view is easy to champion. Movies, books and television shows routinely glorify sex as some be-all-end-all, the main indicator that a romantic relationship is serious and that love is present.

In “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days” (yes, I’m a sucker for a good romantic comedy), the two main characters — one in the relationship for research, the other because of a bet — immediately have sex after deciding they have serious feelings for each other. Romeo and Juliet marry, in part, so they can consummate that marriage. Even language itself holds sex in high esteem: The phrase “make love” stands in for “have sex,” as if it’s the only true way to express love.