I thought my good friend was asexual for a long time. Everyone did. At

a time when hormones were in full bloom and swapping spit while trying

not to get braces stuck on one another's adolescent lips was an

after-school special, my friend played googly eyes with tennis,

sitcoms, and calligraphy -- anything but sex.

I became fascinated with my friend's lack of sexual interest in anyone; she became my case study on asexuality. She never

relayed a crush on a classmate, never called anyone attractive,

especially when prodded, and even seemed to reel in disgust when I

shared my own hookup hijinks with her.

Debates over asexuality surfaced from time

to time among my social groups in college and grad school, and I'd use

my friend as proof that such a category actually existed

and watched those around me shake their heads with disbelief. Surely

someone identifying as asexual was only masking his or her true sexual

self, they argued, because of prior abuse, insecurities, or sexual confusion.

Everyone was sexual, they said. It was in our inherit nature.

I lost the argument when my friend surprised me by partnering up with

someone at long last. My doubts about whether asexuality was a valid

identity dissolved, and, as a hypersexual being myself, I jumped onto

the "everyone-must-love-sex-unless-something-is-wrong-with-them"

bandwagon.

Then I came across the Asexual Visibility and Education Network

(AVEN). Founded in 2001, AVEN "hosts the world's largest online

asexual community and strives to create open, honest discussion about

asexuality among sexual and asexual people alike." It turns out there is a defined community of those who identify as

asexual, with numbers to back it up. A 2009 article in Scientific American addressed this topic and included findings from a Brock

University study that found that about 1 percent of British nationals surveyed

identified as asexual. Assuming the prevalence of asexuality is the same in the U.S., that would mean about 3 million people who

likely prefer fondue to fondling, cuddling to cunnilingus, and making pot roast

to making out.

The more I read about asexuality as a legitimate identity, the more

catchphrases I recognized from the LGBTQ community. Some of the

commonly used jargon centers around "coming out," specifically how

and when someone who is asexual should come out to friends and family.

There's even an asexual pride flag.

Although asexuality denotes the absence of sexuality, potentially

differentiating it from the more

visible sexual minorities (at least in terms of society's commonly held beliefs about them), in recent years the queer umbrella has extended to include not just sexual orientations but gender identities, as well, and

could very well embrace another enclave. If you look at the

religious root of homophobia, the belief that what cannot procreate is evil, and consider that asexuals by definition are not in the

business of making babies, then you might agree that in that respect alone they could easily hop

on the queer bandwagon.

Should we consider adding yet another letter to the LGBTQ acronym to include

asexuality? Fringe! Film Fest thinks so. It included the premiere of Angela

Tucker's documentary (A)sexual in its lineup this year. The film

explores the lives of four individuals who identify as asexual. New

York and Vermont are also hip to the plight of asexuals: They're the

only two states to include the minority as a protected class.

To avoid conflation, I should point out that it is possible to identify as asexual and also

stake a claim as straight, lesbian, or gay (or genderqueer,

or bisexual, or [insert another label from the growing identity list here]), because

asexuals define their desires not as sexual but as romantic. Those

who identify as asexual generally don't want to have sex, but that

doesn't mean they don't seek the closeness of other human beings

for love, companionship, shared experiences, cohabitation, and

everything else that we all appreciate about partnering up. Distinct from celibacy, asexuality is not considered a

choice. "Nonsexual intimacy" might characterize the type of relations asexuals

seek, and there are plenty of sites that make it easier for asexual-identified persons to

"hook up" with one another: Affectionate Friends, Asexual Pals,

Celibate Passions, and Platonic Partners, to name a few. As with all

sexual (or, in this case, nonsexual) identities, a spectrum exists. Someone who

claims asexuality as his or her predominating preference might have

experiences that range from never having had a single sexual thought

or fantasy to sometimes engaging in sexual acts, with others or

oneself, out of curiosity or for release, or to satisfy a "mixed

partner" who might not be asexual.

It might be difficult to wrap one's brain around what it

feels like to be asexual (telling me not to think about sex, or to

think about not thinking about sex, is a total turn-on for this horny

homo), but I can certainly empathize with feelings of being

misunderstood, underrepresented, and closeted. Some people just don't

want to get it on, and they have my vote to take safe harbor from the

heteronormative thunderstorm and join us under the queer umbrella.