The following post is an auto-biographical stream-of-consciousness account of what was going through my mind the first time I had sex. I did not know I was asexual at the time, I did not discover asexuality until years later. It’s clear to me now that most of what I felt was because I’m asexual.

I’ve never read an account like this. We rarely talk about it, and when we do, we hardly go into this level of detail. It’s too personal, too private, too embarrassing, too conflicting, too confusing. And so we stay silent. And in that silence, we’re alone.

I’m presenting this for multiple reasons. First, I believe that sharing stories can help us find what we have in common, and let us know that we’re not alone. The only story we hear is that consensual sex is wonderful and amazing, when it’s not always wonderful and amazing for everyone, even in the best of circumstances. Second, there seems to be a common narrative out there that having sex will cure asexuality, somehow. That’s often not the case and I wanted to give an example that people can use as a counterpoint. And finally, I wanted to provide an example that can be used to potentially help non-asexual people understand what it’s like for an asexual person to have sex. In particular, some people can’t understand how sex is possible without attraction, or think that there can be no pleasure without attraction.

The story below is my experience . It is not meant to be representative of how every asexual person experiences sex. Everyone is different. Everyone’s story is different.

The following contains descriptions of sexual activity and may not be suitable for all audiences.

I’m lying in bed. Waiting. Shivering.

It’s not cold. I’m not afraid. I’m not even nervous, really. I’m just shivering. I guess it’s the unknown. This is supposed to be a big deal, right?

She’s in the bathroom, getting ready. This was her idea. Do girls actually want sex? I guess so.

Should I be naked? I think I should be naked for this. But what if she wants to undress me as foreplay? Would that make me seem too eager? Because I’m not eager. I mean, I’m not reluctant. I guess I’m just curious. I think I’ll keep my clothes on.

Now I’ve gotten hard. I guess that’s a good sign.

Do I want to do this? She said I could back out at any time. That was the agreement. She’s not forcing me. Of course I want to do this. But why don’t I WANT to? Like really really WANT to? Wasn’t there supposed to be some sort of uncontrollable urge right about now? Some kind of irresistible force taking control? I feel… I don’t know what I feel. I don’t need to do this. No, I don’t WANT to do this. I’m willing to do this. Willingness isn’t wantingness.

Okay, am I ready? We bought condoms and lube earlier today, so +1 for responsibility there. I’m still hard, so that’s another point. I read up on what I’m supposed to do. Is that normal? Do people generally read up on what to do, or do they just know? I mean, I already knew WHAT to do, tab A slot B, all that stuff. I mean the rest of it. Do people prepare a mental gameplan for this, or do they just go for it and figure it out on the way? Not like fantasize about it. I tried that, I couldn’t. I mean like actually come up with stage directions for what I’m going to do and backup plans in case things go wrong.

What if it just doesn’t work? She’s mentioned that she’s worried about being too small, too dry. She said it hurt the other times with the other person. I don’t want to hurt her. How would I know if I’m hurting her? The lube should help. How deep is too deep? How do I know how deep I am? What if I’m too big? She said I might be. Or was that some sort of ego-boosting ploy? Was that supposed to turn me on or something? I don’t know. I don’t care. Should I care? Do other people actually care about their size, or is that all just an act?

Is it all just an act? It feels like an act. At least it feels like I’m acting. Is she acting? Why would she be acting? Why would she push so hard for this, if this isn’t something she really wanted? Because she thinks I WANT it-want it? It should have been clear that I didn’t.

So why am I doing this, anyway? If I don’t WANT it. Um, because she offered, I guess? Because she wants it? But that’s not all. I do want to know what it’s all about. It’s supposed to be amazing, why wouldn’t I? It’s supposed to feel good. Really really good. Better than my hand, better than her hand. It’s supposed to be a big deal. It’s supposed to-… I’M supposed to. I’m doing this because I’m supposed to. I’m supposed to WANT it. Maybe if I do it, I will. Maybe there’s a slipped gear in my head and doing this will jostle it back into place and I’ll start WANTING it. Like I’m supposed to.

There’d better not be any babies out of this. That would suck. But that’s why we got the condoms. We practiced putting one on earlier. So we should be good there. And I read all about their effectiveness when used properly. So hopefully no babies.

But about earlier… When we practiced putting on the condom. When we were completely naked around each other for the first time. When she took me in her hand and put me inside her. “To see if it fits”, I think she said. I don’t know what that was about. I guess that means I’m technically not a virgin anymore already, even if it was just for a few seconds. Was I supposed to do something? Was I supposed to react? Was I supposed to get started? That wasn’t the plan, the plan was to wait until night, just before bed. Was that a test? Did she want me to make a move? It wasn’t the plan. Why didn’t I make a move? That could hardly be considered a subtle sign of interest. I should have made a move. Any other guy would have, wouldn’t they?

Of course they would. No other guy would have waited this long to make a move. Any other guy would have made a move that first night at her place. Who cares that her parents were upstairs? That didn’t stop us from doing other things. But we couldn’t then, no condoms. But nothing stopped me from picking up a pack on my way up. Why didn’t I? And why didn’t it bother me that we couldn’t?

Even this tonight isn’t my move. It’s her move. If she waited for me to make a move, it would never happen. I’m just along for the ride.

The bathroom light clicks off. The door opens. It’s time.

She walks out in her pajamas, hair back, a faint minty scent surrounds her. She climbs into bed. She climbs on top of me and starts kissing me.

I don’t understand kissing. I don’t see the appeal. A peck on the lips is fine, and there’s that spot on my neck that gets things going, but deep mouth kissing? That does nothing. “Deep” being the important word here. It feels like she’s trying to eat my face. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with my tongue. It’s somewhat unpleasant. It hurts my jaw. She pushes harder, trying to force my mouth open wider. I feel like a CPR dummy. People like this?

I pull back and kiss across her cheek and down her neck. I know I like that feeling. Does she?

I move my hands up and down her back. She’s not wearing a bra now. That’s somewhat disappointing. I kinda wanted to take it off. Like that’s an important moment or something.

She moves to unbutton my shirt and I reach for her breasts. The curve. The nipple. I caress them through her pajama top for several moments before reaching underneath it. Shouldn’t I feel something now? Shouldn’t I WANT this? I don’t know what I’m doing. I hope she likes it, because it’s doing nothing for me.

I roll her onto her back and lift up her shirt slightly. I kiss my way up her stomach, then put my head under her shirt and begin kissing a breast. She quickly takes off her top. That’s the cue to take off mine, too. I resume kissing one breast while fondling the other. We’ve done this before. I remember her instructions of “more pressure” when I get to the nipple. I push with my tongue. Is that enough? Is this too much? Should the pressure be constant or varied? Is that even what she meant?

Do other guys like this? I mean really like this? They seem to be interested in breasts. It seems like I should be enjoying this more than I am. They’re kinda round, kinda squishy. They’re okay, I guess, but I just don’t see the excitement.

Her hands are around my back.

I move up and begin kissing her on the face and neck. I press my erection against her vulva, and she gently grinds through our pajamas.

I take my hand off her breast and begin moving southward with it. I slowly cross her stomach, and run my hand down the outside of her leg. I cross to the inside of the leg and work my way back up. I cup my hand around the curve and press as I rub.

Am I supposed to talk dirty to her here? What does that even mean? I’d mess it up. Anything I’d say would be ridiculous. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.

She reaches into my pants and wraps her fingers around me. She gently tugs. Her hand feels numb and foreign. I’m used to my hand, I’m used to the feedback loop. She’s squeezing harder than I would. She’s pressing on places I don’t press. This feels strange. It’s okay, but it’s not good. Definitely not bad, just not good. Neutral.

I reposition my hand, moving it under the elastic waistband of her pants. I run it through her hair. I like that she has hair down there. I don’t know why. I find the soft, warm flaps of skin. I gently part them with my finger, and slide up toward the front, looking for the little nub of skin that I know is there. We’ve been here before, too. I’d like to get her off, but she doesn’t help me out. I press as I trace a circle. I don’t know if what I’m doing is working. I’m not even sure I’m in the right place. I guess she’ll tell me to stop if she wants me to stop. I press a finger inside, slowly. Soft. Smooth. Wet. Warm.

She stops what she’s doing to me. I return to spinning circles for a few moments.

She softly runs her hand across my balls, then moves to take off her pants. I take off mine in return.

We’re naked again, for the second time that day. She stops and looks me over. She focuses on the area that was just uncovered. There’s a look in her eyes. Hunger, maybe? She wants it. I look her over. It feels like an in-person anatomy lesson. All the parts I’ve heard about are there, and I run over them in my mind. Her breasts, her legs, her pubic hair, the little hint of labia… But the most fascinating thing is that look in her eyes. What is that look? What is she feeling?

What am I supposed to be feeling? Anticipation? Sure. Nervousness? A little. Lust? Desire? Where are they? What are they? Seeing her body is interesting, but it’s interesting in the way looking at a map of a national park is interesting. I’ve heard about all these places, now I know how they all fit together. It’s academic, not erotic.

She’s cute. Her face is cute. Her breasts are cute. Her pale skin is cute. The round tuft of hair is cute. But not hot. I don’t know what “hot” is. She should be hot. Other people call her hot, and they haven’t seen her like this. She’s not supposed to be cute. She’s supposed to be hot. Cute is something you want to play with and pet. Hot is something you want to have your way with. She’s cute. She doesn’t like that I think she’s cute. It’s not enough for her. But it’s all I have.

I don’t belong here. Something’s just not right. How long can I keep up this act? Can she tell? Maybe everyone feels this way their first time.

I move down and begin kissing her left thigh. I gradually move my way up, toward the inside.

“Don’t,” she stops me. I’m somewhat curious to try, because maybe that will make a difference, somehow. But I move on at her direction, and kiss her stomach, breasts, face. Was that a test? Was I supposed to make a move there, too? I don’t think so. She talked about it before. She said it felt good, but that it seemed tiring for the guy. So maybe that wasn’t a test.

She rolls me over. She climbs on top of me and presses her body against me as she kisses me. Soft. Warm. I like the feeling as her nipples brush against mine. My nipples are sensitive now. I wish she’d pay more attention to them. I try to guide her hand there, she doesn’t catch on.

She kisses down my neck, and rests her head on my chest. I run my hands down her back and grab her ass. My erection presses against her stomach, slightly wet at the tip.

That’s dangerous now. Fluids and all. I read about that. Although unlikely, there could be sperm in that, especially after what we did earlier. Better make sure that stays far away, until the condom is on.

She pauses as I reach between her legs to rub her.

She makes a move. I know where she’s going. I stop her. Those two areas don’t touch without protection.

She rolls over to grab the condoms and lube. We take out a condom and open the wrapper. She takes the lube and rubs some on herself.

My erection is gone. That’s a bit of a problem. I know it’s just a temporary setback. But still… Moments away, and this happens. I know it “happens to everybody”, but does it really?

She moves down and puts her hand around me. She moves her face between my legs, and there’s a warm wetness of an exhale on my scrotum. Problem solved.

I put on the condom as directed, and she applies a little bit of lube to the outside. She wipes off her hand as she puts her head back on the pillow.

I move into position.

This is it. This is the moment. So why is it so hollow? So empty? Other people dream of this exact second for years. They scheme and beg for it. It’s nothing to me.

She’s lying on the bed in front of me. Her hair falls on the pillow. A faint smile on her lips. Her eyes close. Her breasts flatten and flow to the side.

I should WANT this. I should NEED this. I should have an uncontrollable urge to go on. I shouldn’t be able to stop myself now. But… I could walk away right now and not feel any different. Not feel like I missed out, not feel deprived. Other guys would kill to be here right now. But I could just go about my business and think nothing of it.

I part the lips with my fingers and guide myself in.

It’s so warm. And enveloping. It squeezes every part of me evenly. It’s so different than my hand. Better? I don’t know. Different.

Don’t go too far. How will I know how far too far is?

I slowly push in as far as I think I should go. Then slowly pull back out. I don’t want to hurt her. Go slow at first. That’s what I read.

Pulling back out… Wow. That’s better than pushing in. That’s definitely not something I can do with my hand.

I repeat a few times to get the hang of the motion. I’d practiced using pillows and a plastic bag full of baby oil, but it wasn’t like this.

This alone won’t be enough for her. That’s what I read. I should make sure that I rub her as I go. That’s supposed to help. It’s awkward to twist my hand that direction. I try to encourage her to do it, but she doesn’t take the hint. She said tonight was about me, but I don’t want her to be left out.

Am I supposed to kiss her? I think I’m supposed to kiss her. But am I supposed to kiss her face or her breasts or what? Kissing her breasts seems like it’d require some uncomfortable contortions. So I’ll kiss her face. Hand goes to a breast.

There she goes again with the deep kiss. How does her jaw open like that? Should I tell her that it hurts right now? No, that would be a bad idea. Keep going.

In, out, in, out, in out…

I like the feeling pulling out almost all the way. The way it softly wraps around the head and squeezes the tip. The warmth, the pressure. Yes, I like that. And I like the feeling of my nipples pressed against her body. The way they float across her skin as I move.

How long is this supposed to take? I always hear stories of the first time ending almost right away. Is that because they were more excited than I am? I still have a ways to go.

How fast am I supposed to be going? It seems like I’m going too slow, but it seems like going faster would just wear me out.

She wraps her legs and arms around me.

In, out, in, out, in, out…

I’m getting closer.

I look at her face in the dim light. Her eyes are closed, her mouth is slightly open. She’s lost in the moment.

In, out… Definitely closer.

Should I be making some kind of noise? I think I’m supposed to? You always see that in movies. But what kind of noise? Aren’t those sounds natural? Don’t they just come out in a situation like this? Or are those sounds just faked? I never make noise when I’m alone.

I’m on the edge now, and still nothing. Where is the magical spark that’s supposed to wash over me? Where’s the flame of passion? Is this really all it is?

In, out, in, out, in, out. Slow. Stop. Oh. Right there.

My movement changes. I feel the pressure building. I push in. My body goes rigid as a surge of pleasure paralyzes my body. The automatic pulsing rhythm is the only part of me that moves.

I pause for a moment, still inside her. I let my muscles relax, still inside her. She whispers an “I love you”. I respond, still inside her.

I slowly pull out, careful to hold the base of the condom as I’d read to do. I roll onto my side and hold her.

Did that change my life? Was that the best thing that’s ever happened to me? Did that light a fire an awaken me sexually? Was that earthquakes and fireworks and rocketships? … No. None of that.

The warmth. The softness. The exquisite embrace on the head. The brushing of the nipples. The warm exhale. The kiss on my neck. The ending. Good. All of that. But all physical. All mechanical. Emotionless. Nerve endings doing their thing. Felt good, yes.

I should probably take this thing off. I have to pee, too.

Not mind-blowing. Not amazing. Not earth-shattering. Not far above any other experience. Wasn’t even the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Far above average, but not the best.

My body liked it. My mind? What about my mind? Acting in a play without a script. Does everyone else have a voice in their head, feeding them the lines? Or do they just improvise? Why would they improvise? Why would they make it up? Why would they all play along? Why not just give commands to kiss here, caress there, and get exactly what you want? Why would there be a play at all if no one has the script? Other people know the lines. She knew the lines. Why don’t I?

I don’t belong there. I don’t know how to be there.

Is that all it is? Is that what everyone raves about? I don’t get it.

…

Maybe next time will be different.