Dale Nixon Is Asexual

I received my Master’s degree in English last week from a mid-sized university here in New Jersey. The past two years have been both frustrating and thrilling academically. I ran into a lot of backlash for my work and felt like I was being singled out at times for a number of inane reasons. On the other hand, I was published for the first time and stood my ground, for a lower grade, during the thesis writing process.

During graduate school I came to grips with my asexuality. The former girlfriend who suggested to me that I might be asexual and I had broken up about four months before I began taking classes. About a month into my first semester, I met a young lady who would become my partner in crime for the next year and a half. Quickly we realized that the other was just as smart, just as engaged with literature and theory, and just as antisocial. We spent time together before and, soon enough, after class. We began emailing during the week.

By the time I was walking her to her car before spring break, I was crushing on her so hard it made me cry.

But it never went in that direction. I confessed, rather easily, about my potential asexuality and even admitted to her that I had been molested as a teenager. That summer we kind of danced around a romantic relationship, writing a series of very long emails to her other that was clothed in hypotheticals and stories about our past relationships.

I made it pretty clear in my own way how attracted I was to her. She is beautiful, somewhat tomboyish but able to perform femme when socially needed. Her mind and interests made her both an ally and a very unique intellectual match. I was in love with her mind and had a hard time not showing it.

But our ideas about relationships do clash. I often tell people my idea of a romantic evening is two people, a pile of books, some coffee, and a good conversation between page turns. That isn’t exactly what most people desire in a relationship.

Eventually she met a nice boy who she is now engaged to. They are mushy and sexually romantic and honestly very adorable. I know we weren’t right for each other because I cannot do those things. I was able to come to terms with this in the past year since she graduated and I was left to take my final few courses without her.

I accepted it fully and now embrace asexuality. I think it is a fluid label that could change with the right person. But I refuse to try to change someone or influence them to fit my world view. She is very happy, and all I want for other people is to be happy with or without me.

Penetrative sex is really boring.

Honestly, I’ve felt this way since before I lost my virginity at seventeen. There is nothing appealing about the act at all. Sure, it could be nice, in theory, but everything that goes along with it is beyond repulsive.

The big chase to woo the woman, the right things to say, the right things to wear, all this trivial, material, bullshit just for a few seconds or minutes of pleasure. No thanks. I’d rather talk about books over a cup of coffee or spend an evening with a wonderful lady and a pile of records or a movie.

I know I can get off, but I have a really hard time doing so unless the circumstances are just right. I have to respect the woman, I have to care about her mind and her body. I have to feel like, at least in some other parallel dimension where women aren’t treated like objects from the moment the doctor says “it’s a girl!,” I have not manipulated or used my privilege as a male to take over or control them. Unless they like that.

I can love a woman, I can be psychically attracted to them, but I can’t make love to them in a hetronormative manner. Apparently, according to a former girlfriend and others, this makes me asexual. If that is a label that works for people, fine.

On this blog I will discuss my thoughts and feelings about my own sexuality, gender issues, and my thoughts on being a survivor of sexual assault and how that has made me the person I am today.

My name, duh, isn’t Dale Nixon. I borrowed it from Black Flag.