Dale Nixon Is Asexual

It’s been a bit since the last time I wrote here. In the meantime, I got a new job which I began this week. I am now teaching three sections on English Composition at the community college in the next county to the west. I’ve tried to write a few times, but when I sat down to do so I found I didn’t really have much to say.

I’ve also obtained a very special asexual young lady in my life (who I have gently urged to guest blog here) as well, so often things I might have blurted out to my readers on this weblog have gone to her first lately. By the time I think to write a weblog post, I’ve moved on.

Did you notice the reference to Gone’s excellent first album in the title?

To be blunt: I’ve found in the past few months that masturbation means about as much as taking a shit does.

It’s just a bodily function really. Like shitting, it is something I do in the morning, or at night before bed. Both seem to be necessary for comfortable human living, but neither means much to me. Outside of the moment I cum, and even then that is debatable honestly, I feel nothing.

A big change that has happened lately as well has been my body’s lack of “hurry” to self pleasure. It used to be I “had” to do it when the urge came, but now if I say “fuck this,” snuggle up with my cat and plop down in bed nothing weird or bad happens. How great is that? I feel liberated by this revelation; that “need” to pleasure myself had becoming boring in the past few years and honestly annoying. I still do it, just did this morning, but once the moment ends it is over and done.

I was a really late bloomer to masturbation.  I don’t remember consciously doing it until I was eighteen.  Yes, really, eighteen.  Before then…I just didn’t do it.  There isn’t much of an explanation.  Even after I lost my virginity at seventeen. Sure, nocturnal emissions happened, but nothing that I performed out of my own free will.

For reasons I still can’t explain, that changed when I was eighteen. I began taking time out of the day to pleasure myself. Some evenings I would hurry home from work to browse the Internet and explore all that was sexuality, BDSM, D/s, etc. Around this time I began a serious of Online/phone relationships with people in various communities I participated in.

The summer I was eighteen I also dated a young woman who was great in bed. She could give and direct me how give her pleasure like no other woman I have been with in my life. My self pleasure was not about a woman’s breasts (she had great breasts) or fucking someone, but more like scenarios. Not quite role playing, which I think is beyond corny, but scenarios where I live out dreams and desires I have had since a child.

That excited and titillated me a lot more than the actual sexual act. Which was probably a sign I was asexual, huh? This is also why BDSM does nothing for me; whips and cuffs are boring. But that’s for another post.

Nowadays, masturbation is a means of relaxation and anxiety relief. This aspect began about five years ago a fall semester when I was intimate with a serious series of women. I had this weird luck with women for about three months straight. One particular young lady and I found a place on campus (and, I admit, a few times my car) to mess around. Right before the Thanksgiving holiday break we had a week where papers and research was due in all three of the classes we had together that semester. After long evenings working together on her papers we ended it in my car with either, normally, oral sex from her.

Intimacy with her was a stress reliever. Thus I began to use masturbation as a way to relieve stress and relax in the evening before bed. It continues to be that way to do this day. One of the problems I had with the girlfriend who told me I was probably asexual was that I could never make that anxiety or stress go away when we were intimate, which made it impossible to get off no matter what wonderful things she did to me. Which is obviously not her fault.

Does any of that make sense?