Be a girl

“You’re being pretty quiet,” Claire said on our walk home from school. She stretched her arms behind her head and let out a soft moan of satisfaction before shaking her limbs loose.

“Huh?” I replied, having been abruptly stirred from my thoughts. I’d been walking on autopilot, so it took me a second to become aware of my surroundings again and remember where we were. Based on our current location, I assumed we’d been walking for about ten minutes already, and I hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s fine,” Claire reassured me, “I don’t mind. I’m just wondering what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“Nothing,” I lied flatly. I didn’t want to tell her that my mind was still caught up on the discussion we’d had at recess. I couldn’t get it out of my mind that she said I was neither straight nor gay. It simply made no sense to me. I had to be one of them. And I knew that it was the former, since I was obviously attracted to girls, and not to boys. So, why was she so certain that I wasn’t straight?

“If you say so.” She didn’t sound convinced, but neither did she push the matter.

My mind went right back to overthinking things once that little distraction ended. It wasn’t until we arrived at her place that I was once again brought out of my own head and back into material reality. We waved each other goodbye, and I made my way back to my own home, whereupon I was immediately drawn back inside the depths of my mind.

I couldn’t make sense of any of what Claire had said earlier today about my orientation. I had to be either gay or straight. There were no other options. Or well, there was bisexual, but again, I wasn’t into guys, so that was ruled out entirely along with me being gay. So that left only straight, right? It all added up. But she was adamant. Almost like she was implying there was some secret fourth option.

Was she suggesting that I was nothing? Was that possible? Surely not. Everyone was into someone, that’s what I was always told. It was what made us human. One day we’d find the one person who’d sweep us off our feet and with whom we would spend the rest of our life. And sure, people assumed that meant a man and a woman together, but that narrative could easily be adjusted to fit those who weren’t straight, such as Isabel.

But if what she was suggesting was true (and I didn’t believe it was, but for the sake of argument), that I was nothing, then there was no way to mould that narrative to fit me. That I was broken and unfixable, a freak.

Well, I already knew that I was a freak (albeit in an entirely different way), but to have her say it to my face? It hurt. Like a hand reaching inside of me and squeezing my heart. But she still hadn’t abandoned me, despite what she thought of me, so that was nice of her. I didn’t understand why, but I didn’t really understand many of the things Claire did. She was an enigma.

The other thing that really got to me was how well Claire was taking to her transformation. Unlike dad and James, she didn’t seem to have lost all the light behind her eyes. She seemed… content. Sure, her prior exuberance had disappeared, but she told me that was all fake; an illusion designed to convince both others and herself that she was happy, when she wasn’t. But now she no longer overcompensated for something that wasn’t there. She didn’t seem fake anymore.

It also struck me that she insisted on using both a feminine name and pronouns. James despised his new name, and especially hated being referred to as a girl. But Claire wanted that. Yesterday, I had assumed she was only doing so to go with the flow. To convince herself that she was ok with the change. But if that were true, then it didn’t make sense that she would be hurt by our maths teacher constantly calling her ‘Jaxon’ and ‘he’. The fact that her smile disappeared, and that she was made genuinely uncomfortable by the teacher’s behaviour suggested that she really was ok with being a girl now.

Was she truly happy being a girl? Was that ok? Had she always secretly desired to be a girl like I had? At this stage, it certainly seemed plausible. But I couldn’t exactly go to her and ask that, lest she figure out that that’s what I wanted. I wasn’t allowed to be a girl. The universe said so. Sure, Claire was allowed to be, but not me.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that she got to be a girl, while I didn’t.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair.

It was not fair.

I could feel my emotions getting the better of me. My breathing had become heavy and laboured, and my heart rate had risen. My armpits were dripping with sweat, and my palms had become all clammy inside the gloves.

I took several deep breaths, focusing on them, in order to calm myself. In and out.

I shouldn’t get envious of Claire. It wasn’t right. She had no say in all this, and neither did I. Just because she got what I always wanted – and was happy about it – didn’t mean I should resent her. I needed to control my envy for her, like I had with dad, James, and even Jesse.

I entered the back door of dad’s house and went straight to my bedroom, not even stopping to greet my father. After softly closing the door, I immediately booted up my computer, anxiously waiting for it to fully load up. I nervously tapped my desk with my fingers in a repetitive pattern. There was something I needed to know. Something that I hoped the internet was able to answer.

I sat and wondered for a moment exactly what search phrase I should use. Based on my ruminations, I had concluded that Claire was suggesting that I didn’t have a sexuality. Which I wasn’t sure was even a real thing, but I decided to start there. It was at least worth a shot. I entered ‘no sexuality’ into the search bar and hit the enter key.

The first result that came up was an article on something called ‘Asexuality’. Intrigued, I clicked the link.

It defined asexuality clearly and simply: asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction. That sounded exactly like what Claire had implied that I was. So, it was apparently a thing. And clearly enough of a thing that people had written about it online. Why had I never heard of it before?

Did I lack sexual attraction? What even was that? I mean, I found girls pretty, was that sexual attraction? Surely. I quickly searched up a definition, just so I wouldn’t be misinterpreting the article. “Attraction that makes people desire sexual contact.” So, did people look at others and decide on the spot that they wanted sex with them? That didn’t sound right. I mean, I didn’t think like that, and I was definitely attracted to girls.

I continued reading the article, learning about the peculiar label ‘asexual’. It explained that while asexual people didn’t experience sexual attraction, that didn’t necessarily mean they were incapable of forming romantic relationships with others. That there was another kind of attraction called romantic attraction.

Huh? There were other kinds of attraction? Why had I never heard that before?

I quickly searched up the definition of romantic attraction and found that it was the romantic counterpart to sexual attraction: instead of desiring sexual contact, it was about romantic contact. It compelled people to seek out romantic love and intimacy.

I contemplated this definition. Was it possible that this was what I was experiencing, rather than sexual attraction? I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded plausible. That would imply that my prior conceptions of what sexual attraction was, were incorrect. I still wasn’t sure that I was asexual, but I had to admit that it was sounding more and more correct.

I found another website – a forum – where asexual people wrote about their experiences. As I read testimonies from these asexual people, I found it hard to deny that they were relatable. Very very relatable. Apparently, it was totally normal for people to think about having sex with other people, something which I had never done in my life. Something which was also uncommon amongst asexual people as well. Apparently, sex was something most people thought about with relative frequency. And yet I, and the people who called themselves asexual, didn’t really think about it all that much.

I also learnt more about ‘romantic orientation’ as it was called. This included the term aromantic, from which I immediately shunted away. While I initially thought that asexual people were inhuman for their lack of sexual attraction, they made a convincing argument that they were worthy of respect since they could still feel love and enter into a relationship. This made a whole lot of sense to me. Sex was, of course, a very taboo topic, whereas love was talked about everywhere. It was what made us human.

I wasn’t some inhuman freak incapable of love; I knew that for a fact. I cared deeply for my family. Well, maybe not mum anymore, due her behaviour in recent months, but everyone else definitely. That obviously discounted me from being aromantic. It relieved me that I really wasn’t some heartless monster like those aromantic people. I still wasn’t one hundred percent certain that I was asexual (I would need some more data), but I was definitely still capable of love.

Of course, I didn’t see myself rushing to find myself a girlfriend. I was fairly content being single for the moment, so I didn’t see any reason to find a partner. Besides, I couldn’t legally get married until I turned eighteen anyway, so I didn’t see any reason to go actively seeking a partner at this very moment. Not that I would turn down the right girl if she initiated first, but I wouldn’t go out actively seeking a relationship. It seemed rather difficult and not worth the effort. I had plenty of friends, and that was more than enough for me at the moment.

I sighed and leant back in my chair. I set myself a mission for tomorrow: gather more data. Reading up on the experiences of asexual people was both relatable and thought provoking. I definitely felt as though the term could apply to me, but I need to be absolutely sure.

My eyes flicked to the bottom corner of the screen to check the time. Just after seven o’clock. I couldn’t believe it had been so long. It must have nearly been dinner time by now. I stretched my stiff joints and headed over to the kitchen. Instead of cooking, I found my dad sitting on the lounge, watching the news.

“Oh, Ben, you’re home,” he said, surprised by my presence. “When did you get here?”

I blinked, still a little out of it after sitting and thinking at my computer for over three hours. “Right after school,” I said mid yawn. I rubbed my eyes and was surprised to notice that I was still wearing my gloves. I was so engrossed in my research that I’d forgotten to take them off. Well, now was as good a time as any.

“Really? So then why didn’t you answer the door when your mother came by with James?”

“Sorry, I was a bit out of it. I didn’t even hear the doorbell.”

Dad looked unamused. “You weren’t distracted playing video games, were you?”

“No! I was doing something important.”

“Homework?”

“Well, no…”

“Then what?”

I sighed and shook my head. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s… personal.”

Dad’s expression softened. “Oh, well, ok. If you ever want to talk about it, know that you can tell me anything and I won’t judge you.”

I smiled. “Thanks,” I said softly. I paused for a moment, wondering about James, given that I had failed to answer the door earlier. “Wait, is James still with mum?”

“No, he’s here. I answered the door in your stead since I thought you weren’t here.”

“Oh,” I frowned, “How did she react?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” dad said, waving his hand dismissively.

“Alright.” That got me thinking. Dad made me go with him to that job interview last week, and he hadn’t had a single mention of it since. “How’s the job hunt going? Did you get the job?”

He suddenly looked rather chuffed. He straightened up in his seat and shot me a grin. “As it so happens, I did. I’ll be starting next Monday.”

“Congratulations,” I smiled, “And good luck.”

“Thanks. It’ll be interesting, no doubt. But hopefully they’ll treat me like a regular woman.”

“Is that what you want?” I asked.

Dad’s grin disappeared. “Well, not exactly. But it’s the best I can hope for.” I pursed my lips but refrained from commenting. Nothing I could say would help reassure him, I knew that much. I supposed that it would be better than the treatment he received at his old job after I’d transformed him, which wasn’t nothing at least.

***

The next day I did something I had never done before: I thought about sex. Specifically, I looked around for people whom I considered good looking, and asked myself if I would want to have sex with them, as uncomfortable as that was for me.

I walked into homeroom and made eye contact with Claire. I then tried to imagine myself having sex with her and… nope. Nope nope nope. That was too weird. Extremely weird. Imagining myself having sex with one of my friends was creepy, and I immediately shoved that thought away. Thinking about Izzy and Rachel resulted in the same visceral disgust.

I next turned my attention to girls whom I didn’t know so well. There were plenty of girls here, unlike at my old school, which meant plenty of opportunities to find someone, anyone, to whom I was sexually attracted.

All of them yielded the same outcome. Every time I tried to imagine myself having sex with any of those girls, my mind pushed the thought away. It was too gross. Unpleasant. Wrong. Not to mention creepy and invasive. With no success on that front, I switched to thinking about boys and immediately regretted it. Somehow that felt worse.

My friends noticed my pensive mood that day, and asked me what was up, but I didn’t feel like explaining myself. Least not to Claire. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was right about me, and it upset me. Thankfully, the girls left me to my own devices and didn’t pry once I’d made it clear that I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

I was quiet on my walk home with Claire as well, still thinking about the possibility that I was ace. It made a whole lot of sense. After I’d waved her goodbye, I tried imagining Claire naked one last time and once again expelled the thought instantly.

I arrived home and consolidated the evidence against the musings of the asexual people I’d researched online last night. Rereading their posts, the similarities between them and me were apparent. I hadn’t been the first to try the experiment I’d run earlier today, and of the asexuals who had, the results were the same as mine.

So that was it then. The proof was undeniable. I was asexual.

It was rather relieving working out this part of myself. Like I’d unlocked a key part of my identity. And sure, I was different to most, but I wasn’t alone in that. There were others out there like me, and they were just regular people. Not freaks. Not inhuman monsters. Just people who happened to not experience sexual attraction. Nothing more to it. It didn’t stop me from being a freak, but at least this aspect of my identity was perfectly fine, even if it did make me different from others.

Which did mean that Claire was right, and I wasn’t happy about that. It just felt… rather rude of her. And obviously she couldn’t control her ability, but she didn’t have to talk so openly about my orientation, especially in front of other people. I would have much preferred she gently guide me in the right direction, rather than almost outright stating it.

Still, she was right, and I felt that I owed it to her to tell her. I at least now had context for why I had considered her wrong in the first place. I wasn’t heterosexual, instead, I was heteroromantic. I had confused one type of attraction for another, which was rather silly in hindsight, though it wasn’t like I even knew about different types of attractions before. I could hardly blame myself for confusing them.

Still, I was rather annoyed I hadn’t learnt about asexuality before today. Perhaps if this were more widely available information, I would have figured this all out sooner. But, I supposed, that was the entire point, wasn’t it? Society didn’t really appreciate anyone who didn’t fit the heteronormative mould, and asexuality sure as hell didn’t fit into that. Society’s treatment and knowledge of LGBTI people had certainly improved significantly since the days when Aunty Miranda was a teenager, but we still had a long way to go.