The Huffington Post is running a really fantastic series of articles this week on asexuality, and the thought-out, respectful, and in-depth reporting is a welcome surprise. Reading some of the articles, particularly the ones on relationships and ‘corrective rape,’ made my breath catch in my throat.
I’m not surprised. I’m hurt, frustrated, embarrassed, angry, and sad, but not surprised. After all, the reason I stopped watching House in the first place was that it was so predictable, it made me feel clairvoyant. Sure enough, the ‘asexual couple’ episode was exactly what I expected it to be.
So I’m writing a memoir about asexuality, and I’ve spent a lot of time revisiting years that I’ve repressed very well – too well, it turns out. A lot of my high school years are gone. Just gone, which, as a writer of creative non-fiction, is really frustrating.
I really don’t get the whole ‘see my breasts for plastic jewelry’ exchange that happens at this time of year. I mean, buy a girl a drink first, am I right, ladies?