Asexual Love Quotes

She's happy with who she is. Maybe it's not the heteronormative dream that she grew up wishing for, but... knowing who you are and loving yourself is so much better than that, I think.

If knowing you’re asexual makes someone see you differently, then they don’t deserve to be in your life.

Why did she have to spend the rest of her life coming out over and over and over...? And once she did, would people always expect her to talk about it? It would always be a huge deal, she would always be subjected to questions, and she would always have to defend herself. Would it ever stop feeling like A Thing, a barrier, between her and everyone else?

Why can't I find someone who loves being with me, as is, as much as I love being with them?

It wasn’t that she hated the idea of sex, just . . . she didn’t want it. Didn’t need it. But no one else ever seemed to feel that way

Maybe we weren't broken after all.

The three monotheism share a series of identical forms of aversion: hatred of reason and intelligence; hatred of freedom; hatred of all books in the name of one book alone; hatred of sexuality, women,and pleasure; hatred of feminine; hatred of body, of desires, of drives. Instead Judaism, Christianity, and Islam extol faith and belief, obedience and submission, taste for death and longing for the beyond, the asexual angel and chastity, virginity and monogamous love, wife and mother, soul and spirit. In other words, life crucified and nothingness exalted.

That for years she’d wondered whether she was asexual and she had realized only recently that she might be able to experience sexual attraction, but only with people she trusted deeply?

Definitely thought I was a lesbian until we dated and then I thought I might just be asexual, or not asexual, actually, but even more deeply fucked up than I ever knew: a love story.

Loving another person should never mean forfeiting bodily autonomy.

I loved the idea in theory - having a sexy little adventure in a dark room in someone else's house with someone you've been on-and-off flirting with for a couple of months - but the reality? Having to actually touch genitals with someone? Ew.

i can love as Aristotle who coined the term “philía” loved his brothers it isn’t that hard of a concept to grasp but because i am not grasping someone else you think there is something wrong with me but i am fine

But you know! You get it. I'm not trying to trivialize anyone else and what they have to do, but if I go to my parents and say I'm a lesbian, they would know what I meant. If I went to my siblings and said I'm bisexual, they would know what I meant. If I tell anyone I'm asexual, they're going to look at me like there's something wrong. They're going to tell me to go to a doctor. They're going to tell me I'm too young to know what I want or I'm still developing. Or they'll tell me how important sex is to finding a good man. Or they'll think they can fix me, that I'm lying because I don't want to sleep with them. It's hard enough trying to explain that word, so how in the hell am I going to explain I'm biromantic asexual? They're really going to think I'm making this shit up.

if sex could exist without love, it surely stood to reason that love could exist without sex.

Those who tied love to sex, or even love to romance, didn’t own the emotion itself.

I make believe like asexuals make love—alone, with cardboard tubes.

I love being touched. I don’t like the expectations that come with it.

I was curious now, that's for sure. And I was also terrified. I mean, that wasn't me. Asexual. Aromantic. I still wanted to have sex with someone, eventually. Once I found someone I actually liked. Just because I'd never liked anyone didn't mean I never would . . . did it? And I wanted to fall in love. I really, really did. I definitely would someday. So that couldn't be me. I didn't want that to be me. Fuck. I didn't know. I shook my head a little, trying to dispel the hurricane of confusion that was threatening to form inside my brain.

Never, ever let anyone tell you that who you are is wrong. It's okay to be gay. Or straight. Or bisexual. It's also okay to be asexual, demisexual, pansexual, or aromantic. You do you, and if anyone gives you grief for that, remember one thing: You are exactly the way you're supposed to be.

If we believe that people shouldn’t have unwanted sex with strangers and that strangers are not entitled to sex, we should believe that people shouldn’t have unwanted sex with partners and that partners, no matter how loving or good, are not entitled to sex either.

Who needs kissing when you could share oxygen?

People talk a lot about all the homosexuals there are to see in Greenwich Village, but it was all the neuters that caught my eye that day. These were my people -- as used as I was to wanting love from nowhere, as certain as I was that almost anything desirable was likely to be booby-trapped.

First of all”—Feenie pointed at her—“you are not broken and I don’t ever want to hear that again. Second, being attracted to one person doesn’t necessarily change who you are. Maybe you’re graysexual instead of straight up ace. There’s just something about the way Takumi’s genetic code arranged his face and body that appeals to your brain chemistry. It’s insta-lust. Enjoy it for what it is.

Have you considered such lack of sentiment might be a curse?" His dulcet words were almost playful. "Mikkelsen, I'm the most sentimental person in this blasted town. And, truthfully, that's my curse.

What few relationships I'd had led me to figure out there wasn't anything wrong with my libido; it just had a more restrictive admissions policy than what seemed like the other ninety-eight percent of the population

if I go to my parents and say I’m a lesbian, they would know what I meant. If I went to my siblings and said I’m bisexual, they would know what I meant. If I tell anyone I’m asexual, they’re going to look at me like there’s something wrong.

Honestly, I don't even like my type of girl that much, let alone other types. Not that I'm asexual or something - I just find Romance Drama unbearable.

Maybe you’re partnered or even married, and you’re having a hard time getting a partner to understand that not desiring them a certain way doesn’t mean you don’t love them.

Not to sound like a jerk, but Jane isn't really my type. Her hair's kinda disastrously curly and she mostly hangs out with guys. My type's a little girlier. And honestly, I don't even like my type of girl that much, let alone other types. Not that I'm asexual or something - I just find Romance Drama unbearable.

The thing is,' Gwen said, muffled again against her dress, 'I think I could love a man. I just...haven't. I don't notice many people in that way. And if I could love a man, then surely I should try. It would make everything so much easier.' 'You could,' said Arthur. 'You could fall in love with a man, and know that you once liked Bridget, and neither of those things would change the other. They would both be true. But right now you do like Bridget. So I don't think you should settle for a life that denies that particular truth.

Sex isn't everything. I love you because you're beautiful and caring and an incredibly strong person to go through so much and to come out of it still so generous and loving. I'm not losing that, not for anything.

I'm not maternal but that doesn't mean I don't love. I love Aster. I love all the girls and women I look after. It is hard to be in somebody's presence for so long and not develop something like love. I don't have romantic feelings. I never fell in love with a person the way princesses fall in love with princes. I never wanted to be with nobody in bed. Aster, though, my love for her is—it's malignant. And if I try to chop it off, all the bits of love will spread everywhere else and infect me worse.

My husband and I see each other only on weekends, and generally get along well. We're like good friends, life partners able to spend some pleasant time together. We talk about all sorts of things, and we trust each other implicitly. Where and how he has a sex life I don't know,and I don't really care. We never make love, though -- never even touch each other. I feel bad about it, but I don't want to touch him. I just don't want to.

Romance is supposed to be great, and not being able to like anyone isn't normal, because any regular person would definitely-" "But you feel like you don't get it. Then why should you have to do it? Why would you force yourself to do something that doesn't feel natural?

When it comes to romance, we're told, "You'll know it when you see it" Which is fine, unless, of course, you don't.

I didn't like being the cause of a beautiful young man's melancholy. I knew I had love in me. My love, though, wasn't the conjugal kind.

I never understood the thing about not wanting to be “just friends.”  I’d love to be your friend!  There is no greater honor in the world.

What made sex so integral that people couldn't separate the emotional love they felt from the physical act? Love shouldn't hinge solely on exposing your physical body to another person.

poor people are presented in the Theology of Liberation as decent, that is, asexual or monogamous heterosexual spouses united in the holy sacrament of marriage, people of faith and struggle who do not masturbate, have lustful thoughts at prayer times, cross-dress, or enjoy leather practices. However, if we keep falsifying human relationships in the name not only of God (a habit to which we have grown accustomed) we must remember that we do it also in our love for justice.

Demisexual?” Her face, that beautiful face, remains unchanged. Doesn’t shift to incredulity or boredom. Just understanding. Beautiful understanding and acceptance. “I know. I won’t press you into anything you don’t want. I love you, Lili. All of you and all of how you think and live and breathe. Demisexual just means loving differently, and there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s your everything I love. Not bits and pieces.” “My everything?” She nuzzles her forehead beneath my chin. “Yes, your everything. Silly siren.

Mark is the one thing in this world that I love enough to write a million words about... he is the one I am obsessive about recording. I want you to love him as much as I do. I want you to see him how I see him. Yes, he has flaws and, yes, I put my blinders on when looking at those flaws... but I feel compelled to immortalize our story—his story.

But in fanfiction anything was fair game. If we could turn protagonists into vampires, bounty hunters, or elves, we could sure as heck turn them homosexual, bisexual, asexual or any ot he wonderful, beautiful in-betweens. Characters slid all over the rainbow. And through fanfiction I learned about identities like transgendered, genderfluid, and demisexual.

I don't like kissing." "I suppose it is a matter of taste."[...]"I wondered, did anyone ever," shrug, "you know, hurt you so you don't like kissing? love?" "Nope."[...] "I thought maybe someone had been bad to you in the past, and that was why you don't like people touching or holding you." "Ah damn it to hell," she bangs the lamp down on the desk and the flame jumps wildly. "I said no. I haven't been raped or jilted or abused in any fashion. There is nothing in my background to explain the way I am." She steadies her voice, taking the impatience out of it. "I'm the odd one out, the peculiarity in my family, because they are all normal and demonstrative physically. But ever since I can remember, I've disliked close contact...charge contact, emotional contact, as well as any overtly sexual contact. I veer away from it, because it always feels like the other person is draining something out of me. I know that's irrational, but that's the way I feel." She touches the lamp and the flaring light stills. "I spent a considerable amount of time when I was, o, adolescent, wondering why I was different, whether there were other people like me. Why, when everyone else was facinated by their developing sexual nature, I couldn't give a damn. I've never been attracted to men. Or women. Or anything else. It's difficult to explain, and nobody has ever believed it when I have tried to explain, but while I have an apparently normal female body, I don't have any sexual urge or appetite. I think I am a neuter.

I really want us to grow old together, you know? Go through all the typical life stuff together, even if that means we can only e-mail each other once a week because you moved to the middle of nowhere in Nebraska with your ten kids, and I'm still California because it's amazing. Just like in that one movie - we'll never lose touch with each other, ever. Is that weird?! No, Feenie said. It's perfectly fucking normal.

Her whole face changes when she smiles-this eyebrow-lifting, perfect-teeth-showing, eye-crinkling smile I've either never seen or never noticed. She becomes pretty so suddenly that it's almost like a magic trick - but it's not like I want her or anything. Not to sound like a jerk, but Jane isn't really my type. Her hair is kind of disastrously curly and she mostly hangs out with guys. My type's of little girlier. And honestly, I don't even like my type of girl that much, let alone other types. Not that I'm asexual - I just find Romance Drama unbearable.

He had found refuge in imagining a lover who would catch him up in a bearlike hug and promise instead, "this is enough. This is more than enough, and I love you for you, and I want you happy." He had imagined, in every iteration, ricocheting joy and tears and a relief so strong he could no breathe.

James tried to imaging a future in which he did not make love to Aiden, but in which they nonetheless shared the same house and slumbered innocently in the same bed and woke up every morning with that same bone-deep contentment he had felt this morning. Then he imagined a future that had no Aiden in it at all. It was no choice. No contest.

Who isn't obsessed with the things they create, they love? Ideas are the asexual reproduction of the mind. You don't have to share them with anyone else" -Eliza

Like that club from earlier. Some people appreciate that vibe and some don't. If they force people to join when they don't want to, that's harassment. It's the same with romance.

Why do I need the other half of the heart to fulfill my heart when I can stand up for myself with the only half I have

Desire for love and desire for sex had always been one and the same, an unbreakable link.

He’d thought he had to give Aidan up so that Aidan could find someone he genuinely desired, but if Aidan wasn’t capable of desire, then that changed everything.

Was it true the lovely part of love only lasted a moment and the sorrow went on for a lifetime? [...] she always wished men and women would just be content talking about books and music and things.

Still, the thought of having someone to spend time with, to talk to, maybe to hold while she slept? It sounded romantic. Perfect. Why was it so difficult for others to contemplate a relationship built on mutual affection, on romantic gestures that didn’t extend into the bedroom? Abby wanted roses and inside jokes, something easy and natural. Sex was a complication she didn’t have any interest in.

Every no is good enough, and that goes for every person. If we believe that people shouldn’t have unwanted sex with strangers and that strangers are not entitled to sex, we should believe that people shouldn’t have unwanted sex with partners and that partners, no matter how loving or good, are not entitled to sex either. As long as people don’t know about asexuality—hell, forget about the label, so long as they don’t know that saying no forever and for any reason and in any context is okay—sex education, sex therapy, and popular depictions of sex are incomplete and people don’t have the relevant information to fully consent.

I wasn't trying to have sex with you the other night," he said, "And I am so, so sorry if I made you feel that way." He was so close and so far away, as if there was an imaginary pane of glass between them. She wanted him to hug her and make the tension go way. "No, I didn't think that at all. That's not why I told you." "This should go without saying, but I'm going to say it anyway, partly because I want to, but also because I think you need to hear it. If knowing you're asexual makes someone see you differently, then they don't deserve to be in your life. My feelings for you are exactly the same as they were an hour ago. This doesn't change anything between us.

And he stared at her. (Too much cute.) (A veritable cutie-induced overload.) There was a place for cute and every cute in it's place. Whoever be was hadn't just exceeded her scale. He had broken it. Cutie Code: Black - the Next Generation.

(Sweet God in heaven, have mercy on her soul.) Her Cutie Code TM blasted straight past the Red zone. If it were a pressure gauge, the glass would have cracked right down the middle. He was gorgeous - and that was not a word Alice threw around lightly.

I am not separate from you, my neighbour. If you are my enemy then I am my own enemy. If you are my friend then I am my own friend. Today, I have stripped off my masks and come to know myself. I am Christian. I am Jew. I am Muslim and Hindu. I am European and African. Asian and South American. I am man. I am woman. I am intersexed. I am homosexual. I am heterosexual and asexual. I am abled. I am disabled. I am all these things because you are, and you are all these things because we are. I exist in relation to each of you, this is what gives my being meaning. Why must I label myself like a bottle of wine? When I am the bottle, the wine, and the drunkenness. Why must I label myself at all? When I am the flesh, the light, and the shadow. When I am the voice, the song, and the echo. Tell me why I must label myself when I am the lover, the beloved, and love. I am not separate from you, my neighbour. And you are not separate from humanity. We are all mirrors, reflecting one another in perpetuity.

Aiden felt so safe he didn't even go to his room to weel, just covered hos eyes and let the fire's warmth and the warmth of tears mingle on his fingers. Molly had clarified Carol's statement for him, explained that "ace" in his case probably meant "homo-romantic asexual.

And thus, the Titans & titanesses made love without passion And so did the Gods & Goddesses. They only had Longing[Pothos], Love[Eros] & Reciprocal Love[Anteros] between them, but no Passion. And this fact accounted for the unimaginative number of offspring that some of them had. And the unimaginative tendency of Gods & Goddesses to take aunts & uncles, sons & daughters & even granddads & grandmas to wife or to husband. So much so that some Gods & Goddesses preferred to produce offspring asexually, even without Love. As Hera begot Hephaestus.

Oh for heaven's sake," Carol cut in, putting a plate on the table for Aiden. starting to collect everyone else's and dump them in the sink. "He's asexual, that's all. Let's just have it out there and deal with it." "He's what" Jame's mind immediately went to protozoa. He had top assume that they were not saying that Aiden reproduced by splitting into two identical copies. "What does that mean?" "She's saying that Aiden loves you, but he doesn't want to have sex with out, And not because he is broken, but because he's part of a set of people who just don't do sex.

What made sex so integral that people couldn’t separate the emotional love they felt from one physical act? Love shouldn’t hinge solely on exposing your physical body to another person. Love was intangible. Universal. It was whatever someone wanted it to be and should be respected as such.

Medical professionals (and, honestly, people in our lives who love and support us) shouldn't make asexuality a thing we believe once everything else is ruled out. That's a grueling and painful process to put a person through. Some people are ace. That's how their bodies and minds work. There's nothing wrong with it.

In the Christian view, sex was an unclean act. Ask Christians, "Did Jesus have sex?" and watch their nonverbal response. Or ask, "Did Peter enjoy sex with his wife?" or "Did Mary and Martha, 'whom Jesus loved,' ever enjoy a good orgasm?" Such questions do not compute in the Christian mind. The Christian founders are seen as asexual.

Marriage, in it's ideal form, is a promise of love and mutual responisibility, a declaration of importance in the eyes of everyone. That such a promise is celebrated and comes with legal benefits and special standing can make sense. That such a promise can only be made and legally recognized in romantic and sexual contexts does not.

And I was also terrified. I mean, that wasn't me. Asexual. Aromantic. I still wanted to have sex with someone, eventually. Once I found someone I actually liked. Just because I'd never liked anyone didn't mean I never would...did it? And I wanted to fall in love. I really, really did. I definitely would some day. So that couldn't be me. I didn't want that to be me. Fuck. I didn't know.

To God, everyone is different but no one is special. You're not special for being straight. Or gay. Or male. Or cis. Or trans. Or asexual. Or married. Or sexually prodigious. Or a virgin. We all have the same God who placed the same image and likeness within us and entrusted us imperfect human beings with such mind blowing things as sexuality and creativity and the ability as individuals to love and be loved as we are.

Innocence’ is a word often misunderstood. It does not mean ‘without guilt’ but rather a freedom and a total openness to life, a complete lack of fear that comes through a total faith in living and in your own instinctive self. Innocence does not mean ‘asexual’ as some people think. It is sexuality expressed without fear, without guilt, without connivance and dishonesty. It is sexuality expressed spontaneously and freely, as the expression of love and the ecstasy of life.

What would [James} do now? Would he think to Aiden was too much trouble for too little reward? Would the sex matter to him so much that he would discout everything else in favour of it? Aiden didn't want to think so, hoped that James would see that love was so much more than that. What was so great about sharing fluids that looked like snot anyway? What did love have to do with that? But he know by now that ninety-nine percent of the population would call that opinion world. The mathematics of the situation were not in his favour.

every emotion that supposedly differentiates romance can be found in other emotional settings. Sensitivity, attachment, and caring are part of any healthy relationship. People who are polyamorous have multiple romantic partners without the desire for exclusivity. Infatuation might be the factor that aligns most closely with widespread ideas of what romantic love feels like, yet it's common to idealize a new acquaintance or feel possessive when a best friend becomes close with someone else, and romantic love doesn't automatically turn platonic once early energy wears off.

The stereotype that men have sex for pleasure and women have sex for love is unfounded," says Meston. But while the top 10 show significant overlap, distinctions emerge lower in the list. "Women don't have sex because they're IN love," says Meston, "But because they're protecting love, stealing love, trying to create love, or doing it out of duty." One participant said, "My mother taught me to have sex with my man, or someone else will." Another said, "I'd rather spend five minutes having sex with him than listen to him whine and complain about how horny he is for the next two days.

I never told you the details of how Cea and I started dating...I was worried and embarrassed back then about my decided lack of interest, in, well, everybody. I went out on date, well that part doesn’t really matter Cecilia was auditing a company representing at the time and there was a court case involved so we spent a lot of time together and became friends. Everything else, dating and being attracted to her, that followed after.” “What are you saying here?“ Kai asks. “I’m saying,“ I take a step closer, “ that I don’t get attracted to people that easily. In fact, it almost never happens. So I don’t think we can draw any fundamental conclusions about my sexuality. And maybe we don’t have to. I’ve never felt the need to label myself before, so why can’t I say I am more attracted to you and anyone else?

Do you like fishing?" James didn't know what to make of the non sequiter. "Not really." "But if I wanted to go you'd go with me, you'd still come, wouldn't you? It's like that." James didn't see how sex could possibly be like that, but Aiden knew his own mind best. ... "I'm honoured you would do that for me. What can I do to make it up to you?" "Make me a coffee in the morning?" "That's all?" Aiden shook his head, as if exasperated that they were coming up against a translation problem. "A coffee in bed first thing in the morning would really improve my day," he explained slightly sharp. "Sex isn't more important than that. You;d have to get up before me and go downstairs in the cold and boil the kettle while you were still bleary and zombified. If you did that for m, of course I would know that you loved me. It would be just the same.

Alice's Cutie Code TM Version 2.1 - Colour Expansion Pack (aka Because this stuff won’t stop being confusing and my friends are mean edition) From Red to Green, with all the colours in between (wait, okay, that rhymes, but green to red makes more sense. Dang.) From Green to Red, with all the colours in between Friend Sampling Group: Fennie, Casey, Logan, Aisha and Jocelyn Green  Friends’ Reaction: Induces a minimum amount of warm and fuzzies. If you don’t say “aw”, you’re “dead inside”  My Reaction: Sort of agree with friends minus the “dead inside” but because that’s a really awful thing to say. Puppies are a good example. So is Walter Bishop. Green-Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: A noticeable step up from Green warm and fuzzies. Transitioning from cute to slightly attractive. Acceptable crush material. “Kissing.”  My Reaction: A good dance song. Inspirational nature photos. Stuff that makes me laugh. Pairing: Madison and Allen from splash Yellow  Friends’ Reaction: Something that makes you super happy but you don’t know why. “Really pretty, but not too pretty.” Acceptable dating material. People you’d want to “bang on sight.”  My Reaction: Love songs for sure! Cookies for some reason or a really good meal. Makes me feel like it’s possible to hold sunshine, I think. Character: Maxon from the selection series. Music: Carly Rae Jepsen Yellow-Orange  Friends’ Reaction: (When asked for non-sexual examples, no one had an answer. From an objective perspective, *pushes up glasses* this is the breaking point. Answers definitely skew toward romantic or sexual after this.)  My Reaction: Something that really gets me in my feels. Also art – oil paintings of landscapes in particular. (What is with me and scenery? Maybe I should take an art class) Character: Dean Winchester. Model: Liu Wren. Orange  Friends’ Reaction: “So pretty it makes you jealous. Or gay.”  “Definitely agree about the gay part. No homo, though. There’s just some really hot dudes out there.”(Feenie’s side-eye was so intense while the others were answering this part LOLOLOLOLOL.) A really good first date with someone you’d want to see again.  My Reaction: People I would consider very beautiful. A near-perfect season finale. I’ve also cried at this level, which was interesting. o Possible tie-in to romantic feels? Not sure yet. Orange-Red  Friends’ Reaction: “When lust and love collide.” “That Japanese saying ‘koi no yokan.’ It’s kind of like love at first sight but not really. You meet someone and you know you two have a future, like someday you’ll fall in love. Just not right now.” (<-- I like this answer best, yes.) “If I really, really like a girl and I’m interested in her as a person, guess. I’d be cool if she liked the same games as me so we could play together.”  My Reaction: Something that gives me chills or has that time-stopping factor. Lots of staring. An extremely well-decorated room. Singers who have really good voices and can hit and hold superb high notes, like Whitney Houston. Model: Jasmine Tooke. Paring: Abbie and Ichabod from Sleepy Hollow o Romantic thoughts? Someday my prince (or princess, because who am I kidding?) will come? Red (aka the most controversial code)  Friends’ Reaction: “Panty-dropping levels” (<-- wtf Casey???).  “Naked girls.” ”Ryan. And ripped dudes who like to cook topless.”  “K-pop and anime girls.” (<-- Dear. God. The whole table went silent after he said that. Jocelyn was SO UNCOMFORTABLE but tried to hide it OMG it was bad. Fennie literally tried to slap some sense into him.)  My Reaction: Uncontrollable staring. Urge to touch is strong, which I must fight because not everyone is cool with that. There may even be slack-jawed drooling involved. I think that’s what would happen. I’ve never seen or experienced anything that I would give Red to.

I always had trouble with the feet of Jón the First, or Pre-Jón, as I called him later. He would frequently put them in front of me in the evening and tell me to take off his socks and rub his toes, soles, heels and calves. It was quite impossible for me to love these Icelandic men's feet that were shaped like birch stumps, hard and chunky, and screaming white as the wood when the bark is stripped from it. Yes, and as cold and damp, too. The toes had horny nails that resembled dead buds in a frosty spring. Nor can I forget the smell, for malodorous feet were very common in the post-war years when men wore nylon socks and practically slept in their shoes. How was it possible to love these Icelandic men? Who belched at the meal table and farted constantly. After four Icelandic husbands and a whole load of casual lovers I had become a vrai connaisseur of flatulence, could describe its species and varieties in the way that a wine-taster knows his wines. The howling backfire, the load, the gas bomb and the Luftwaffe were names I used most. The coffee belch and the silencer were also well-known quantities, but the worst were the date farts, a speciality of Bæring of Westfjord. Icelandic men don’t know how to behave: they never have and never will, but they are generally good fun. At least, Icelandic women think so. They seem to come with this inner emergency box, filled with humour and irony, which they always carry around with them and can open for useful items if things get too rough, and it must be a hereditary gift of the generations. Anyone who loses their way in the mountains and gets snowed in or spends the whole weekend stuck in a lift can always open this special Icelandic emergency box and get out of the situation with a good story. After wandering the world and living on the Continent I had long tired of well-behaved, fart-free gentlemen who opened the door and paid the bills but never had a story to tell and were either completely asexual or demanded skin-burning action until the morning light. Swiss watch salesmen who only knew of “sechs” as their wake-up hour, or hairy French apes who always required their twelve rounds of screwing after the six-course meal. I suppose I liked German men the best. They were a suitable mixture of belching northerner and cultivated southerner, of orderly westerner and crazy easterner, but in the post-war years they were of course broken men. There was little you could do with them except try to put them right first. And who had the time for that? Londoners are positive and jolly, but their famous irony struck me as mechanical and wearisome in the long run. As if that irony machine had eaten away their real essence. The French machine, on the other hand, is fuelled by seriousness alone, and the Frogs can drive you beyond the limit when they get going with their philosophical noun-dropping. The Italian worships every woman like a queen until he gets her home, when she suddenly turns into a slut. The Yank is one hell of a guy who thinks big: he always wants to take you the moon. At the same time, however, he is as smug and petty as the meanest seamstress, and has a fit if someone eats his peanut butter sandwich aboard the space shuttle. I found Russians interesting. In fact they were the most Icelandic of all: drank every glass to the bottom and threw themselves into any jollity, knew countless stories and never talked seriously unless at the bottom of the bottle, when they began to wail for their mother who lived a thousand miles away but came on foot to bring them their clean laundry once a month. They were completely crazy and were better athletes in bed than my dear countrymen, but in the end I had enough of all their pommel-horse routines. Nordic men are all as tactless as Icelanders. They get drunk over dinner, laugh loudly and fart, eventually start “singing” even in public restaurants where people have paid to escape the tumult of

After wandering the world and living on the Continent I had long tired of well-behaved, fart-free gentlemen who opened the door and paid the bills but never had a story to tell and were either completely asexual or demanded skin-burning action until the morning light. Swiss watch salesmen who only knew of “sechs” as their wake-up hour, or hairy French apes who always required their twelve rounds of screwing after the six-course meal. I suppose I liked German men the best. They were a suitable mixture of belching northerner and cultivated southerner, of orderly westerner and crazy easterner, but in the post-war years they were of course broken men. There was little you could do with them except try to put them right first. And who had the time for that? Londoners are positive and jolly, but their famous irony struck me as mechanical and wearisome in the long run. As if that irony machine had eaten away their real essence. The French machine, on the other hand, is fuelled by seriousness alone, and the Frogs can drive you beyond the limit when they get going with their philosophical noun-dropping. The Italian worships every woman like a queen until he gets her home, when she suddenly turns into a slut. The Yank is one hell of a guy who thinks big: he always wants to take you the moon. At the same time, however, he is as smug and petty as the meanest seamstress, and has a fit if someone eats his peanut butter sandwich aboard the space shuttle. I found Russians interesting. In fact they were the most Icelandic of all: drank every glass to the bottom and threw themselves into any jollity, knew countless stories and never talked seriously unless at the bottom of the bottle, when they began to wail for their mother who lived a thousand miles away but came on foot to bring them their clean laundry once a month. They were completely crazy and were better athletes in bed than my dear countrymen, but in the end I had enough of all their pommel-horse routines. Nordic men are all as tactless as Icelanders. They get drunk over dinner, laugh loudly and fart, eventually start “singing” even in public restaurants where people have paid to escape the tumult of the world. But their wallets always waited cold sober in the cloakroom while the Icelandic purse lay open for all in the middle of the table. Our men were the greater Vikings in this regard. “Reputation is king, the rest is crap!” my Bæring from Bolungarvík used to say. Every evening had to be legendary, anything else was a defeat. But the morning after they turned into weak-willed doughboys. But all the same I did succeed in loving them, those Icelandic clodhoppers, at least down as far as their knees. Below there, things did not go as well. And when the feet of Jón Pre-Jón popped out of me in the maternity ward, it was enough. The resemblances were small and exact: Jón’s feet in bonsai form. I instantly acquired a physical intolerance for the father, and forbade him to come in and see the baby. All I heard was the note of surprise in the bass voice out in the corridor when the midwife told him she had ordered him a taxi. From that day on I made it a rule: I sacked my men by calling a car. ‘The taxi is here,’ became my favourite sentence.

The Virgin imaginary in Latin America is the permanent dichotomy of lust and love: this is why poor people are presented in the Theology of Liberation as decent, that is, asexual or monogamous heterosexual spouses united in the holy sacrament of marriage, people of faith and struggle who do not masturbate, have lustful thoughts at prayer times, cross-dress, or enjoy leather practices. However, if we keep falsifying human relationships in the name not only of God (a habit to which we have grown accustomed) we must remember that we do it also in our love for justice.

In the development of its love story, Singin’ in the Rain follows a particular plotline that came to have a great deal of currency in Hollywood films, especially in “buddy” films (and most especially those directed by Howard Hawks), involving a kind of “love triangle” in which the long-standing friendship of two men (often a hero and his sidekick) is threatened by the attraction of one of them to a woman introduced early on (the ingénue, although often not exactly an innocent).26 Generally, this plot situation may be taken to carry homosexual overtones, so that the story becomes a parable about embracing heterosexual love. This interpretation is, of course, quite easily avoided, since most sidekicks have next to no discernible sex drive, at least during the film’s story,27 but it is surely significant that, in more recent times, the asexual sidekick is often replaced by a homosexual friend. And even the latter development may be explained away, given the utility of the sidekick plot situation and recent shifts in what audiences might accept as either “natural” or interesting wrinkles on the device. Nevertheless, the homoerotic tension in some of these relationships is significant enough to lay the entire tradition open to this interpretive avenue.

In Singin’ in the Rain, Lina Lamont provides both an effective “beard” for Don and Cosmo and a foil, representing both the reason for Don’s “unattached” state and the basis for their mutual contempt for women. Yet the signs are all there to be read for those interested in reading them: Cosmo and Don performing as a burlesque team, in which they sit on each other’s laps and play each other’s violins; Cosmo’s comment to Lina after the premiere of The Royal Rascal, “Yeah, Lina, you looked pretty good for a girl”;30 and their bullying, in “Moses Supposes,” of the fogyish diction coach, figuratively drawn out of his closet only to be ridiculed as an asexual “pansy” who can’t sing and dance (thus both confirming and denying homosexuality at the same time).31 On a broader scale, Kelly’s career as a dancer, offering a more masculinized style of athletic dance (in opposition especially to the stylized grace of Fred Astaire), represented a similar balancing act between, in this case, the feminized occupation of balletic dance and a strong claim of heterosexual masculinity. Significantly, the process of exclusion they use with the diction coach is precisely what Cosmo proposes they apply to Lina in converting The Dueling Cavalier into a musical: “It’s easy to work the numbers. All you have to do is dance around Lina and teach her how to take a bow.” But they also apply the strategy to Kathy, who is only just learning to “dance” in this sense (conveniently so, since Debbie Reynolds had had but little dance training, as noted).32 Early on, we see her dance competently in “All I Do Is Dream of You,” but she then seems extremely tentative in “You Were Meant for Me,” immobile for much of the number, not joining in the singing, and dancing only as Don draws her in (which is, of course, consistent with her character’s development at this point). With “Good Mornin’,” though, she seems to “arrive” as part of the Don-Cosmo team, even though for part of the number she serves as a kind of mannequin—much like the voice teacher in “Moses Supposes,” except that she sings the song proper while Don and Cosmo “improvise” tongue-twisting elaborations between the lines. As the number evolves, their emerging positions within the group become clear. Thus, during their solo clownish dance bits, using their raincoats as props, Kathy and Don present themselves as fetishized love objects, Kathy as an “Island girl” and Don as a matador, while Cosmo dances with a “dummy,” recalling his earlier solo turn in “Make ’em Laugh.

If celibacy is the only way this world can think us real, then so be it. Let us cut ourselves from all the things people call living, cut those earthly ties, and become what they’ve always wanted us to be: unnatural, strange. Not part of what it means to be human.

Orion. You’re our middle star. You got your own gravitation. A little thing like disaster or death is never gonna knock us out of orbit.

I forgot what led to it, but here it is: 'Romance, love, and sex are actually all separate things, but our conflation of them leads to various troubles.' It surprised me to hear that. I'd never thought about them separately before. Because it never occured me to do so.

It is all people seem to care about—single or taken, both words somehow a violence. But there is a space outside those words where Brindle and Fig reside, and it is part of what makes them so well suited for each other. They are not single, floating through life independently and alone. They are not taken, like a victim of some theft. Perhaps what they are is given, honestly and hopefully, to one another in equal partnership.

It was so dismissive, as if love was some step up from friendship and the steps vanished as soon as you surpassed them.

You haven't lost anything. You're just as whole as before...Purity is just a state of mind.

Never say there's anything wrong with you. You saved your younger sister, all by yourself. That was you. That was love.

There’s nothing lesser about friendship, nor is there anything wrong with who I am, I know this to the roots of my soul. It’s the only thing that keeps my head up when others in this village behave as though I do not belong, simply because I sing in a language they’ve forgotten and love in a way they refuse to understand.

Pride Soc isn't just about doing queer staff,' Sunil continued, and that got him some laughs, 'It's not been about finding potential hook-ups. No, it's about the relationships we form here. Friendship, love and support while we're all trying to survive and thrive in a world that often doesn't feel like it was made for us. Whether you're gay, lesbian, bi, pan, trans, intersex, non-binary, asexual, romantic, queer, or however you identify - most of us here felt a sense of belonging while we were growing up, But we're all here for each other

you have forced us into asexual, sunlit spaces. I finally have you in the dark and you’re not hiding from me anymore and I’m gonna make this last as long as I can. I love this. I love you.

If sexual desire were necessary for romantic love, kids who haven't gone through puberty wouldn't have crushes. Many do.

Do I actually want a romantic and sexual relationship, or do I just have a really intense platonic love for someone and I wanted to have some sort of validation that I was significant in your life the way you are in mine?

Loving another person should never mean forfeiting bodily autonomy

Jess herself seemed resolutely asexual, though I later of torrid affairs, and complex intrigues. This quality of holding back was very important for me to see. She'd held herself apart a little. She didn't pretend she wasn't beautiful, there was nothing coy in her, but she wasn't very interested in using her beauty's power. That fascinated me. I had never thought of that as an option. Just letting your beauty lie around, unused. She was a model of a different way of being.

Romantic love within marriage confers privileges that other forms of devotion cannot, including over 1,100 laws that benefit married couples at the federal level.

Communication is key, and non-asexual people should attempt to understand that asexual people are frequently led to believe they are undesirable and unworthy of love. They may need some extra reassurance if their asexuality or level of sexual willingness is not a dealbreaker; they may secretly fear their non-asexual partners will eventually leave them over this. Considering it’s common in relationships to have different sexual appetites, quirks, desires, kinks, and preferences, all relationships contain this element of compromise to some degree.

You sound like you're in love," Abdumasi says. "I read that you can fall in love with someone before you've ever met them. And when you see them at last, you say, '*Oh, that's why I hurt,*' like you just found an old splinter buried in your foot." You hate splinters, so you shudder.

Mammy is the obedient, loyal domestic who loves most to serve her White family.23 Unfailingly maternal, she has no personal desires and is not herself desirable; her broad, corpulent body is meant solely for work and the comfort of others.24 Mammy is asexual, and to underscore this, she is generally depicted as dark skinned and with African features, a headscarf covering what we imagine to be nappy hair—the negative of the pale, fine-featured, light-eyed, and straight-haired Whiteness seen as the pinnacle of beauty.

When I got back to my room, the people upstairs were having sex again. Rhythmic thumping against the wall. I hated it, but then I felt bad, because maybe it was two people in love. In the end, that was the problem with romance. It was so easy to romanticise romance because it was everywhere. It was in music and on TV and in filtered Instagram photos. It was in the air, crisp and alive with fresh possibility. It was in falling leaves, crumbling wooden doorways, scuffed cobblestones and fields of dandelions. It was in the touch of hands, scrawled letters, crumpled sheets and the golden hour. A soft yawn, early morning laughter, shoes lined up together by the door. Eyes across a dance floor. I could see it all, all the time, all around, but when I got closer, I found that nothing was there. A mirage.

Did you know the following? • Seventy-six countries have laws criminalizing homosexuality. In at least five countries, the death penalty can be applied to those found to be gay.22 • Immigrants can be deported from New Zealand for having a BMI (body mass index) over 35.23 • In Saudi Arabia, a fatwa (Islamic ruling) states that women should not drive because doing so could lead to the removal of the hijab, interactions with men, and “taboo” acts.24 • The “Asexualization Act” of 1909 made it legal in California to forcibly sterilize anyone the state deemed “mentally ill,” “mentally deficient,” or possessing a “feeblemindedness.