A Tale of Self-Discovery...
…or, how an awkward date led me discovering something very important about myself.
BUCKLE UP, BITCHES.
Okay. Backstory time. From the ages of 12-16, I attended a teeny private school. And by teeny, I mean ‘freshman class had six people in it’. Between you, me, and What About Bob?, it sucked. But this isn’t about that.
One of my handful of friends left to go to a bigger school when we were fifteen, and at some point she convinced me to go on a blind date with some classmate of hers. Whatever, I say, because again, my school is tiny and getting any sort of date is just not going to happen. And because I did want to have SOME kind of Traditional Teenage Experience, I figure, what the heck? I’ll go. Why not.
So Friend’s Friend (FF) and I text a bit for the few weeks before this happens (read: I get the nerve to tell my parents that I WANT A LIFE so can I see a movie with a stranger). So he was only, like, a bit of a stranger. Eh.
We go to the movies, he’s all, ‘wanna make out?’ and I go (inwardly, because I’m not THAT much of a disaster), ‘THIS IS MY ONE CHANCE, IMMA DO IT’.
It. I. I was not impressed. It was actually sort of awful. So I did learn a lesson on how to be all, ‘it was great, we gotta do this again!’ with no intention of doing this again. But anyways. I go home feeling a little confused because making out is a thing, right, people are obsessive about it? Do I suck? Did FF suck? What’s going on? Disney lied to me! Disney, how could you? I was promised joy, not, ‘your tongue is gross and why are you breathing like at all’.
I Google ‘hate kissing’. Because what is Google for if not soothing confused teenage girls.
…
And that’s how I discovered that asexuality is a thing and it is me. So. FF, wherever you are, I’m sorry. But, uh, that movie theater makeout made me realize that I am really, really not into kissing anyone ever again. :/
Reblogging this because honestly, even after realizing...uh...a lot, I still had fucking hangups. It took me YEARS to be comfortable dressing in anything that might be described on a listicle as 'cute' or 'flirty', and yeah, some of that was probably the Girl Pushback a lot of us go through (hands up if you had a 'fuck pink shit' phase), but a lot of it was definitely 'I don't want to be perceived this way'. It wasn't a trauma thing. I'm still extremely uncomfortable with the idea that people might have X-rated thoughts about me specifically, but I'm not the thought police. I just finally got over it enough to go, 'what little boobs I possess look like they were drawn by a classical artist in this dress, let's gooooooo'.
Just for the love of Christ do not hit on me. I'll probably miss it...but if I don't, we'll both cry at the end.
















