Of Sex and Loneliness

I’ve never been very much of a social animal; I didn’t really “hang out” with my friends in High School or University and my attendance at parties over the years has been sporadic at best. I tend to find the whole affairs, unless done primarily with my very close friends, to be extremely uncomfortable more than anything else, and most people who know me have been more than happy to oblige.

It is for this reason that when I decided, a year ago, to not really become overly involved with the Pride Collective at my university on the grounds that I, as an asexual, didn’t feel that I fit-in with a group which was (in large part) defined by its deviation from the canons of sexual ‘normalcy’, I didn’t expect that I would have much difficulty.

But I’m afraid that I’ve made an error in strategy during the intervening months; you see, during my occasional interactions with members of this collective, I have made the (possible) mistake of actually coming to like quite a few them quite a bit as people. As such, even though I know that I don’t fit in with their culture any better now than I ever have before (their last big event, for example, was the screening of a pornographic film), I feel somehow left out. I know, intellectually, of course, that their intention is to not make me feel uncomfortable, and I also know, intellectually, that I would probably be very bored if I actually attended these gatherings. Nevertheless, I am finding it very difficult, from a purely emotional stand point, to get over the idea that a bunch of my friends are attending a gathering which expressly excludes me.

Of course this is their right and I don’t mean to dispute that they are perfectly free to spend their free time and associate in whatever way they see fit. But, on those nights when I am home alone while my friends are out having fun, such intellectual arguments are sometimes cold comfort.

Good lord, when did I start caring about such rubbish?