By Joshie Jaxon

Greetings, geek fans! It’s been forever and a day since I’ve posted anything new. Part of that is my FB page is being stupid with letting me post, but that’s it’s own issue. Anyhow, like most people, I’ve been in survival mode during the pandemic, and nearly all of my creative energy has been used to keep my depression at bay. That hasn’t exactly been a success, but I’m still here, which is what counts. I’ve wanted to get some new content out there, but as an essential work who hasn’t missed a beat, even with the labor shortage, there’s been no time or energy to do so. That being said, gonna try and make some time to reclaim the pieces of me that I’m not giving up on. Let the geeks begin. Side note, I may retire that phrase, or at least not use it on personal entries. We’ll see.

As you can tell from the title, I’ve had sexual compatibility on my mind lately, and since I’m still a believer that representation and visibility matters, I’m going to share personal details from my life, in the hopes that it may help you with your own. Or at least provide the feeling that you aren’t alone, if you’re going through something similar.

Like most gay men, I am a fairly sexual person. I say most, not all, as there are some who have no desire or real sex drive at all, besides masturbating. There are those of us who spent our early out years racking up as many conquests as possible, either for the thrill, or the low self esteem that made us whores, or we just enjoy sexual activity and want all that we can get. Others, aren’t driven or motivated by sex at all. That’s not something that I personally understand, but that doesn’t make it any less valid. So, what happens when those two types of people get together? I’ll give you a real world example.

I met my husband online, through mutual friends on FB. Once we started chatting, it was the deep, personal, conversations that kept us talking until dawn; everything from him being pan, to me being poly, movies, fandoms, etc. It didn’t even take a sexual tone for a full week, that’s how into getting to know each other we were. I was living in Utah, and he in Washington, so there was no way for us to have a physical release together, aside from sexting and pics, which we did. Within six weeks, I’d decided that I had to visit and meet the person who I’d decided was the one. I flew to Seattle, and we spent a weekend together. We made love several times, cuddled, and it was agony to have to go back home. Less than two months after that visit, I’d moved to Washington so that we could be together. There was the initial sexual catch up, before getting into the routine of our lives, and it was bliss.

As time went on, I noticed that my then-Bf was rarely initiating sexual activity, to the point I stopped initiating it myself, to see how long it would take him to notice. He didn’t seem to. I stopped jerking off, to build some tension. I’d spoon my boner into his back at night. Still nothing. Rather than saying anything, I let that go on for six months. For half a year, the only person touching my penis was me. I’d even tried to blow him one morning, and though he was hard, he had me stop as he needed to get breakfast. To say it was upsetting was an understatement. I was a person who had thirty encounters one year, and now I couldn’t even get my own Bf to touch me. The real blow was that he claimed ownership of my penis as his, but wasn’t doing anything with it. With my self esteem dropping lower and lower, something had to be done.

I finally set aside some time for us to talk, knowing that it wasn’t a subject he was going to like, but I had to communicate my feelings before I did something stupid. Yes, I was worried that he’d deny me, but I wasn’t getting laid as it was, it wasn’t as though he could take more sex away from me. I explained that sexy time was something I needed, and that jerking off alone wasn’t enough. It released the tension, but wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the interaction and connection with him, even if it was just handies. He was sorry that I’d felt that way, and made effort to do more, encouraging me to speak up if I needed that kind of attention. It felt odd having to ask for something I felt was a given part of a relationship, let alone being a guy, but things improved, for a time.

Sexual release wasn’t a weekly, or even a bi-weekly occurrence, but it wasn’t taking six months to get there either. I had another conversation, asking if he was taking care of himself. He told me that he was, and that it was mostly when bored cause I wasn’t home. For him, sex had always been something to make you feel good when you were sad, and with me he wasn’t ever sad or upset, so it never came up. The words made sense, but I still didn’t get not wanting someone else to share an orgasm with.

We finally got married, three and a half years into the relationship. It took nearly a year for actual penetrative consummation of the marriage, but there had still been grinding, frot, and handies, I wasn’t being denied release. I finally mustered the courage to bring up the possibility of a sexual surrogate, or a third, for us. Being a poly individual, I saw no issue with such a request. The husband was upset, as he had a very mono mindset, and the idea of me wanting to sleep with someone else translated to I didn’t care about him. But wanting me to be happy, he was open to the idea, in theory. The practice was another issue. He didn’t want me finding someone else for sex, but didn’t want me that way himself. I was sinking back into depression, and researched online to find answers.

After looking into things, reading pages, and watching videos, it was becoming clear to me that my husband was asexual. In a non-accusatory fashion, I brought up my research, and asked what he thought. He looked into it himself, and agreed that he hit a lot of the boxes, but seeing the spectrum of Ace out there, he saw himself as more of an Aegosexual (I’ll include some of the details below). After looking at that specifically, it all started to click. It wasn’t that he didn’t find me desirable, it just wasn’t something he really thought about at all. I asked what that meant for us going forward. He wasn’t sure.

It’s been a work in progress, but we’re figuring it out. Trying to just initiate morning activity wasn’t the best. We did discover that if I was in the mood, and starting taking care of myself, that was a turn on for him, and he’d get involved. It seemed as long as there wasn’t pressure on him to perform or engage, he could if he was interested. I still feel a little guilt at him doing things to make me happy, even though he’s not super into it, but that’s my own issue to work on. The point is that we’re coming up on five years together, and we’re able to have these conversations without it damaging the relationship. It’s only been making us stronger. If I want to cuddle, and have hands running over him, and want his on me, I specify that I’m not looking to get off, and to ignore the ensuing erection unless he’d like to do something with it. There is still talk about us finding a third, and he’d like it to be someone we’d both get along with. We don’t know how he’d react to another person actually getting physical with me, but I’ve promised we’ll keep the lines of communication open. Neither of us needs fo apologize for feeling what we feel. All we can do is try to make sure the other is happy, and our needs are met. Love can do many things, as long as you’re open to it.