Upside Down(5)

He looked at me with wide eyes and a slightly horrified expression. “Oh God, motherfucking fuck, he’s speaking to me.” He put his hand to his forehead and glanced at the door.

The woman grabbed his arm but smiled at me. “Hi, I’m Merry. Yes, like the Hobbit. I actually spoke to you on the phone earlier this month.” She spoke and smiled like the guy freaking out beside her was an everyday occurrence. “I told you of a friend of mine who could use some encouragement. Well, this is him, this is Jordan.”

I remembered the phone call, and I made eye contact with him then and he nodded quickly and shoved out his hand. “Hi. I’m Jordan O’Neill,” he blurted. “I’m her weird friend, she should have introduced me as that, if she didn’t already tell you that on the phone. Slash awkward, introverted nerd… Geek also probably fits, though mostly for Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. I mean, the other Star Treks are fine and I don’t disparage anyone for liking them—Janeway and Picard are credible—but I just prefer Sisko as my captain, even though his rank was only commander in the beginning because it wasn’t technically a ship, but he was totally a captain. If we had to choose captains. Unlike literary captains, such as Dafoe’s Singleton. Good fucking Lord those barbaric times, I wouldn’t last a day.”

“Breathe, Jordan,” Merry said with a kind tone.

He took a breath, then made a face. “Sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous.”

“It’s fine, Jordan,” I said, trying not to smile. Because wow. “My name is Hennessy. Yes, like the cognac,” I said, mirroring Merry’s introduction.

“And I’m Jordan. Like Michael Jordan or the country Jordan. Or the cute guy from New Kids on the Block. Depends what you’re into, I guess.”

“I like all three of those Jordans,” I said with a smile. “And you’re allowed to be nervous. It’s fine and completely expected if this is your first time.”

“Well, I am nervous. Obviously. And I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be here. Well, not not supposed to be here. I’m not sure I want to be here,” he said, making a pained face again. “If I’m ready to be here.”

Merry put her hand on his arm and looked up to his face. “Jordan, just one meeting,” she said calmly. “If it’s not for you, then we never have to come back.”

He nodded again and his eyes set with determination. “Okay, okay. One meeting.”

“Jordan,” I said. “You’re more than welcome to just sit and observe. You don’t have to talk or say anything. Just listen, and when and if”—I gave him a pointed look—“if you’re ready, you can join in. Only if you want to. No pressure, okay?”

He swallowed hard and let out a breath, then he nodded again. He really did look familiar, and I was going to ask him where I knew him from when the sound of a scraping chair behind me caught my attention. People were taking their seats, which was my cue to start the meeting.

I smiled at Jordan and Merry. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here.” I went back to the table with my clipboard and pulled up a seat while everyone settled into theirs. They all looked at me expectantly, so I began. “Thanks for coming along tonight. We’ve got some new faces,” I said, not really wanting to draw attention to Jordan but not wanting to ignore him either. “So I’d just like to start by saying that this is an open group where we’re all free and safe to express what we’re feeling and share our experiences without judgement or criticism. This group is aimed at asexual and aromantic people or anyone who might be questioning or curious.” I deliberately didn’t look at Jordan. “But we’re inclusive to everyone on the queer spectrum and their support people, regardless of their sexuality.”

Everyone smiled at me, well, except Jordan. He blinked a few times and took some deep breaths. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “My name is Hennessy, and I’ve been attending support meetings for asexuals for a few years. I’m not an expert, by any means, but these meetings are a safe space where we can talk and laugh and gripe and discuss things that are relevant. There are no right and wrong questions or answers here. Outside of these group meetings, I’m actually kind of quiet. My closest friends might disagree,” I said with a bit of a laugh. “But for the most part, it’s true. I understand it can be daunting to talk about things here in this group, but whatever is said in here, stays in here. Okay?”

Everyone nodded again.

“So, tonight I wanted to talk about sexual identification and social media.” That earned me a few smiles and a few sighs. “On one hand, it can be a great source of information and research, and even a platform for acceptance and finding community. If you’ve googled support groups—such as this one or one like it—you can see you’re not alone and there are other people who are going through the same things as you, and that’s tremendously important. But then on the other side, you have what might be conceived as an oversexualised society. We see repeatedly, we’re told repeatedly, it’s shown, it’s implied, it’s blatant that sex equals love. That we’re not complete without it. That sexual intimacy is the pinnacle of all relationship goals.”

I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. “We’re living in an age of dating apps and swiping left or right. Of Twitter and Tinder and Grindr and Instagram, where everything is sexualised to sell. Where beauty is an illusion, Photoshopped, and Botoxed in the name of perfection for one goal: sex. And let’s not even start on movies, books, hell, even music film clips are R-rated now. And to 99% of the population, it works. It sells, right? And it’s ingrained into each generation that sex equals love. Sex equals marriage fulfilment; I’m pretty sure even most churches say that marriage needs to be consummated and is for the sole purpose of procreation.” I shook my head. “I mean, really. Fuck that noise.”