Upside Down(6)

That earned me a few chuckles and even Jordan smiled.

“But we know different. Sex doesn’t equal love. Sexual physicality is not the finish line; being sexually intimate with someone is not the only expression of our emotions. Except society thinks it is. Society and, by association, social media tells us sexual intimacy equals love. And the crux of this representation is that sexuality is normalised, mainstream. Which means asexuality is the opposite of that. Stigmatised, and anyone who doesn’t want sex, doesn’t like it, isn’t attracted to it, or is even repulsed by it, is labelled as not normal.”

I looked at each of their faces. “When I was sixteen, I told my then-boyfriend, who also happened to be my best friend, I wasn’t comfortable fooling around. And I certainly didn’t want to have sex. He thought I might have just needed more time or maybe I was scared of being gay. Maybe there were a dozen possibilities but he couldn’t fathom that I just…” I sighed. “I just wasn’t interested in that aspect of a relationship. And you know what he said?” I smiled sadly. “He laughed at me and asked what was wrong with me. He said he thought about sex all the time. He said all normal teenagers thought about sex all the time and that gay guys thought about it even more. He dismissed me, laughed, and made jokes at my expense. And I can tell you, it didn’t get much better as I got older and told other people. But there it was, the one word that would haunt me for years.”

A few people nodded. I didn’t even have to say it.

Normal.

“There’s a difference between normal behaviour and normalised behaviour,” Nataya said. “Normal is subjective. And by whose definition should we fit anyway? Do we take normality from people like my grandma who is horrified by just about everything we see on the internet, or do we take normality from guys who think it’s normal and completely okay to send dick pics to people they’ve never met?”

“Oh my God, that shit has been so normalised it’s expected,” Leah said. “And it shouldn’t be. It’s just all about sex, sex, sex.”

“Exactly,” Glenn said. “I tried Tinder and well, I matched with quite a few women, but as soon as I told them I’m not looking for a sexual relationship, it was over. Then I tried the ‘asexual equivalent,’” he said, using air quotes. “And there are still people who think you’ll change. Or they expect you to change. Or God, Glenn,” he said, mimicking a high-pitched voice, “it’s just sex. If you were a real man…”

Anwar groaned and rolled his eyes. “It never fails.”

“Yes!” Bonny said, throwing her hands up. “Oh my God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been told I’m frigid or cold or unreceptive. That something is fundamentally wrong with me. I’ve had guys from dating apps try to ‘convert’ me, if you know what I mean. Telling me if I just relaxed, I’d enjoy it.” Leah and Sabina both nodded.

“That’s not okay,” Anwar said, frowning.

“That’s never okay,” Merry agreed.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Bonny,” I said, making direct eye contact. “Nothing needs fixing and most certainly can’t be converted. I hope you were able to leave that situation.”

“Oh yeah,” she reassured. “I was fine, thanks. I mean, we’ve all had people, men and women, tell us we just haven’t found the right person yet, right? Or we’re just not ready or we haven’t hit our peak yet, but look out when that happens, because sex is awesome!” she said, rolling her eyes.

Most everyone nodded and sighed, because yes. We’d all had those things said to us at some time. “And that, in itself,” I continued, “is a form of normalisation of sexualised behaviour. We become normalised to expect to have these views thrown at us. We’re becoming normalised to their behaviour.”

And so began group discussions on the semantics of the definition of normal, and then online dating sites and forums and the importance of sites they felt safe and comfortable in, where they could talk about their asexual or aromantic orientation. People were busy swapping weblinks and talking about which chat groups they were in when I chanced a look at Jordan.

He had sunk back in his chair, his face half cast in shadow. His expression was sullen, even a little lost. I couldn’t tell if he was listening intently or if he was a million miles away, though my guess was on the latter. Merry was fully immersed in the group discussion, laughing with Nataya so Jordan was kind of by himself, and I thought it might be a good time to ask him what he thought of the group meeting, if he thought it was relevant to his needs.

“Jordan,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear but without disrupting the group chat.

He turned to face me, like he’d been snapped from a trance, and that’s when I saw a tear escape to run down his cheek. He scrubbed it away and shook his head, but I was on my feet already. I pulled up a chair on the other side of him and took his hand, encouraging him to face me, away from the group.

“Jordan,” I said gently. “Are you okay? Is there something you need to talk about?”

He shook his head but his eyes welled with fresh tears and he started to cry.





Chapter Three





Jordan





I didn’t even notice that the room had cleared out. Merry had pulled up a chair at my side, but Hennessy sat with his knees between mine, holding my hand while I cried.