At last the demisexuals

are speaking out, spilling their tortured testimony. One can imagine the weight of the burden they carry, the onerous hardships they face every moment of their abject lives. They, in case you don’t know — and you’ve probably never heard of them (this is a measure of their oppression) — are those of us who cannot feel sexual desire unless it is accompanied by an emotional connection. Imagine for one second, the agony of life as a demisexual. Your friends and acquaintances — and most of all, tragically, your romantic partners — all out for that quick sexual fix, that blowjob in an alley, that cold lay in the backseat of a car, or (worst of all!) that furtive hand job in a backroom. Pornography is everywhere, everywhere too is the ubiquitous teen rock star wagging her perfectly dimpled ass in your face, demanding instant arousal. You — the beleaguered demisexual — find all this not only damnably disgusting, but deeply troubling. Let the powers that be try and tempt you with their demeaning, unemotional sexuality.  Your private parts remain unmoved. And you are persecuted not only by your own loneliness but by those who say “Hah” — why don’t you just get off — like any normal person?” Of course masturbation is not in your sexual bag of tricks, unless you can forge an emotional connection with yourself — which, at the very least, sounds suspiciously narcissistic. To understand the utter abjection of the demisexual lifestyle, imagine the demisexual ‘coming out’ moment. What would it be like to tell your parents? Obviously — like all parents these days, yours will be expecting — in some cases enforcing — promiscuity and sexual wantonness, urging you to engage in random sexual encounters that result in abortions and/or unwanted teen pregancies. You will have to go to them, your eyes lowered, your cheeks flushed, and venture ‘I…I don’t know how to tell you this but my sexual preference is…well I know you’re going to think I’m horrible but —alright I’ll just say it out loud! Okay! Well…before I have sex with someone it is necessary for me to well — yes, I admit it — to be in love with them.’ Imagine the outrage! The sorrow! Fathers will be throwing furniture and mother’s crying into pillows. 'Where did we go wrong? How could we have raised a daughter who is not a diseased slut, or a son whose penis is not numb from jerking off to online porn?’ Okay. I’m somewhat pulling your leg here, because I find the notion that demisexuals might demand they be part of the LGBT community almost as ridiculous as asexuals demanding the same thing. Sorry guys. There is an L G (and a B!) at the head of that acronym — which in case you have forgotten, stands for lesbian, gay and bisexual. We fought — and yes many of us died — because of our sexual preferences. We could fall in love with anyone we wanted — of any gender— as long as we didn’t have sex with them. For years, women lived with other women, these were called a “Boston Marriages' -- but as long as the carpets were laid only on floors, and girls were never tempted to munch on them, all was fine. Men could hunt together, clap each other on the back, snap towels at each other in the locker room, and hug when they got a touchdown, as long as nobody caught someone blowing someone else in the showers. Our culture is not anti-love, it is anti-sex. Sure, people may not have the slightest idea anymore how to love each other because the digital world has made most of us unpracticed at one-on-one contact. But the pornography that you jerk off to on your computer every day, along with the scantily clad movie stars that you so love to fantasize about — not to mention the sexual desires you feel guilty for and don’t dare tell your partner about for fear of offence, until you end up perishing in the uniquely soul-destroying loneliness and frustration that can only be provided by the most unnatural sexual practice ever invented by mankind: monogamy — all this is not the result of a pro-sex culture. We are still Victorians. We will be until long after I’m dead. We haven’t the slightest idea what it would be like to live in a culture where sex is a physical function, and only occasionally and happily, but not necessarily usually — an expression of love. The pornography and sadomasochism we so enjoy — like every form of sexual expression — would be different in a society where sex was as normal as passing gas. If that sounds horrible to you then you are afraid of your body. This is understandable because bodies do get sick and die; mine is doing a very good job of preparing me for that at age 69. It’s what we don’t necessarily look forward to, but must expect. It is the human riddle. Life is only pleasurable because we die, and all that thrives must disappear; the teaming buds of May all too soon are blasted, and every perfect face is, at some point (if you are lucky), desiccated by age. Coming to terms with this is what makes us human; it may seem like the essence of heroism, but it shouldn’t to be, it should be something that we learn and understand from the time we are born (as Beckett says) astride the grave. I highly recommend paganism and Shakespeare. Stay away from sex-hating Christianity, and especially from those Godforsaken demisexuals. Yes, (sigh!) they have a right to be who they are. But they are not going to be invited to my parties, where I will be kissing young men like the one I was kissing last night —he was hungry for love — and yet I will never kiss him again. Indeed, he was a young man from an as yet unarticulated, uncelebrated, and spanking new sexual category — he is the very opposite of a demisexual — i.e., he is one who only falls in love after he has had sex. Who is fighting for him? I am. I know you demisexuals want to have your own fabulous parties.  Well please have all the fun you can! But I would ask you to stop crashing mine.