do you think we as a society can finally acknowledge that “this thing didn’t have a name until recently” doesn’t necessarily mean “this thing did not exist until recently” or (worse) “this thing doesn’t exist at all”

Let’s also agree that “this thing did not have an English name until recently,” does not necessarily mean it was nameless.

I was talking to my coworker (who is over three decades older than me) who is both my friend and kind of like my mentor to adulthood, and we got to the topic of significant others. I already came out to him as not-straight, which he was really cool about, thankfully, but I don’t know how much he understands about my sexuality.

He’s not like my relatives who are “you just haven’t met the right man yet” (or woman, for the more liberally minded relatives), but he does often say “maybe you’ll meet a woman you’re into, so until then you have to work on your social skills.”

He’s right about the second half–I do have social anxiety, though I’ve been trying to mitigate it by going to weekly tabletop rpg nights–and the first half isn’t nearly as presumptuous as what my relatives say, but I’m not sure if he quite makes the connection when I say I’m ace/aro.

I’ve explained before about finding people aesthetically pleasing, but not sexually compelling or “attractive.” Some people–yes, even guys, I’ll have to explain–are pretty, but that doesn’t mean I want a relationship with them. My coworker nods and says, “I was like that, too, before I met my wife.”

And I was dreading hearing about “finding The One” and “love at first sight” and “just knowing,” but instead he talked about how they became friends first. About how they had mutual friends who kept trying to set them up with each other on dates, but neither of them wanted to be forced into anything. He talked about how he finds other people “sexy looking" but doesn’t want to have sex with them and he doesn’t get aroused by them. He can acknowledge that certain features are more attractive to him, but because he doesn’t know that person it’s kind of just looking at a nice statue.

And all I could think was “oh, you’re demisexual.”

But I didn’t say it. Because labels aren’t for people to use on others, but for people to help identify themselves.

And even though he and I are friends I don’t want to tell him he’s something when he’s pretty comfortable with his identity already. And, frankly, how would that change his life anyway? He’s married with a kid, he’s not in the market for dating so his demisexuality doesn’t affect his everyday life.

But I have to wonder, if demisexual was a more popular term when he was my age, would he comfortably self-identify as such?

Untitled (2016-11-29)

We were us, once, in the beginning. Not two, but halves of a whole, a set, together.

But now you are you and I am me and we are not always us. Now, sometimes, when you say we you don’t mean you and me. You mean you and them.

Them: a group without me. But not necessarily without you.

Once, that never crossed our minds.

Our and we and us. Oh, how things have changed.

Love is a choice. Blood is a fact. Affection is a feeling.

So is attraction.

Some choices are made for us, guided down this path. Family means coexisting, cooperation–love makes that easier, paves the way. Choices, function, together.

Affection makes love easy, too.

Attraction might… but it also might not.

Attraction starts in the eyes (the ears, the fingertips), settles in the heart, then lays siege to the mind.

I’ve seen it in the faces of people around you, the ones who lean toward you helplessly, flowers toward the sun.

Attraction is a force, magnets and gravity, unstoppable and universal.

Except, it seems, not for you.

I am not above attraction. Not that it is something lowly. It simply is, whether it is actually simple.

Like with other people, I can feel attraction. The curve of a smile, the sound of a voice, the heat between skin on skin.

In this, I am part of them. In this, we means me but not you.

In this, attraction is what sets us apart.


A/N: … I was trying a thing for filling this prompt, but it… kinda didn’t work as I wanted. So that prompt is still un-filled, but I didn’t want to just delete this… and, well, since it’s so vague as to be anyone, I guess this isn’t really DoS recursive fanfiction either? Urgh…

Post Word Count: 247, Running Word Count: 10438

A one person love story.
No, I’m not Narcissus, lost to my reflection,
ignorant and apathetic to the world.
But, statistically, my “type” averages out
to “myself.”

Of the five times I’ve fallen in love,
three of five were female.
And three (and a half) were in the same,
broad “please check one of the following”

With boys, I get tongue-tied,
starstruck by their looks, their kindness.
I shy away, and appreciate from afar.
Blush high on my cheeks,
skin aching.

With girls, I draw closer, mesmerized.
Like a moth toward flame, cliche but true.
Personalities clicking, friendship building,
daydreaming of hypothetical futures

I’ve never looked at any of them
and experienced lust, heat coursing
through my veins, tongue tingling,
as if I’ve drunk the sweetest cocktail,

But perhaps, I’d think, if they wanted,
if we ever got that close, if they asked,
fingertips branding desire onto me,
then I’d give it a shot, at least once,

And then follows, our play house lives,
date nights and meeting families.
How would you-me-two become us-one?
Apartments, and pets, and chore sharing,

The problem with being a writer,
stories woven and outlines drafted,
before anything happens in reality.
Futile and foolish, just like every other
love story.

jacksgreyson, Untitled (2016-11-28)



can we please stop making the only LGBT+ narrative we see “i always knew?”

like, i didn’t always know i liked girls too. i wasn’t having crushes on them or kissing them on the playground when i was five years old like you see on tv or read in books. i didn’t know for sure that i’m bi until literally this year (i’m 17 as of writing this). a former friend of mine is a trans girl. she didn’t always know. she didn’t realize she was trans until she was nearly eighteen years old. some people don’t realize it until they’re twenty, or forty, or sixty.

some people do always know. good for them! but can we please please please make it known that you don’t have to have always known for your identity to be valid? it makes it so difficult for people who are figuring themselves out later in life, because it feeds into this idea of “why didn’t i know it before? is this even real? if i haven’t known i’ve felt this way all along, how do i know i feel it now?” and that’s only making worse what’s already such a difficult time in life

give me eighty year old women who are just figuring out they’re lesbians. give me middle aged accountants who realize they’re actually trans. give me a guy who doesn’t know until he’s twenty-eight that he’s actually into dudes. god just please give us some other narrative, so we can be reassured that even if it took us a while to get there, our identity is no less valid than that of a person who’s known they’re LGBT+ since elementary school. stop telling LGBT+ people that that’s the only way they’re really LGBT+

what’s really sad is that people feel like it’s too late in their life to know if they’re LGBTQ, like there’s some sort of time limit on understanding your identity. and it’s heartbreaking. i knew i was gay when i was 8. my 31 year old cousin just discovered she’s bisexual because she finally explored her sexuality. i know trans girls who didn’t know they were trans until their 30s.

there is no right time to discover that you belong in our community. finding out your sexuality or gender later in life than others is not a bad thing, it’s not a wrong thing. please never feel like that somehow invalidates your belonging in the community, because it doesn’t.

and isn’t there a term like, compulsive heterosexuality or something, IIIRC? where some people, especially LBQ cis women, essentially convince themselves they’re heterosexual because that’s what’s expected to be the “normal”, and they just essentially brush aside any potential feelings they have for other genders? like, they’re pretty much just conditioned by society and/or their upbringing to not question themselves and to be dismissive over any romantic or sexual feelings towards ppl who don’t identify as men?

i could be completely wrong about the term or its definition, but i know there’s something out there like that. so what i’m trying to say is, you don’t have to place blame on yourself for finding out you’re LGBTQ later in life. even if that term doesn’t apply to you, there’s still NO reason to feel blame or shame. some people just discover themselves earlier than others, and some people discover themselves later than others, and it’s okay!! there’s no right or wrong time!!

we HAVE to welcome later-in-life LGBTQ people with open arms and make sure they are as welcomed in the community as people like myself who found out very early.

I didn’t know until three years ago that in high school I had a huge, obvious crush on a girl. My best friend had to tell me, when we were already in our second year of college, about something that had happened over two years before.

I honestly didn’t know.

In college I knew that, hey, maybe I’m not straight. I didn’t know this in high school because in high school I didn’t have the vocabulary for asexual and demiromantic and nonbinary. And even if I did, I still don’t think I would have been able to tell, wouldn’t have been able to form enough of an idea of what I wanted or didn’t want to say… yeah, I’m not this I’m that.

I had a huge, obvious crush on a girl. She played cello and was super smart and artistic and had beautiful hair and the cutest smile and I basically fell over myself to be able to do group projects with her or hang out with her or just be near her. I’d ask if I could braid her hair, I’d try to sit next to her whenever possible, and during assignments with even the slightest bit of connection to her I’d ask for her help never mind that we didn’t have very many classes together.

I didn’t realize this was me crushing on someone. I thought those fleeting appreciations of cute guys were crushes–those one or two week things where I’d blush whenever we met eyes, or I’d admire the line of his jaw and the length of his fingers. I’d never act on it because I didn’t want to act on it, I was content sitting and watching from afar, like a statue in a museum, look but don’t touch.

But with this girl? God, I wanted. Not anything sexual (because, well, ace) but I’d even go so far as to wonder how she’d cuddle. How holding her hand might feel. If kissing wouldn’t seem so weird if it were with her.

I didn’t know.

And the problem is, by the time my best friend pointed it out to me–she didn’t know she had to point it out to me, is the thing. She thought I knew. I was sitting there across the table, talking about, hey, I don’t think I’m straight and she’d snort and say, yeah I figured in junior year of high school, and I just stopped and stared and her–I no longer liked this girl. We had gone to separate colleges and it had been years since I thought about her, let alone spoke to her or saw her. It had faded into something I’ll look at a little fond and a little sheepish–my first real crush!–and it’s not like I was heartbroken…

But I didn’t know.

And I wonder… if I had known, then, would things be different? Would I even have been brave enough to come out, if I had known? Would I have risked our friendship (knowing how conservative my high school was/is) and her reputation to act on that knowledge?

I don’t know.

The people who graduate from my high school, they’re not all straight. But there’s no GSA or LGBTQ club, no way to gather us together and teach us and protect us and show us, hey, there’s more out there for us. So many people don’t come out until after high school–even the ones who did “always know”–because it’s not safe and… that’s fine. It’s not their job to come out and become martyrs–it’s the job of the school to make the option safe–but it’s still…

I didn’t know, and a part of me wonders if that’s for the best.

Untitled (2015-02-09)

I’ve never had sex before. Which makes me a virgin, I guess. It’s not something to be praised or pitied or mocked. It just is.

I think of not having had sex like a lot of activities– I’ve never flown in a hot air balloon before. I don’t have a burning need to do so before I die, I don’t find it particularly appealing–kind of inefficient and silly, really. But I’m not averse to it, I’m not scared of heights or anything. I just… don’t want to.

And that’s okay.

It’s okay to love hot air balloons, to want to go up in the air all the time. It’s okay to want to save it for special occasions, with a special someone. It’s okay to not particularly mind, but want to do so because someone you like wants to. It’s okay to be scared of heights and even avoid thinking about it. It’s okay to not even like it but do so anyway because, hey, maybe you work for a hot air balloon company.

It’s all okay.

And sex is like that too. Or at least it should be. Not all of us want to be up in the air, and that doesn’t make us sad or broken or lesser. And someone who wants to be up in the air all the time isn’t stupid or sick or wasting their lives.

I’ve never had sex before, nor do I want to, but that doesn’t mean I never will. I’ve never been in a hot air balloon, but who knows, maybe one day I’ll fly.


A/N: A blatant analogy for asexuality which would not leave me alone. So I’m like… okay, I’ll write it.