Ace Admiral

I just read an article about the Hollywood taboo still hanging on being a gay man that has sex that ended with a quote from a filmwriter. He lamented that he wanted to see gay romance stories on the silver screen, but it’s difficult to do so if the characters can’t have sex. “You can’t tell a real love story if no one is doing it.”

Maybe you can’t.

I’ve been stuck in a loop thinking about what I want out of a partner, and how to find one. I’ve been thinking about how even though I have asexual fictional characters to model after, none of them is really me. They all have either too much or too little for my just right. And I’ve been thinking about my complicated feelings on kissing. Because there are some times I see a kiss or read about it and think “I want that.” And then others (most times) that I am disgusted and distressed by the thought of it.

And I can’t help but blame the media for making me this way.

There are lots of things in fiction that are symbols or code. Sometimes it’s obvious like rain at a funeral, or cryptic like the use of red in The Sixth Sense, or punny like Gob Bluth’s Segway Segues. The one whose existence I regret the most, though, is the True Love First Kiss.

You know what it is. The tension is building between the two characters, everyone can see the spark, even them by now, and the violins swell and finally they meet in a dramatic and perfect first kiss. When you see it, you know it’s not just a kiss. It’s code for, “and now these two are going to be romantically/sexually partnered and happy forever.” That kiss = love.

It’s not realistic for anyone, but in particular as an ace I find myself torn between wanting it desperately and wanting nothing to do with it. When I daydream idly of how I could have maybe done something about this (I’m sorry, I’m pining), it usually involves a kiss. But then I think, I don’t actually want to kiss her. I never have. So why is this image in my head?

I always thought that the person would make kissing worth it, you know? I mean, being averse to kissing people you don’t like is not an uncommon attitude. It’s objectively at the very least weird. (Let’s swap saliva!) But clearly most everyone else in the world has gotten over it, has been able to turn off the bit of their brain that says “You know, this is actually kinda gross,” because the person they were kissing and the closeness and the way it made them feel made it all worth it. (And if that’s wrong, you can blame Hollywood for that too.)

But as someone who has never been inspired to take the leap, it is puzzling and disturbing to find this thought in my head. Especially because, my life isn’t a screenplay; I don’t need writer’s shorthand.

So that leaves me to wonder, how do I get it out? Because I do want it out. I want my own love story on my terms, not Sherlock’s or Gerald’s or anyone else’s. Mine.