“Hey, Quinn! Long time no see!”
“I know, it’s been a while.” Her eyes land on my wrist, and she beams. “You’re still wearing the bracelet I gave you!”
I touch the beads and return her smile. “Yeah, so…it turns out I’m ace, too. Your story matched mine to an almost creepy degree, and it explained a whole lot.”
“Oh, wow! Well, welcome to the club!” She gestures to the small group around her. “Everyone, this is Oliver.”
The group goes around in a circle, introducing themselves. As hard as I try to remember their names, I forget them almost instantly. Fortunately, Quinn pulls a stack of name tags and markers from her bag and sets them on a nearby table.
“Also, if you’re comfortable, include your pronouns and your specific identity on your nametag,” she instructs. “It helps facilitate conversations in a setting like this.”
This time, I follow her directions, writing “Oliver, he/him, Asexual” on the nametag before sticking it over my heart. As I glance around the room, I notice more and more words I don’t recognize. “Aromantic.” “Graysexual.” “Aroace.” Ugh, why didn’t I research anything before coming tonight?
My embarrassment must be palpable, because Quinn eventually taps my shoulder. “You’re in a safe space to ask questions,” she says quietly.
“I honestly don’t know what a lot of these identities are,” I admit. “Is there, like, a diagram or something?”
“Can I help?” asks a tall, slender student with freckles and short, spiraled red hair. “I’m Cam.” Their nametag reads their name, “they/them” pronouns, and the word “Aroace.” They also wear a bracelet with orange, yellow, white, light blue, and navy beads.
“Hi, Cam,” I say. “As long as you promise not to hate me for all my dumb questions.”
Cam shakes their head. “Not a chance. Quinn mentioned that you might have questions for us, and I’m happy to help!”
“Okay, what is aroace?”
“Assuming you already know what asexuality is,” they begin, gesturing toward my bracelet. “Aromanticism is the experience of little to no romantic attraction.”
I frown. “Wait, romantic attraction is different from sexual attraction?”
Cam nods. “Yes, they’re different. They’re also not mutually exclusive—you can experience both, neither, or just one. For example, I’m both asexual and aromantic. I don’t experience either type of attraction. Hence the term, aroace.”
“While I, on the other hand,” Quinn interjects. “I experience romantic attraction from time to time, but not sexual attraction.”
Well, shit. “But what exactlyisromantic attraction?”
Cam looks to Quinn, who presses her lips together thoughtfully. “It’s a little trickier to explain, but it’s essentially the desire for intimacy and companionship that’s more intense than friendship, but isn’t necessarily sexual. Like having a crush on someone.”
My mouth hangs open as I process this new information. “So, if you’re ace without the aro and Cam is both ace and aro, what about someone who is aro without the ace?”
Cam looks past me and waves to someone. “Hey, Jo, could you come here for a sec?”
I turn to face Jo as they approach—they’re shorter and curvier, with bleached platinum hair in a sleek pixie cut. Their makeup is edgy, but impeccable. They’re donning two bead bracelets: the first has dark green, light green, white, gray, and black beads, while the second bracelet I recognize as the bisexual colors. They flash me a bright smile. “Well, hello, handsome! How can I help you?” Their nametag says “Jo, she/they, Aromantic”.
“Oliver here is curious about your aromantic, allosexual experience,” Cam says. “He recently came out as ace and is still figuring things out.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait,” I interject nervously. “What is allosexual?”
“That’s just the opposite of ace,” Quinn says.
“Oh, duh,” I whisper, embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry, please continue.”
“Absolutely,” Jo replies, hooking her fingers through her belt loops. “Growing up, concepts like fairy-tale romances or ‘love at first sight’ never made sense to me. Sexual and physicalattraction were easy—I’ve always been drawn to hot bodies and physical affection. But when I asked people to explain what ‘falling in love’ meant, they always said, ‘you’ll know it when you feel it.’. But I never did, and I often felt left out, or worse, guilty for not feeling it or for not reciprocating. Now that I’ve embraced my aromantic identity, I’m able to be upfront with potential sexual partners and set expectations right away, so it’s less likely that either of us gets hurt. I currently have a sexual partner, but I don’t consider him anything other than a good friend I also have sex with. I don’t prioritize his friendship over others. He gives me the same warm fuzzies that all my friends give me, with the bonus horny feelings, too.”
I listen quietly, trying to understand her experience. In some ways, I can relate. I also didn’t get fairy tales and romances growing up and, honestly, found them rather silly. But I felt the same way about sex. I’d hoped I would feel less repulsed by the idea once I hit puberty, but I never did. Even at my horniest, I can’t imagine having a person in my life who is solely a sexual partner. What would we talk about? Do we just bump uglies for as long as it takes for both of us to get off, then say goodbye? There’s nothing wrong with that, but I just can’t fathom doing it myself.
On the other hand, I do feel like there’s something between the spectrum of platonic friend and sex partner. Like, what about Jude and me? I feel like we’re more than friends, but the idea of having sex with them fills me with anxiety.
“That’s actually super helpful, Jo,” Cam says. “I also struggle to differentiate sexual and romantic attraction, but that makes sense, because I don’t experience either.”
