Growing up in Melbourne, Michael Egan never felt sexual attraction to others, while a nude picture or a sex scene in a movie left him cold. He was relieved to discover the term “asexual” while at university.
“It dramatically improved my relationships,” he says. “I had a better understanding of myself and was better able to communicate my preferences, expectations and boundaries and all those lovely things.”
But then at 30, just when he thought he’d worked himself out, Egan felt sexual attraction for the first time. While he found the thoughts “pleasurable”, the experience was uncomfortable.
“I was house-sitting with a woman for a month and I started to feel more sexually and romantically inclined towards her. If I’m honest, it felt perverted. These feelings and ideas about what I wanted to do with her came out of nowhere. I’d never felt them.”
Nothing developed with the woman but the experience was valuable for Egan, who now identifies as demisexual – a term for someone who only feels sexual attraction after establishing a strong emotional connection.
Now 34, Egan is happy being on his own, but he has the courage to explore a sexual attraction now, if he ever feels it again.
“For me, to be able to is more important than the obligation to.”
There are no reliable figures on the prevalence of asexuality in Australia; in the US, a population-based sample of sexual minorities (LGBTQ+ people) found about 1.7% identified as asexual, with younger people and non-binary people significantly more likely to report few or no feelings of sexual attraction to others.
Asexuality is a wide spectrum, encompassing asexuals (“aces”), demisexuals and greysexuals (“grey aces” or “grey As”), who experience sexual attraction very rarely.
Sydneysider Elyse McKenzie, 36, was comfortable with her identity as an asexual until experiences in her late 20s wobbled her.
“I’ve never felt any romantic or sexual attraction towards anyone and within myself I have no issues with that,” she says. “But as you get older, people pair off and build lives together. That’s how society goes.”
She started to feel lonely.
“Even pop culture and the media we consume, it’s not just sexualised, it’s built around romantic coupling. It’s hard and it’s exhausting. There’s a lot of fear and anxiety that comes from not being the status quo. And when things go wrong, who’s the person that you lean on?”
‘Pride didn’t feel like a celebration of what I feel’
McKenzie has directed her energy into building a supportive ace community in Sydney and is passionate about increasing its visibility, having organised the Mardi Gras float for asexuals for the past six years.
She says every year acceptance increases, but it hasn’t always been easy. “The first year someone yelled out ‘asexuals have no fun’, which was particularly offensive because I have lots of fun. Others have questioned why we are there at all. They just don’t understand us.”
Forty-year-old Sarah Fletcher in Sydney has always participated in Mardi Gras as an asexual, but this year she was particularly excited about WorldPride celebrations, which concluded in Sydney on Sunday. Last year, she made the happy discovery that she was demisexual.
“I’ve tried to sleep with many people just to see, but I didn’t feel anything and couldn’t wait for it to be over,” she says. “But when I fell in love, I did enjoy sex with that person.
“I finally understood my sexuality, but Pride didn’t feel like a celebration of what I feel. Everyone’s wearing very little or nude, everyone’s kissing or hugging each other. And that’s the stuff we don’t like to do.”
Fletcher feels asexual people are not taken seriously. “If I was gay, people would believe me. There’s not much awareness of our community at all.”
The hypersexualised nature of the queer community can be very hard for asexual people, explains 30-year-old Cyan Donatti, a non-binary counselling sexologist who is also asexual.
“It can be a really uncomfortable space to sit in and see ourselves as a part of when that’s not our narrative.”
It’s also hard for asexual people to see the A so often omitted from the LGBTQIA acronym, Donatti adds.
Too picky? Celibate? Not interested in sex?
Donatti helps young people explore their gender or sexual identity and aims to create more visibility around asexuality.
That means confronting misconceptions that there’s something biologically wrong with them, that they’re too picky, or that they simply aren’t interested in connecting with another person – which only invalidates the strong friendships or platonic relationships in their lives.
Asexuality also gets confused with celibacy, where people may have sexual attraction but choose to abstain. While asexual people may not experience sexual attraction, many like to date and have sex.
Donatti is now with a partner who identifies as demisexual. There is a romantic and sexual connection between them, they say. “But we have lots of discussions about limits and what we’re comfortable with.”
Another misconception is that – spared from the trials and tribulations of lust and heartbreak – aces have an easier time or simply more time.
But they will tell you that they have no more of it than anyone else.
“We’re probably spending all of that time trying to make sense of ourselves and doing that identity, gender and sexuality exploration,” Donatti says.
“It’s just as hard in a different way,” McKenzie adds. “I spent a lot of time doing ace-related things, which is hard work.”
‘There are people out there like me’
McKenzie says she will keep organising the asexual float at Mardi Gras, “so that the next generation of people don’t have to go through the questioning we’ve had to go through”.
“We’re adults with real lives. And just because sex isn’t a part of that, that doesn’t take away from our humanity,” she says.
Egan agrees that visibility and belonging is vital.
“If we don’t shout out, people are going to grow up thinking that they’re broken. And they could actually be thinking, ‘there are people out there like me, and it’s OK to not be attracted to other people’.”
We all want to be loved, he adds. “We just differ on how we want to approach or experience that.
“And that’s OK. It’s part of the ongoing diversity of human sexuality. And it’s an exciting conversation to have.”
