According to this article, there is now some scientific evidence that same-sex couples tend to find it easier to relate to one another than do heterosexual couples.
It makes sense. Heterosexual couples have long been plagued by gender inequality, as has the wider world. In fact, if I recall correctly, the ancient Greeks believed that due to this inequality, true love could only exist between members of the same sex. And I can tell you from personal experience, there is a distinct difference between the way that women relate to one another in a relationship, vs. the way that men relate to women. There is a marked difference in perspective which must be overcome in order for men and women to establish and maintain a deep bond.
Thinking about this hurdle has always made me a little leery of the idea of getting into a heterosexual relationship. In fact, for a long time I wondered if I would ever meet a guy I was comfortable with, or if I might as well just start calling myself a functional lesbian. After all, most people believe I’m a lesbian anyway, and I most certainly wouldn’t be averse to kissing pretty girls. It would be easy for me to fall into that role, to just not correct people’s assumptions about which way I lean. And I had an idea that women would be more likely to be more understanding about my asexuality anyway, so why not?
And then I met M.
Suddenly, all those notions were swept away. They were replaced only by a visceral certainty, an impossible knowing that defied all rational thought. My subconscious whispered it to me in the dead of night, showing me a symbolic picture of what was about to transpire. This one. There he was, unwitting, uncaring. It made me nervous, very nervous. But when I allowed myself to trust my intuition, a deep calm settled over me. He meant me no harm. He only wanted to play. And this was right.
It sounds quite fanciful, doesn’t it? Almost like something out of a romance novel, although it had little to do with romance. It was a surreal and bizarre turn of events, contradicting every idea I had about how my life would unfold. And yet, at the same time… For what it was, it was good.
Nevertheless, we had problems relating to one another, even as mere friends. It was a mixed relationship in every sense of the word: male/female, sexual/asexual, queer/non-queer. He was so completely opposite me, it boggled me how I could possibly be so drawn to him. Why? Perhaps it was the challenge, perhaps it was the enormous potential we had to learn from one another. There is no answer, really. It was just something I felt had to be. At least for a little while, at least until whatever it was I had to gain from this interaction had been accomplished.
It has been, now. Ultimately, it was the stark difference in our perspectives–and in particular, his complete unwillingness to even listen to me long enough to consider mine–that drove us apart. I would have been willing to continue being friends with him, had he at least recognized that he should have listened to me about my asexuality from the first. He wouldn’t, and he doesn’t care. There is nothing more that he would have been willing to give me, no matter how much I offered him. The inequality made me uneasy; continuing to live with it, if he was not at least willing to listen to me occasionally, was unconscionable.
By contrast, my first romantic relationship, which was as uniform as my non-romantic relationship with M was mixed, was incredibly different. The two of us matched each other in almost every way. We were deeply connected and committed to one another, and whenever we had a problem we were both willing to take the time to talk it out and resolve it. In many ways, it was a quiet relationship. It didn’t hit me like a ton of bricks like M did–things developed much more slowly, yet for all that it wasn’t without passion. If it weren’t for a rather difficult demon that my ex faced, it would have been a very fulfilling relationship, which might still have continued to this day.
Now that I’m alone and without any prospects again, I have to wonder whether I will end up next in a mixed or a uniform relationship, or one that is mixed in some ways and uniform in others, which is probably most likely. At this juncture, I’m really not willing to try getting involved with a man again, at least not anytime soon. Not unless I meet one that completely blows M out of the water, which is highly unlikely around these parts. I have an inkling that a sexual woman would be more likely to be accommodating of my asexuality than a sexual man would be, and logistically speaking, it would probably be easier for me to reach a compromise on sexual activity with a woman than a man, given the likelihood that it would be much less physically painful. And, too, a lesbian or bisexual woman would probably be more able to understand asexuality as well, since I also believe I fall under the queer spectrum. But it’s also less likely that I will actually meet one around the area that I live (and really, I’ve kind of had it with long distance relationships). I’m wondering if I should bother to try to make lesbian friends, or if I should just go on as I have been. I suppose more friends wouldn’t hurt in any case, but I really wouldn’t have any idea of where to start looking.
Ah, well. I suppose I’m really just suffering from boredom and loneliness, rather than an actual frustrated desire to be in a relationship. Maybe when I go back to school things will liven up. Until then, I just have to try to amuse myself somehow.