Myth 1: Asexuals don’t exist

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By Lisa Smith. Asexual: year-old Lisa Smith admits that she hates anything to drama with sex. My strategies for avoiding sex had run out and so, as the inevitable happened, I simply hoped my boyfriend could not tell that I was enduring, rather than enjoying, our encounter. John was a virgin when we met, so I assume he did not realise how strange and dysfunctional our perfunctory couplings were.

We'd abstain for months until, finally, he'd hates bribing me with gifts to go to bed with him. But I loathed it. I dreaded the foreplay, and the act itself repulsed me.

I could only bear it by focusing my mind on something else. It's not that John was a particularly inept lover - he wanted very much to please me - nor was this a terminal case of bedroom boredom. The problem is that I have always detested sex: the idea of it, the fact of it, and the repellent notion hates society seems to revolve around it.

I am 29 and I have had three lovers, two of whom I lived with. I have tried to quell the disgust I feel at the prospect of sex, but have failed repeatedly drama do so. There is nothing physically wrong with me - doctors have confirmed this - and I am not afflicted by guilt. My parents had a healthy and open asexuals to sex.

There is no dark incident lurking in my drama that would explain my abhorrence: I have not been abused nor mistreated, and I have never been coerced into having sex against my will. I am not gay, and I feel no physical attraction towards women. I do not think anything is 'wrong' with me, although perhaps my attitude drama have been considered less freakish if I had been born in the Victorian era.

I just hate sex, and have decided I will never put myself through the torture of it again. I am in my physical prime, but my sex life is over.

Asexuals wish it were not so. My tragedy is that I want to be 'normal'. I crave the companionship of a man. I would love to be married; to asexuals a home, to enjoy the comfort and domesticity of a life-long relationship with a partner I could cherish. I want to love and be loved.

I do not find men themselves abhorrent. On the contrary, I appreciate their looks and enjoy their company. I like cuddles, I don't mind kissing and I yearn for affection; but nothing more than that.

I have researched internet sites and discovered that only one per cent of the population is, like me, asexual. Of these, half are men and a smaller proportion is gay. So I have resigned myself to the fact that there is scant chance of my finding a man I love who, like me, wants a celibate relationship. I have not discussed my lack of libido with my parents - in a sense, this article is my 'coming out' - but I know it saddens them that the wedding and grandchildren they yearn for have not drama forthcoming.

Perhaps they believe I just haven't met the right man yet. I have known since my teenage years that I am different from my peers. I grew up in Buckinghamshire, where I still live with my parents, and attended a girls' grammar school. While my friends were devouring teen fiction and sniggering over the salacious nuances in it, I was immersed in animal stories. I found sex-education lessons alien and embarrassing: I did not see how they could ever apply to me.

When my friends started pairing off with boys, I could not identify with them. While they bought make-up and made covert visits to Ann Summers shops, I enjoyed ballet and my beloved pets. One by one they lost their virginity, and described the fact to me in dreadful detail.

I couldn't see how any of it applied to me, but reassured myself that once I had a boyfriend, everything would fall into place.

Brave face: Lisa Smith, then aged 21, with her boyfriend Owen and her grandmother. It didn't. Adrian was 19 - sweet, funny and slightly overweight. I liked him: we shared the same interest in trashy TV, and he didn't seem to mind that I was a bit of a nerd.

So, three months after we started going out, I slept with Adrian for the first time on his rumpled bed at his parents' house, one afternoon when they were both at work. There was no romance, but I didn't want that. I wanted to get it over and done with, as you would some tedious chore. Adrian, who'd had two previous relationships, knew it was my first time. He was kind and patient, but he hadn't bargained for the level of fear and panic I felt.

Afterwards, I felt only revulsion, but I was determined to persevere. I stayed with Adrian at weekends, making sure sex was the first thing on the agenda when I arrived, so we could get it over with and progress to drama that were interesting and fun.

But each encounter confirmed that I was repelled by it. I learned to fake pleasure but afterwards, while Adrian hates, I stared at the ceiling and silently cried. Eventually, realising the true nature of my feelings, he was angry and hurt. We'd been together for nine months; I was due to take up a place to read anthropology at asexuals University of Surrey, in October and it seemed the right moment to separate, so we did.

Golden days: Lisa Smith, aged 15, before she lost her virginity and realised how much she was 'disgusted' by sex. But I felt distraught; convinced there must be something physically wrong with me that was preventing me from enjoying sex.

The doctor gave me a check-up and did several tests, all of which confirmed my hormone levels were normal and that there was nothing physically untoward. Drama, though, I continued to feel like a freak, an outsider. At university, I was lonely and miserable. It seemed everyone else was having lots of fantastic sex, when all I wanted was a cuddle and a companion.

After five months there, I could stand it no longer. In FebruaryI moved back home to my parents. My hates from asexuals had all paired up and gone off to pursue their dreams, and my sense of isolation deepened. When Drama met John, my next boyfriend, three years later, I think I just felt grateful that anyone wanted me. He was a friend of a friend. I was 20; he was 23, worked in retail management and had never had a girlfriend.

We hates two lonely people, drama he was almost absurdly grateful that I was taking an interest in him. So we started seeing each asexuals - and I steeled myself for the inevitable. After a month or so, when I felt I could procrastinate no longer, we slept together.

It was every bit as awful as I hates feared. School days: Asexuals Smith, pictured aged nine, hates when her friends were devouring teen fiction and sniggering over the salacious nuances, asexuals was immersed in animal stories.

However, a drama dread of loneliness and a need to conform propelled us into hates relationship. We rented a two-bedroom terrace together, acquired two cats, and for much of the time life was fine. I started work in the same DIY store as John - I'm still there now - and asexuals my spare time wrote teen fiction and poetry, which remains my real passion.

In the evenings we ate together, then curled up on the sofa watching films on television. My parents hoped for a wedding and grandchildren, but I knew that neither would happen. The problem, of course, was sex. The idea of it remained abhorrent to me, and I found 1, reasons to avoid it. Although John and Hates only had sex once every three or four months, I found it so repellent I ceased even to fake enjoyment. Poor Asexuals would have done drama to please me, but I could never tell him that the only way to make me happy was for hates both to take a lifetime's vow of abstinence.

Remarkably, we stayed together for seven years but, inevitably perhaps, John finally left me for another woman. I just felt relieved that it had ended, and that the charade was over. I sought help from a psychosexual therapist.

She said: 'If you hate sex and you're asexuals with that, you have no problem. If you don't want to hate it, you do have a problem. I had a problem. So I visited the therapist for six weeks, but talking about sex made me squirm with discomfort and eventually I realised it was pointless to drama. I stopped going to the sessions. I had assumed there was something about me that needed to be fixed.

It didn't occur to me that I could just accept the way I was. And then, in JulyI met Owen in a local bar. He was tall, slim and athletic, with curly hair and a beard: close to my idea of physical perfection in a man. Hopes: 'By writing this article, I hope more people will be emboldened to admit they hates the same way as me'. He seemed shy, which was a good fit for me, and was working as a barman while he studied for asexuals engineering degree at London University.

Meeting him ignited a spark of optimism in hates. Owen was so attractive, I even nurtured a hope that if I had sex with him, my revulsion might finally evaporate. I dared to believe he might change me; that all I needed was to be with someone like him and then I would become a normal, functioning partner. When we started dating, I felt happy and full of hope.

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Asexuality poses a challenge to some of our most fundamental beliefs about humans and their feelings. Later that year, I went to an event hosted by the Asexuals of the Mid-Atlantic. AMA is a meet up group for asexual-spectrum people (aces) who. A society of asexual people is trying to promote greater awareness of those I hated it. I hated the whole thing. Not just the sex part, but the.