Posted at 4:00 p.m.
Emilie has a lover. A husband, in fact. And yes, they have a sexuality. Because asexuality is a spectrum, ladies and gentlemen. With an infinite variety of realities. Here is one.
The thirty-year-old gave us an appointment in a pretty park in the center of the city, one sunny morning in May. Coquettish, in her long skirt and her lace t-shirt, she sits in front of us laughing nervously.
“Super straight. Maybe a little stuck. That’s how I have the impression that people see me, ”she says straight away, with that slight nervousness in her voice that won’t let her go of the interview.
All her life, she felt different: “weird”, “extraterrestrial”, downright “broken”, she even confided, after a big hour of confidences (not bad, for someone who doesn’t “never” chatter about sexuality), eyes full of water. But not anymore. More since she put her finger, or the word, on her condition, or her “orientation”, rather: “in the spectrum of asexuality, she summarizes. I never realized there was really subtlety in that. That it is possible to be asexual and to be in a romantic relationship. And be happy with it. Without having an aversion to sex. »
But clearly, my relationship with sexuality is not like that of others.
Emilie, mid-thirties
A report that goes back quite far, moreover: “I have always been super nerd, my family is nerd, we are all nerds and we have no problem with that. My family is really conservative. And I always felt like sex was bad. I was not necessarily bullied. But it seems that I always kept this idea. ” Which ? “That it was not good,” she repeats. Or just weird. And that when I grew up, that was going to change. […] But that hasn’t changed…”
The word “weird” comes up often during conversation. We ask him to clarify: “maybe it was more of a discomfort? she wonders.
A discomfort that does not apply, moreover, but not at all, to self-satisfaction. If she masturbated? “Yes, yes,” she replies, in a tone of evidence. Still ! […] And since I was really young. It’s a kind of release [relâchement]. […] A bit like when I say to myself: I’m hungry, I’m going to eat something. But without wanting anything in particular. A revealing detail, you will see.
As a teenager, Émilie had her first sexual experience with a first lover. “Obviously the lights off,” she says. And then ? “Correct”, neither more nor less. “Nothing groundbreaking “. Correct “physically”, we end up understanding, but not exactly “mentally”. “Like I wasn’t mentally comfortable…”
Throughout his twenties, this discrepancy is confirmed. She makes lovers, sleeps with them, and the experiences remain “correct”. Although too frequent for his taste. She continues with a new metaphor. “Like I was dating a guy who plays tennis. OK, tennis is okay. I am athletic. But it’s not my favorite sport. And it’s not like I wake up in the morning with a big urge to play tennis. »
Through all these relationships (about ten), Émilie also has the impression of being “in competition” with sex. In competition ? “I always had this question: how much do these guys love me or because we have a relationship and we sleep together? »
I really felt like I was the problem, that I was just weird. Not adult enough? Not mature enough?
Emilie, mid-thirties
It was finally in her late twenties, and through a friend, that Émilie ended up meeting a different man. “Super intellectual” like her, and above all zero enterprising. “He didn’t ask me if I had a boyfriend, I found that intriguing. After two years of seeing each other as friends, purely and simply (“and there was never any allusion!”), Émilie can’t believe it: “It’s the first time I’ve had the feeling that someone sees me just for me. »
It must be said that Monsieur, for his part, has not only never been in a relationship (“I think he is on the spectrum of aromantism!”), but has never slept with a girl either. “He could have been all alone. It satisfies him. »
So they tried themselves, as they say. And it clicked. Very gradually, gradually, they started by holding hands, then kissing, until they made love. “And it was infinitely more fun than in my other relationships,” beams Émilie. She also has her own idea on the matter: “Because I felt like this guy didn’t want sex, he wanted me, 100%. It was the first time that I did not feel objectified. »
It will soon be ten years. And believe it or not, their intimacy has only gotten better over time. “We can spend three or four months without sleeping together, she specifies, but we will not be frustrated, because we know how to please each other. […] And that’s why I’ve never been more satisfied or felt more respected in a relationship. »
It must be said that she has made her way on her side. After finding out about the subject (following advice from a trans friend, then from a queer friend who, like her, “doesn’t fit the mold”), Émilie understood: she doesn’t know, or at least does not feel the desire like “the others”, she explains.
I don’t feel that attraction. I’m not even sure what desire is.
Emilie, mid-thirties
Yet another metaphor here: “A bit like color blind people, who can’t tell you what colors they can’t see…”
So as a colorblind to desire, therefore, when Émilie has sex with her husband, it’s more out of a desire for closeness, or intimacy, than out of a sexual drive. Even if so, she takes her foot. “Really, almost too much! she smiled. I see stars. But that doesn’t make him want to do it again too much. Like when she’s hungry, she doesn’t feel like eating chocolate all the time. She might as well eat anything.
But the important thing is not there. “No matter how a little weird, or very weird you are, Emilie concludes here, as long as you find someone weird in the same way, you are normal in your relationship! […] I’m weird, but not that weird! »
* Fictitious first name, to protect his anonymity