What you'll know after reading this
- Asexuality is far more varied than the common assumption that everyone feels sexual attraction.
Yasmin Benoit sits down with members of the asexual community to explore what asexuality actually means from their perspective. The piece gently challenges the assumptions most of us were taught about desire and attraction, offering clear, myth-busting reading on an orientation that is still widely misunderstood and too often erased from mainstream conversations about sex.
Asexuality is a sexual orientation that describes people who experience little to no sexual attraction toward anyone, regardless of gender. It is often misread as a symptom of something gone wrong, whether that is a physical or mental health condition, a bad experience, or a negative attitude toward sex in general. That assumption, that asexuality is the same thing as being anti-sex, is one of the most persistent myths about the orientation. It is also the reason asexual people are so often left out of sex-positive spaces and conversations about sexuality, which are exactly the places where they may have the most to offer.
Asexuality is a sexual orientation, not a lack of sexuality
As an activist, I often appear at Pride events proudly waving the asexual flag, and almost every time I meet the same criticism. I have been told that asexuality is incompatible with Pride because Pride is a space where sexuality and liberation are celebrated. When I questioned a journalist who had written an article criticising the inclusion of asexuality in Pride, she told me that asexual people would want to “stop gay people from kissing.”
Underneath that reaction is a belief that everyone must experience sexual attraction in one particular way, and that anyone who does not must be unliberated, stifled, constrained, or disturbed by sexuality itself.
This misconception even shapes how asexuality is portrayed on screen. A long-running gag in non-fiction, both in the UK and abroad, is to take an asexual person to a sex shop in the hope of provoking an uncomfortable reaction. The producers assume that asexual people must be either clueless or uneasy around anything sexual. Perhaps they read the incorrect definition of asexual, the one that says asexual people have “no sexual feelings or associations,” and took the “associations” part literally. The person’s general awkwardness in an artificial situation is then read as fear or confusion, reinforcing the idea that asexuality and sexuality simply do not mix.
Can you be asexual and still have a libido?
Yes. Asexuality describes who you are or are not sexually attracted to. It does not dictate whether you have a libido, enjoy self-pleasure, or feel at home in your body. Many asexual people would happily correct the assumption, like Meliza, 30, from the US.
“I have an obsession with sex shops. I enjoy going to them and purchasing things for self-pleasuring. I also love purchasing sexy underwear and clothes. Even just seeing all the different things out there is really cool. I don’t think just because I’m asexual I shouldn’t be allowed to love myself and my body.”
There are also asexual people, like Mailie, who have been made to feel too sexual for asexual spaces. “Asexuality doesn’t mean no libido or no need for sexual release. While some asexuals don’t have sexual feelings, some do,” she explains. It is a common misconception that asexuality means having no sexuality at all, but you can have a sexuality without it being directed toward anyone else. Emmeril, from Costa Rica, still finds masturbation enjoyable. “It helps me to regulate my stress and anxiety, and the physical stimulation just feels awesome,” they explain, and that is not a rare sentiment. For anyone in this position, getting to know your body on your own terms has nothing to do with attraction to other people and everything to do with self-connection.
Asexuality doesn’t mean no libido or no need for sexual release. While some asexuals don’t have sexual feelings, some do.
Caught in the middle: excluded on both sides
For sex-favourable asexual people, the exclusion can come from two directions at once. “You don’t feel sexual attraction so you are ostracized from sex-positive spaces even though you still have sexual experience,” says Mailie from the US. “On one side, while the other says: you aren’t one of us because you have a libido or engage in sexual activities. It’s just painful to lose that community on both sides where you should be welcome. If we speak more about asexuality in sex-favourable and sex-positive spaces, it paves the way to bridge that gap, to make that feeling of isolation lesser.”
Martin, 45, from Denmark, echoed that sentiment. “In my experience, spaces for asexuals only tend to become echo chambers for sex-averse or sex-repulsed aces, so to talk about sex-positivity and including sex-positive aces is important, as they may not have anywhere else to talk about it.”
Of course, some asexual people are averse to any kind of sexual material, and some do not have sex and would not want to with anyone else. Neither experience is unusual within the community. But neither is universal. Some asexual people find sexual material educational, entertaining, or an aid to self-pleasure, and some enjoy sexual acts with others despite not experiencing sexual attraction. A genuinely sex-positive space is one that can hold both, without asking anyone to explain themselves first. That kind of queer-affirming, shame-free support is exactly what tends to be missing.
Asexuality and erotica: enjoying sexual media without attraction
Aegosexual describes someone on the asexual spectrum who can enjoy sexual fantasy or content while feeling little or no desire to take part themselves, often experiencing arousal at a distance rather than directed at a real partner. It is more common than most sex-positive conversations acknowledge.
“I enjoy sensuality and erotica in queer media. Sometimes I jokingly say my sexuality is ‘I blush when I see boys kiss,’ but I’m not exactly sure why I enjoy it. It lives in the very undefinable area of my sexuality, and I think there is a comfort in the distance between reality with my real body and experiencing something through fictional characters. I don’t feel the need to define it,” one anonymous respondent tells me. It is something I have heard many times within the community, particularly among those who identify as aegosexual.
For others, the appreciation is more embodied. “I enjoy both erotic and sexual imagery, whether in photography, film, or writing. For me it’s about appreciating the body, what it can do, and how it connects with other people. I find the body endlessly fascinating and beautiful,” says Martin.
Some come to sexual media almost as research. “As a young adult without the immediate draw to sexuality, I spent time attempting to engage in media that centred itself around this foreign notion,” says Jay, from Australia. “I wanted to understand the world’s greatest fixation, and I believe this gave me a broader understanding of sex than most non-asexual people my age. As with anything, you just need to appreciate your boundaries and know how close you can straddle your comfort zone. Beyond that, I am an avid reader, and while I prefer smut to be built into a fascinating world and story, I have read smut for smut’s sake on rare occasions.”
Asexual people do not only consume this media. They create it. Natasha, from Indonesia, describes smut as her favourite literary genre. “I greatly appreciate how sexuality and sex are portrayed in literature and media. It fills me with joy that there are people who seek and enjoy intimacy in a way that I do not. In fact, many of the fan artists and fanfic writers who write smut are asexual or somewhere on the asexuality spectrum. Asexuals bring a fresh and unique perspective on how sexuality is portrayed in the media.”
What sex-positive asexuals want to explore
When sexual attraction is not the driver, exploration tends to be about connection with yourself rather than performance for someone else. That reframes what pleasure and even kink can be for.
One anonymous respondent put it plainly when I asked what they wanted to explore as an asexual person. “I want to learn more about different kinks that align with my sexual goals. As a way of connecting with other people, sex is a very neutral act for me. Instead, I enjoy it only as a way of connecting with myself. Kink has allowed me to achieve that.” For anyone curious about that path, there are gentle, consent-first ways of exploring kink on your own terms that have nothing to do with meeting anyone else’s expectations.
What asexuality brings to sex-positive spaces
Asexuality offers something valuable to sex-positive spaces. It decentres the idea that your sexuality has to depend on attraction to other people, and it shows that sexual liberation can take many forms, including quieter and more independent ones. There are lessons here for asexual and non-asexual people alike, and reclaiming your relationship with your own body is one every reader can recognise.
Natasha described how exploring her sexuality as an asexual person had changed her. “I became more appreciative of my body and more grounded. Those erotic and sensual activities do not dim my asexuality. Instead, they complement each other, because of the lack of an end goal. The woman I am now is the woman my child self never thought she could become, and I am incredibly proud of that.”
Sexuality without attraction is still sexuality. The sooner sex-positive spaces make room for that, the richer those spaces become.
Explore sex-positive events in our Event Calendar or find an experience in Kink & Fetish.
