Princess

This is your local ‘virgin’ (virginity is a social construct) speaking to you live from the tail end of their sexuality crisis. I’m asexual! Why has it taken me 22 years to work that out? Let’s chat about it!

A quick disclaimer before we begin – asexuality is a spectrum and not everyone has the same experiences. This article is not a guide to understanding all ace people, just an insight into my experience. If you’re curious about anything here there are a lot of resources online – the Trevor Project is always an easy place to start!

Firstly, I would like to say I hadn’t actually realised other people WANTED to have sex. Like, you have to admit that sounds a lil bit fake right? Okay, imagine it from my perspective. You enjoy reading fanfic (AKA the occasional cheeky smut), you masturbate what you assume is the normal amount (what exactly is the normal amount again?) but you’ve never wanted to actually have sex or see anyone naked—why would you?

I assumed it was just a thing that I would ‘grow into’. “Maybe when I hit 20 I’ll suddenly get super horny!” (I thought). Then I promptly forgot about the whole topic, since no one talked about sex that much post high school. [Conspiracy theory #1: sex only exists in books and movies, prove me wrong (please don’t I’m joking).] The other thing I assumed (wrongly I suppose) was that my friends were overexaggerating how much they wanted to have sex. Surely they just got overhyped on the way sex was portrayed in media and/or were just in a silly goofy (read: horny) mood. Strangely enough, I have been told, this is not true.

In my defence, how was I supposed to know? This is absolutely forbidden knowledge. I have never heard anyone talk about what sexual attraction feels like (apart from the people I interrogated—shout-out to them for catching me up on the esoteric lore), and most people’s sexual awakenings was from getting a crush or feeling someway spicy about a person. But, what if that’s not an experience you ever had? How would you know? To be fair, why would you feel the need to describe what you assume is a universal experience? I can’t really fault you on that– I also assumed the way I experienced the world was ‘normal.’ Embarrassing for me, embarrassing for you, let’s just sweep that one under the rug, shall we?

Trick question alert! Could you define exactly what your sexual attraction feels like? What about romantic attraction? Or (and you get extra credit for these ones) aesthetic, intellectual, emotional, or sensual attraction? All have their own definitions and yet all we seem to talk about is the basic romantic and sexual. As a society we seem to be moving (in the friendly circles anyway) away from strict binaries and the enforcement of social norms, so why not add this to the list? You don’t need to be asexual or aromantic to explore new ideas! Why not develop the vocab to wax poetic about the many ways you love the people around you?

Ultimately, I’m pretty glad I was relatively clueless and never felt pressured to do stuff I didn’t want to—something I can only assume isn’t a universal experience. I don’t know what to thank for that, perhaps the unfounded self-confidence I’ve always seemed to have, or just the luck I’ve had in having fantastic friends, but I know the focus on sex in media and romance stories has made some people feel like there’s a timeline on having certain experiences. I’d recommend taking it at your own pace, it’s not like sex is actually important (though maybe that’s easy for me to say).

To anyone who hasn’t thought about their sexuality or romantic orientation much, why not think about it? There is no wrong way to be. Also, while there’s obviously nothing wrong with sex and I am absolutely a supporter of all consensual sexual exploits, I really think we could afford to talk about it less like sexual and romantic attraction are the most important ways to feel. Maybe it’s easier for me to say, but that stuff is hugely less important than you think it is. Cum as you are… or don’t. It’s really up to you.

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CW: Discussion of underage sex

To the uninformed, ‘pillow princess’ sounds like it might be a compliment. It conjures images of silk sheets, tiaras, and kissable lips. Cherries, Lana Del Ray, shit like that. And while I’ve never met a girl described as a pillow princess who would object to any of those things, the title isn’t as romantic as it sounds.

For lesbians and bisexual non-men, this term (which some might consider a slur, but honestly, I think that’s a bit of a touch-some-grass moment) refers to girls who only receive during sex. It’s the honorary denomination given to girls who refuse to perform or reciprocate sexual acts. Basically, the lesbian equivalent of ‘pretty enough to just lie there’.

All of those learning about this for the first time may not be surprised to learn that this is not behaviour generally well-received by the queer community. Common objections to pillow princess-dom deem it as being lazy and selfish. But as a retired pillow princess myself, I am here to offer a tentative defence. We are not the heartless, straight-adjacent Regina Georges that TikTok would have you believe we are (although honestly, what lesbian wouldn’t fuck Regina George?).

The first time someone called me a pillow princess was when I was 14. It was my partner at the time, and even then, I felt uneasy about the title. It was very clear to me that the implication was one of underperformance, a kind of loving derogation. I decided I simply had to own it. If that’s what I was, then I would make it sexy, and I would make it camp. Now I know that I wasn’t being lazy or selfish at all. I was just, you know, 14. I didn’t want to perform sex acts at 14. Obviously, a crime punishable by death. And it’s not just me. It is the nature of queer communities for young people that so often queer youth are introduced to sexual content, and even having sex, early. Often, as early as 12, through the mires of Tumblr posts, Instagram group chats, and fanfiction. I mean, some of what I saw on Wattpad will haunt me until the day I die. It was honestly more traumatising than my actual trauma.