Prom brought questions to the fore that I'd hoped to ignore for the rest of the year. Even though the damn thing wouldn't take place for months, my classmates had already started hounding me about it.
Now that I'd lost a good thirty pounds, people began to show an interest in me that was far from welcome. Shallow little asshats! I'm still the same person!
In my Christian Ethics class, we got into groups to discuss the death penalty. Even though I tried to keep the group on target, everyone jabbered about prom, dates, dresses, and other stupid crap like that.
For fuck's sake, I don't need this! Focus!
"What about you, Jess?" asked Sarah. "Who are you going with?"
"I'm not going."
Silence fell for the first time in twenty minutes. Blessed silence. If I'd have known that was all I had to do to shut them up, I would have told them long ago.
"What do you mean you're not going?" asked Nicky, flabbergasted. "Everyone goes to prom."
"Clearly not because I'm not going."
Sarah rolled her eyes. "If you need us to set you up, we can. Lots of guys would like to go with you."
"Pfft. Name one."
"Bryan."
At this point, Bryan had turned a shade of purple and cursed under his breath. He started to strike up a conversation with his football buddies while I furrowed my brow at both of them.
I scoffed. "Yeah, all right. Very funny."
"I'm not kidding."
"Uh, aren't you two dating?"
"Not anymore." Sarah crossed her arms. "I kicked his ass out the door the moment I'd heard how someone lied in order to get in someone else's pants."
"Stop talking about it, Sarah!" Bryan hissed. "I made a mistake, owned up to it, apologized, spent the summer at boot camp, and the first three months of senior year grounded."
"Not nearly enough."
"Short of inventing a time machine and changing the past," he sneered, "which I would gladly do if I could, there's nothing more I can do."
"Can we just get back to the project, please?" I asked in a resigned tone.
"The point is lots of guys still don't have dates," said Sarah, deflecting the question. "We just have to find you the right one."
I heaved a heavy sigh. "I can imagine that'll go down a treat. Hey, Mom. Guess what? I have a date for prom. Because she took it so fabulously when Eric gave me his email address."
"That was my fault," said Bryan who turned beet red under everyone's scrutiny. "And I'm very sorry. I'm sure your family wouldn't get upset if you asked someone."
"Like you?" muttered Sarah.
"Of course she's not going to ask me." He crossed his arms. "That's clear. Doesn't mean Jess can't enjoy the prom with someone else."
"Never mind freaking Bryan," Sarah whispered to me, her eyes gleaming. "We can find you a cute date."
Since when did this become about me getting a pity date to the prom? For fuck's sake!
"Enough!" I hissed under my breath. "Everyone sit the hell down and let's do this damned assignment. I have enough crap to deal with at home."
"The more important question is: Who does Jess think is hot?" said Nicky. "If we know that, you can kick back and relax and let us do the hard work."
"Why do you want to help?" I asked with suspicion. "You've never cared before."
"Let's just say it's my duty to help you after my friend fucked things up," she replied, glaring daggers at Bryan before turning back to me. "I mean you gotta get to first base at some point."
"I don't want to get to first base."
"For real?" asked Sarah. "You've never been to first base?"
I huffed. "While you're all playing baseball, I'm watching Star Wars."
"Just leave her be," muttered Bryan. "Let her do what she wants."
"Hey, asshole!" Nicky gave him a slap on the arm. "This is all your fault."
After I gave everyone a look that could kill a small horse, I put down my pen. "I don't like any of the guys in our class, so I'm not going. And that's final." I paused. "So let's get to work."
"Wait, you don't like any guys?" asked Sarah with a shocked expression.
"Not really," I replied.
"What about girls?" asked Nicky.
"What about them?"
"We could hook you up with a girl."
"Hook me up—?" I gave them an exasperated look. "I don't like women either."
"Guys, just let it go!" said Bryan.
"You just don't wanna admit you screwed it up."
"I admitted it a thousand times."
"Come on, Jess!" Sarah gave me a knowing smile. "Seriously, who do you like?"
"No one." I threw my hands in the air. "How often do I have to say it? I'm flipping too busy to worry about proms right now. I'm celibate. End of statement."
Liar. Cheat. Fraud.
Who cares? I'm too tired for this shit.
"No one's too busy for prom," said Sarah.
"Oh, yeah?" I retorted. "I have eight classes, extracurricular activities, and Grandad's on death's door."
The group fell silent. Mood killer if ever there were one.
Good. I didn't have the patience to deal with their nonsense.
Bryan's face fell. "I'm really sorry, Jess."
That cued everyone in the group—even Sarah and Nicky—to give me pitying stares. And half a dozen half-assed apologies. I didn't need their sympathy. I needed them to concentrate on the damned project so that I didn't have to carry their dumb butts over the finish line.
Once the bus dropped me off at home, I found Mom tending to Grandad, who retched into a plastic bucket layered with bile. I squeezed my eyes shut. As though that would make any difference.
"Hey, dear," said Mom in a distracted voice. "Dinner's in the fridge."
"Thanks, Mom."
"Don't forget to eat it this time."
"Yeah..." I peeked my head around the corner. "Can I help?"
"Not really, dear. You focus on school..."
He gave me a glazed look and nodded in agreement. It made my heart twist and contort upon itself as tears welled in my eyes. I'd taken him for granted. So many years. Always assuming he'd be here.
Now I didn't know what to do.
"I'm gonna go on the computer," I said, my voice breaking despite my best efforts to stay cheerful. "Big project for Christian Ethics."
Mom patted his forehead with a cloth. "Okay, dear."
I almost missed the officious conversations where they would both interrogate me to figure out whether I'd done some horribly immoral thing. At least it would have given me a sense of normality.
Well, this isn't about me, is it? And it shouldn't be.
After heading downstairs, I booted the computer and prayed that this stupid year would end soon. In the meantime, I had to find a way to cope.
One thing was clear: I couldn't burden my grandparents right now, and they wouldn't understand me anyway. Care would understand me, but she had problems of her own.
Even though I could go to my guidance counselor, I didn't want St. Stephen's to know about my problems. If I even had problems. Part of me was paranoid. These were the guys writing my recommendation letters, so I wanted them to have a spotless view of me as a candidate.
Professional counseling might have helped some people, but I couldn't face yet another obligation. Yet another appointment that I probably wouldn't keep due to my busy schedule.
No, I needed a way to vent that was anonymous. One in which people could interact with me without knowing who the hell I was. One where I could explore all the emotions I was ignoring deep inside me. All the pressing concerns. One place where I could be myself.
Because I was going to turn eighteen in less than two months, I made an executive decision. I would use the internet for something other than strictly research. It wasn't technically chatting. It resembled shouting into the void. Although it wasn't directly for school, this would keep me sane enough to succeed.
A place where I could explore myself and not be alone. No names. No private details. Just a diary with the freedom to explore. Perhaps it wasn't the smartest idea in the world, but I needed this.
I decided to make a blog.
***
LiveDiary—Your On-Line Journal
for the 21st Century
The Celibate Life
@CelibateForLife
Let the world know we're
more than a plus sign.💜💪
Sunday, February 28, 1999
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Celibate.
Yeah, that's a good word.
It's the wrong one, but it'll have to do. At least it's easier than trying to explain to my friends or family whatever this is.
Adults know what to expect when they hear that term. They say it takes guts to stand up for one's principles in a sex-obsessed society.
In a way, they're right. It does. I could cave in and do what everyone else is doing. So I don't feel much guilt in soaking up all that praise and giving everyone a shy smile.
It's always, "Wow, I'm impressed."
"Not many young ladies your age have that kind of self-control."
"Good for you. You know what you want, and you stick up for it."
No one's the wiser.
Even my classmates maintain a begrudging respect for celibacy. Some people think I'm a poor, repressed soul in need of enlightenment, but most people don't try to convince me to start having sex like a maniac.
They still think I'm normal. Conformist. Whatever you wanna call it. Hell, I'm a woman, and I like guys. That kind of sexuality hardly qualifies as an outlier, am I right?
Except let's take a good, hard look at that word.
Celibate.
According to most definitions, there are two parts to that word. First, you gotta say no to sex. Now some people might argue on how low you can go before celibacy is simply a technicality. But most people would probably agree that you can't be celibate and 'do the deed'.
Okay, fine. Got it. Easy.
The second part of that definition is a bit trickier, though. There's an inherent choice involved in celibacy. A decision to wait or to never experience something desirable. A need to forgo.
And there it is. Here's where my precious little bubble bursts. In order for this concept to apply to me, I have to a) want to have sex and b) choose not to have sex, for religious reasons or otherwise.
According to that principle, I'm a liar. I'm cheating. I'm a fraud and no one realizes it.
I'm soaking up that praise for all my 'hard work'. All this discipline these people claim I have. All this self-control.
It's all bullshit. And I'm too much of a coward to own up to it.
This so-called praise and admiration stem from one key fact. People assume something applies to me that is 'fundamental' to the human experience.
Or so they think.
They think that when I look at a cute guy I like, I wanna jump his bones. Even if that desire lies dormant, deep down in my unconscious mind. That means I'm staring at this man who's tall, toned, and tough as hell and thinking:
I wanna run my hands all over you, Mr. Bad Boy. And that's just the start.
But I'm a 'good girl' and that's why I keep my hands to myself.
And that's where they're wrong. I'm not celibate. Never have been.
Because I don't want sex in the first place.
And I don't want that to change.
Apart from a healthy scientific curiosity, sex doesn't appear on my scopes. My radar doesn't ping for bangability. I lack a sex-o-meter. The Hottie Scale™ doesn't apply to my dating eligibility criteria.
Still, I'm normal. Sort of. I can tell when a guy is physically attractive. Or when I love his mind or personality. That can make my heart pound like any other normal person.
But it doesn't make me want to express my interest, my admiration, or ultimately my love with sex. Affection is great. But the physical stuff doesn't interest me.
I like the idea of doing all sorts of romantic stuff with guys: talking about thoughts and feelings, cuddling, dating, walking hand in hand by the seaside, debating, traveling, exercising, holding hands, kissing, sending cute texts and emails, and playing games of all sorts...whatever.
Just not the ones in bed.
What do people like me do? Where do we find like-minded folks? I can just imagine what the LGBT+ community would say if I showed up for the Pride Parade.
"Does this chick even warrant a place? Pride for what? Being a whatsit? Not being an anything? Saying No thanks, pal?"
To be fair, I've never tried, so who knows? They might be really supportive.
Maybe I should go.
If they did react that way, they'd have a point, though. I mean publicly saying no to something you don't want anyway hardly deserves a gold medal.
Especially when society loves the 'good girl'.
It's hilarious because I'm not even a good girl. Just ask my family and they'll tell you how much of a pain in the ass I am.
Heck, it's not even like the idea of sex repels me. Sometimes I'm curious, if only to see what all the damned fuss is about. Part of me wants to know because I'm human.
It's the same annoyance you get when someone says, "Hey, guess what's awesome? It's so great. You'll never believe it! I've been dying to tell you."
"What is it?"
"Oh, you know what? Never mind."
You think, Dude, tell me already!
It's kind of like everyone's clued into a great secret except you.
Perhaps the best way to explain it is this: Sex reminds me of a boyfriend insisting on weekly Thai takeout. Maybe more often.
Thai isn't my favorite cuisine, but I have nothing against it. It's not that important to me, though. In fact, if you told me I could never eat it again, I'd probably shrug it off with a 'Meh, okay.'
Assuming I went long enough without Thai food, I'd probably forget it existed.
The converse is also true, though. If my perfect future partner told me that he needed Thai food every day, I'd probably get sick of it, but I'd still say, 'Meh, okay.'
In other words, I could go through life and no one would know the difference. Hardly the stuff of a Pride Parade.
And yet, if my future partner asks me if I love Thai food like he does, should I say I do? Should I cook Thai meals of my own volition and gush about how amazing his Thai food is?
After all, everything else about the relationship is perfect. Why rock the boat?
Don't they say that relationships are all about give-and-take? Who cares if I don't want to take pleasure? Giving is fun.
But if I say I love Thai food, I'll be lying. To myself. To my partner. To my friends.
I'd much rather have Italian. Mexican. Chinese. Hell, even McDonald's, to be honest.
I don't need sex.
Sometimes if I'm not in a great place, I find the idea downright tedious. Even with someone whom I love. I mean really, truly, deeply romantically head-over-heels in love. There are still a thousand things I'd rather do than have bouncy, sexy times.
Apparently, that kind of mentality isn't heteronormative. At all.
Celibacy fits the norm, but that sure doesn't.
Well, shit! Looks like my house of cards has just come tumbling down.
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10 comments
@curiouscritter hey, whazzup wit the plus sign tagline? what does that mean?
➡️ @CelibateForLife Thanks for your comment, Curious. It means all the other sexualities not mentioned in LGBT. I'm not lesbian, gay, bi, or trans, so I fit in the plus sign group. Not sure how, though.
➡️➡️ @curiouscritter cool, cool. so you like guys or nah?
@AceofClubs Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. There is an orientation that mirrors your preferences. If you agree, we can talk about it.
➡️ @CelibateForLife Thanks so much. Yes, I'd love to learn more. What is it?
➡️➡️ @AceofClubs Have you heard of asexuality?
➡️➡️➡️ @CelibateForLife Briefly, once. I'd like to learn more.
➡️➡️➡️➡️ @Starborn_Dreamer I'm asexual, and I can relate to your post. I like guys and girls when it comes to dating and relationships. but I don't see anyone in a particularly sexual light. like, I could have sex, but I don't really need or want to.
@HotBod4U hey cel a/s/l?
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. I could relate to some of these strangers far more than anyone at school. Well, everyone except Curious and HotBod, of course.
If my grandparents caught me talking about sexual preferences, though, I'd lose my Internet rights forever. Especially if they discussed those that went against the Church. Also I was heading dangerously close to chatting, which I promised not to do.
Every creak of the floorboards upstairs made me jump. My senses stood on high alert, ready to minimize the window if Mom made any sign of checking up on me.
Never had I felt so alive.