It's not easy, but it's not saintly

Lately, I've been getting a lot of comments from fans, telling me that I am "saintly" for accepting and loving my girlfriend as she transitions. Well, thanks to you all, I'm grateful to see the support, obviously. But it's not a task which I consider arduous, or worthy of sainthood. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't at all difficult, or if there weren't nights when I lay awake wondering about how it will all go, but anyone with an open mind, and open heart, and a healthy attitude towards love can do what I am doing now, whether as a family member, a romantic partner, or a friend. I'm hardly an expert, but these are the things which I have dealt with while she transitions.

I'd say probably the biggest challenge for me when I first realized that transition was going to be the route she would take was coping with how I, her, and our relationship would change in the eyes of the world. If you want me to be brutally honest, I was reminded of the scene from Fiddler On the Roof when Chava is begging Tevye to accept her love for her non-Jewish boyfriend, and he shoots her down, declares her essentially dead in his eyes. I haven't told any of my family yet, but I'm expecting just that, based on past statements about trans people and my mom's horror at the suggestion that I might be bisexual (That was my attempt at coming out, which quickly fizzled and forced me to abort all attempts to talk about it)

Family is one thing, and I have been building myself up mentally for the possibility of being disowned by them for several months now. Beyond them, I am also fearful of other folks, ones I haven't even met yet: Landlords, future bosses, coworkers, airport security officials, basically, I have internalized a fear of every stranger who may have power over my life and how I live it. When I read stories about trans people being deported when trying to travel abroad, having a difficult time being treated with dignity by healthcare professionals, or being denied housing/employment, I bite my lip, and try to remind myself that not all will be like that, that there is hope. But I worry often about our dreams of travel. She and I used to spend hours awake together, whispering "Let's go to Bahrain" or "Let's go to Ukraine" or "Let's go to Java", and detailing our adventures, the sights we'd see, the museums we'd frequent, the food we'd try, the bodies of water we would swim in.

Occasionally we would worry about some places being unsafe to travel, either because we are Westerners, or because I'm Jewish. But now, it's much more frightening to think, as two women travelling together, one of whom is trans, about our safety when travelling abroad. Hell, it's a nightmare to think about our safety in our very own neighbourhood! That has probably been the biggest shocker to adjust to, more than anything else. It's a truly unfair choice: Live as we truly are and be ourselves, or have to give up on a good portion of a dream we shared as a couple.

Another thing which I have had a hard time adjusting to is having to be patient. My girlfriend, bless her, she's a physicist. Her interest lays inherently in plotting things out, looking for the little cogs which make the big machine work, and carefully conducting step-by-step to get to the end. I'm the exact opposite. I am interested in results, fast. So when she began going to her therapist, I thought, "Well, that's great, we can get the ball rolling, put you in a dress, and I'll teach you how to wear heels without breaking an ankle."" No," was the answer I got. "We have to take this slow. Make sure to gradually begin to feminize [girlfriend's] appearance, little things, like growing out hair more, and then we can work our way up to electrolysis, feminization, and hormones."

That frustrated me. What probably aggravated me the most was the fact that my girlfriend was reluctant to "come out" to the world. As far as the majority of the world of our friends and acquaintances and people we see every day is concerned, we are still a heterosexual couple and my girlfriend is a red-blooded Canadian boy. I began to get impatient with the slowness, I was eager to come out, and we have probably had more fights over this issue than any other. I don't want to live in a closet, I argue, and why should we hide who we are from our friends? We have nothing to be embarrassed about.

But in making this argument, I was ignoring my girlfriend's right to control how she comes out and the pace at which she would feel comfortable. I'm an absolute jerk for doing that, I know. It was hard for me to cope with the slow pace, but that's no excuse for being so bossy and domineering over HER transition. When I realized this, I apologized, offered her a hug, and decided it's time for me to take Don't Be a Jerk lessons, if anyone's offering.

As time goes on, I know other issues are going to come up. Hormones can make people grumpy or curt, medical procedures are difficult to deal with, and all those years of integrated prejudice and bigotry aren't going to come off with elbow grease alone. But I have to keep growing, keep learning, and realize above all else: It's not about me. It's her journey, and I'm just a helping hand. I'm not a perfect partner, but I've got to do my very best to make this as easy and pain-free for her as possible. It's my honour and my duty to love my girlfriend and help her be at her happiest as a woman. Our relationship with each other, society, our family, and just about everyone else is going to change, but we'll still be the same people, and still have love and unbreakable friendship as a foundation of our togetherness.

It's not been all champagne and chocolates. But it's quite the interesting journey, if you can learn to not be a backseat driver.

Sex & The Spectrum: One Asexual Partner & One Sexual Partner

For many relationships, sex is the glue that keeps people together and ensures good workings in most other aspects of the relationship. And let's face it, sex is good for you. It's a stress reliever, a form of exercise, it helps you sleep better... What a wonderful thing! (Also applies to masturbation)

But what happens when you have a relationship where one of the partners is asexual (Also known as nonsexual)? Well, I'm about to tell you, from personal experience.

My girlfriend is asexual. In her terms, that just means she has absolutely no interest in sexual intercourse. She has no qualms about other forms of intimacy (She gives the BEST hugs!) or affection, and we love stimulating each other through touch, such as squeezing each other, hugging, rubbing up against one another, kissing, and holding hands, and we both love deep pressure. Light pressure, like tickling or light touching, overstimulates her however, so we avoid doing it.

She didn't tell me that she was not interested in sex when we first started dating, I assumed that we would have sex when we were ready. I was quite surprised she didn't request sex.

Eventually she told me why things weren't going as I expected, and, to be honest, I wasn't very open minded. I suggested that it may have a biological source, such as lacking in hormones, or some sort of sexual dysfunction, and pressured her to see a sexologist so that she could try viagra (my girlfriend is trans) or some other drug to see if it would bring about sexual desire. She wasn't enthused about this idea at all, and tried to explain to me that it wasn't something caused by a deficiency, it was just the way she was. She used the word "asexual" to explain it, which I was only familiar with in a purely biological sense.

Before I saw her again, I looked up information on asexuality online. One person, who, sadly, I can't remember, compared an asexual POV to that of the average human being visiting a planet where everyone has an obsessive eyebrow fetish. You're fine with eyebrows, but can't understand why everyone else is so obsessed with them. There are entire magazines devoted to eyebrows, television shows, and constant discussion about how to best approach talking about eyebrows. Wouldn't you be baffled too?

That helped me develop a better understanding of what was going through her mind, and why our sex life wasn't what I had originally expected. To resolve anything else I was feeling about the situation, I talked to her about what my wants and needs were, and she and I are continuing a dialogue to come to an understanding as to how to best work through my desire for sex, but wanting to respect her lack of desire, and her trying to satisfy my sexual needs but not have to do anything she is uncomfortable with.

We're still working on it; there's no perfect solution. Fortunately, the need for intimate touch and contact is addressed happily, since we both want and appreciate physical touch, and that aspect is fulfilled. But it's not easy, for either of us, and is an ongoing journey of balance. On my side, I have to find other ways to fulfil my sex drive, such as becoming a regular at Babeland, and dealing with lingering feelings of hurt and inadequacy, feeling that it is somehow my fault that my girlfriend isn't attracted to me sexually.

But I believe, in spite of these road bumps, that it is more than possible for a relationship between an asexual person and a sexual person to be successful, happy, and celebrated. The key is the same as any relationship, communication with your partner and sharing what you want out of each other.

Above all else though, there's a certain amount of happiness to dating an asexual over dating a sexual person. I can always sleep at night knowing that there is something more than my looks or sex appeal which my girlfriend loves about me. She constantly praises non-surface qualities she adores in me which amaze her each day, and she is 100% genuine and true when uttering them. Sexual people can do this too, and in my opinion, should do this more often. There's also the fact that we are, at the very core of our relationship, best friends. There is no worry that our relationship is devoid of any meaning beyond the sex, no anxiety over running out of things to talk about, or falling short conversationally.

All in all, the best words to describe a sexual/asexual relationship: Refreshing, rebellious, and full of the most special and intimate of love.

Sex and the Spectrum: Self Pleasure

Scandalous! Today's topic is masturbation.

This one is probably not going to go over well. A lot of people don't like to think about it outside of the goofy context of a Seth Rogen film, and many more people don't like to admit that they do it. They especially don't like to admit that autistic people do it. As I've mentioned before, it's a popular, comforting notion for neurotypicals to categorize autistics as either completely sexually depraved and unable to ever find a sex partner, or completely celibate and disinterested in sex and masturbation. There are people on the spectrum who fit into both categories, though usually less extremely than the stereotypes would have you believe. But in the big middle are plenty of autistic people, myself included, who engage in solo sessions and enjoy them either on their own, or as part of a decent sex life with a partner(s).

The first time I can remember masturbation being discussed and perceived as taboo in a way I was old enough to understand what was being talked about was my Sophomore year of high school. By then, I had already developed a sex drive and masturbated regularly in private. While I considered it a private activity and knew better than to talk about it say, in front of my mother, the topic of "fingering" came up amongst my age mates one day. I didn't know what it was, so I asked for clarification. When it was explained to me, I shrugged, glad for the explanation, and said breezily, "Ah, okay. I do that to myself sometimes." and thought nothing further of it.

But that was only the beginning. One person in the group had a particular penchant for being a loudmouth, and soon, I randomly had concerned members of the school's S.O.U.L (Shout Out Until the Lord, take a guess what kind of group they were) Club coming up to me, and asking in squeaky, concerned voices, "Leah, is it true you masturbate?" with major emphasis on that last word, like they'd just asked if I was the one who shot JFK or peddled heroin. My usual answer, which I mastered perfectly around the 10th time I was asked that week, was usually an exasperated, "Yes, I do. And so do you. Everybody does it. Not just humans. Bonobos, camels, sheep, and bats do it too." This was usually followed with vehement denial on the part of the club member, decrying the activity and me as sinful, and offering to save my soul. I preferred the masturbation to the salvation, so I repeatedly declined. But I was repeatedly mystified at their boldfaced assertion that they did not masturbate, because it was sinful and ugly and evil. Thus my introduction to taboos against sex with someone you love.

Now, as an adult, the topic comes up less in terms of teenage hijinks, and more in relation to my disability advocacy work. I've had everybody, from parents to caretakers to neurotypical friends get uncomfortable at the idea that someone autistic could masturbate. One vivid quote I recall from someone was, "I don't think it's right to show an interest in that. It's just setting him up for disappointment, nobody will ever want him."

I guess it's fair to associate masturbation as a precursor to sex, but that's only exploring one particular facet of masturbation. It can also be employed as a sleep aid, as a stress relief, and it can just be used for the pleasure of itself, with no prospect of it ever advancing to sex with a partner. One example of this is asexual individuals (I've noticed a correlation between being on the spectrum and identifying as asexual, but that's for another day) who masturbate. They usually don't have much, if any, interest in a sexual partner, but many of them still masturbate for any of the reasons stated above. It's a healthy and accessible form of release for them.

And for autistic people who will never get a sexual partner, either because of lack of interest or lack of ability to attract one, masturbation can serve as a reliever of sexual tension. This ties back earlier to what I said about the importance of privacy and alone time for individuals on the spectrum; this allows them a chance to discover, as they reach puberty, that masturbation can be a way of removing stress. And I don't know if all can recall those wonder years, but it's stressful being a teenager and young adult. Doubly so if you are on the spectrum. Why not encourage (Or at least I hope, not discourage) a way for autistic people to learn to alleviate some of that stress, and improve their health? You don't have to buy sex toys for their birthday (For more discussion on that, see Asperger's Syndrome and Sexuality, I believe I recall a chapter was devoted to aids like that in masturbation) but don't violently react to the idea that autistic people need sexual release.

If the topic is handled appropriately, without shame, with the guidance of professionals, with an open mind, and with the opinions of the autistic person always being put first above any notions of purity or propriety, masturbation and self pleasure can be discussed healthfully and safely. It's important to discuss and set boundaries on when and where it is appropriate to do so, but there is no reason why the desire, if present, should be quashed. We have just as much of a right to know and love our bodies as neurotypicals, and in fact, since we are often possess a greater sensory awareness of our bodies and surroundings, masturbation could be a great way of appreciating and managing that awareness.