Ace Awakening Just As Baby Boomer Becomes Used to Being A Non-Binary Sexagenarian

Meanwhile, a non-sexual transatlantic romance blossoms

Who knew I was asexual (“ace”) all along and only recently figured it out two years ago at 63?

That revelation came on the heels of a year earlier revelation that I’m non-binary (“enby”).

For the uninitiated, the slang words “ace” and “enby” represent wide umbrella terms that come in a wide range of varieties. Neither necessarily has anything to do with sexual persuasion or attraction.

Some asexual folks can feel attraction without any physical contact. For others, touching or cuddling is enough, while others are absolutely repulsed by merely seeing someone nude or feel utter repulsion by the mere thought of coitus. Some want romance, others can do without.

Non-binary folx can veer between male or female, or somewhere in the middle like me, or no gender at all (agender).

My baby-boomer generation was given only binary choices: male or female, straight or gay, sexually active or celibate, etc. There was no in-between or both (except for perhaps bisexuality).

Even when the medical profession came across a newborn with unclear genitals — what we now recognize as intersex — they’d be quick to conform to societal expectations of male or female and pump the kid with hormones. So wrong on so many levels.

Don’t call me “Sir”

I was born in the late 1950s, growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, and came of age in the 1980s and 1990s. The modern lexicon hadn’t been invented yet. Thanks to millennials and Gen Z, we have freedom of choice to embrace new labels, pronouns, or none at all. We can say who we are because we are. No further explanation necessary.

But that didn’t mean gender non-conforming people hadn’t existed throughout history.

After my father died in late December 2019, I vowed finally to explore why since adolescence I never quite felt like my peers. Why did I occasionally want to don women’s clothing? Was it just a fetish to get my rocks off, or a stress reliever as I’d tell myself, or something deeper? Why more recently did I bristle internally when anyone called me “Sir” or “Mr.”

[Some of these questions are detailed in my earlier Fourth Wave piece:

As I cleaned out my dad’s house to get it ready for sale during the early days of the pandemic, I discovered in a guest-room dresser drawer an early 1960s letter from my mother to my grandmother that mentioned she took the fertility drug DES. Did I just find biological evidence that my middlesex psyche (with apologies to Jeffrey Eugenides) possibly could have been triggered in utero?

Cracked Egg

In early April 2020, a serious buyer put in an offer for the house. I didn’t waste any more time trying to find out what made me tick. Within a few hours, I found a local gender therapist who would meet me virtually and also a local trans support group that had weekly sessions.

Nine months of therapy sessions helped me rule out being trans (which initially I thought could be possible). But I wasn’t cis either; my psyche laid somewhere in the middle of the masculine and feminine, despite all physical appearances.

Sexually I was a late bloomer, and didn’t lose my virginity until after I graduated college, with a partner two years younger than me and I thought was a dead ringer for Debra Winger, my favorite actress at the time.

We fooled around a bunch in our undergrad years, but for whatever reason we never went all the way. Then she suddenly moved back to Pennsylvania.

I graduated and a year later I found a letter in a book that I lent her, where she explained her sudden disappearance.

We reconciled and enjoyed a terrific week when she visited me in Manhattan (including our long-awaited intimate consummation). But then she disappeared again (that’s another story).

I’m Demisexual

The emotional bond I struck with a few other sexual partners when I was still in my twenties during the 1980s was always more important to me than doing the deed. This mindset is what we now call “demisexual.” Even after my divorce when I was closing in on 50 after a 19-year relationship (13 years married), I didn’t hop into bed with anyone or embark on one-night stands. I found the idea distasteful.

I can’t say with any certainty that I ever really enjoyed the sexual act. I found the concentration required to climax to be mentallly taxing. No wonder women say that after men unload, they’re done. It just seemed like something that was expected, or I had to do (e.g., procreation, grandchildren).

Still I don’t regret for a second the mostly unhappy marriage that produced two now adult kids, who are practically my best friends. So something positive came out of that emotional roller coaster.

I can’t say with any certainty that I ever really enjoyed the sexual act.

But for the other relationships that followed, I now know why none of them clicked on all cylinders for an extended period of time, which is why I gave up dating until I fully figured myself out.

Health Setback

Just as I became comfortable with being non-binary, I started considering seeking low-dose HRT, wondering if a jolt of estradiol might help me feel more comfortable in my own skin. A month later in February 2021, a serious health setback put those plans on hold.

I woke up one morning with my left eye completely shut and crusted over, while my forehead was plagued by fever blisters. I thought I had flesh-eating disease.

I canceled my Narrative Storytelling class that I was to teach via Zoom in two hours and made my way over to the hospital six blocks away.

Looking at me, the intake nurse knew I wasn’t an accident victim, although you could have fooled me.

Agreeing with the nurse’s assessment, the ER doctor and ophthalmologist diagnosed me with an “extreme case of shingles of the eye and face.”

I could have lost my left eye. HRT will wait.

I was in bed for a full month. I was contagious. I couldn’t sleep because my scalp was tingling 24/7. I’d get dizzy as soon as I stood. As David Bowie once sang, “My brain hurt like a warehouse.”

I couldn’t shave my face, which didn’t help my gender dysphoria any. It occurred to me I couldn’t have sex even if I wanted it. I figured I’d have an aneurysm or stroke if I even attempted to masturbate for some self-love.

As David Bowie once sang, “My brain hurt like a warehouse.” An aneurysm or stroke awaited if I even attempted to masturbate.

I eventually recovered, and waded into the HRT pool nearly a year later (another story to come).

Despite a waning libido, living authentically these past three years positively impacted my overall happiness, after decades of repressed feelings trying to live up to societal expectations.

Did I Just Meet My Twin Flame?

A month ago, I unexpectedly met someone in real life who fulfills the emotional ties I crave, and it appears mutual, with her describing me to her close friend as “a special creature.”

We met at a business conference in Holland that I organized and managed. She was a featured speaker.

I have been attending business events and trade shows since my mid-twenties and running them all over the world since my forties. Over the past three decades, I have never enjoyed such a direct personal connection that was not about the convention or our jobs, especially with someone who comes from a different culture.

We’re talking butterflies in the gut, not the swipe-left/swipe right cyber cesspool of the digital age. I didn’t even know I could summon such feelings again.

The night before her closing address, we went out with a group of 10 people to the same outdoor restaurant. We found ourselves sitting opposite each other.

We started sharing some personal details about each other, and learned we were both single, and sort of relish such freedom. I told her that “I’m non-binary.” She responded, “I’m fluid.”

We since have been in constant aural communication, thanks to What’sApp. However, an ocean separates us.

“We’re living in parallel universes,” my new friend summarized the synchronicity that has enveloped our budding relationship, during which we’ve shared favorite films, books, poetry, music, and TV series. Our favorite movie is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

Written in the Stars?

Here are a few more examples of our cosmic bond or strange coincidences since we met.

Two days after I returned to the U.S, she returned to her current country with a cold. I found out I had Covid two days later; thankfully, she tested negative.

A week later on the same day, I learned my checking account was hacked. Within hours, she lost her bank card and mobile phone. For a few days, the only people we talked to were customer service representatives straightening out our modern lives.

We both have been applying for new jobs, and make suggestions for each other’s cover letters. During one of the phone calls, I mention the Sidney Poitier film To Sir, With Love, and then a few days later its music video containing Lulu’s title track hit shows up on a large screen at a concert I attended, and two days later on the sound system of my bank.

Two days ago, I bought a Louis Armstrong record on the street, and it was pressed in the European country she’s from (not one of the bigger ones, or where she currently resides). Another sign, right? Perhaps written in the stars.

We have these deep, long philosophical conversations that never get sexual or flirtatious, because we apparently both want it that way.

It’s refreshing to not have to worry about all the baggage that goes with physical intimacy.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself (it’s only been a month), but this potential union seems to be “no ordinary love,” to quote Sade, or “some kinda love,” to quote Lou Reed.

We’re talking butterflies in the gut, not the swipe-left/swipe right cyber cesspool of the digital age. I didn’t even know I could summon such feelings again. It took 40-plus years of pretending and a non-binary/asexual awakening to realize I previously was pretending, playing a role.

I wonder if I found my twin flame/soul mate, whether or not we ever have sex, or I even see her in person again. But please wish us luck that it progresses in that direction.

Happy “Ace” Week (October 23 to 29)” Everyone!

For further reading:

My non-binary revelation is tackled in this Human Parts piece:

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