My Sexuality No Longer Fits Into This Box

Am I less of a “woman” than I thought…?

It finally happened. I found a sexual ASMR video. I know that might not sound like a big deal, but for me, it is.

I’m an ASMR addict. I regularly get lost in ASMR rabbit holes on YouTube when I’m lying in bed because I love that exquisite feeling of being so tired and comfortable that you keep nodding off, but not wanting to fully surrender to sleep because you are watching something so incredibly relaxing…

As I’ve shared my addiction with more and more people, I’ve encountered many who think ASMR videos are expressions of sexual kinks and fetishes. I wasn’t particularly surprised by this, since I knew that a few years ago, PayPal suspended the accounts of several “ASMRtists” who have huge followings on YouTube because the payment platform considered these completely non-sexual videos to be against their anti-sex work policies.

It seems rather ridiculous to me. I’ve seen hundreds of these videos, and while some of them are sexy and some definitely skirt the line, I’d hardly call them sexual and absolutely would not consider them sexual entertainment.

However…I’ve always acknowledged that there are probably some sexual ASMR videos out there. Somewhere. The ASMR platform lends itself perfectly to a more sexualized experience, so no doubt there are people out there doing just that.

I’ve never gone searching for one — I have no need. My draw to ASMR is simply the benefits of relaxation. There are endless other outlets for getting my sexual jollies.

But then…it happened. YouTube recommended a new channel for me, hosted by an incredibly beautiful Russian woman. The first video that popped up on my feed featured her dressed in some kind of crazy-hot costume that barely contains her breasts, while she fiddles with pinecones, dried leaves, and stuffs random objects into a phallic-shaped decanter, bosom heaving in the background.

I was mesmerized. I was falling into one of the best states of relaxation I’ve ever experienced, while also being crazy turned on.

And then the next video popped up and…there it was. The ultimate sex-ASMR fusion.

It’s called ASMR for Men and of course, I had to know what that was about. I’ve never seen anyone label a video by gender before, so my curiosity was piqued. And of course, the moment I saw her stroking those two super long microphones, each one adorned with a little pussy cat ornament, I knew exactly where that video was going.

What surprised me was how much I liked it. I like women, too, so that’s no shock, but it surprised me how much her efforts to stimulate a heterosexual male actually worked on me. I swear to God, I grew a sympathetic dick while watching that video.

“Thank you for giving it to me,” she whispers at some point, and I felt this testosterone-like thrill surge through me at her words.

Near the end of the video, she leans into the mics over and over again, opening her mouth just a bit here and there, making you think she’s about to deepthroat them and all I could think was, “Yes! Suck that mic!” I mean, I’m laughing as I write this, but I’m also dead serious.

That video made me feel like a man and I loved it.

I’ve been thinking a lot this past year about the sexual and gender spectrums, how I’ve identified myself on them, and whether or not I want to “stay where I am.”

I’ve always recognized that I was extremely fluid with my sexuality, for instance, though for most of my life, I remained on the heterosexual end because it felt safer to me than having to explain myself to people outside my family (in other words, I copped out), and because I wanted to have kids, it seemed easier to focus my attention on men. Now that I’m older and care less about dealing with other people’s hang-ups about non-traditional sexuality and I’m making peace with the fact that having my own children is pretty unlikely at this stage, I am embracing my fluid sexuality.

I never thought much about gender, though. I always identified with my assigned gender — female — though not without struggle.

For instance, I very rarely feel “feminine.” I know that might seem surprising to some, especially for someone who has such a curvy, obviously womanly body, but I’ve always felt fat, ugly, and coarse. Women were supposed to be skinny and delicate and beautiful and smooth, right? I’ve never been that way, which made me feel like less of a woman.

And if I wasn’t feminine, then what was I? Masculine, right? That’s the only other option I thought there was.

I always felt insecure in my relationships, like I wasn’t woman enough for the men I was with. They were always so hyper-masculine — obsessed with violent video games, aggressive porn, and fast motorcycles — and there I was, this chubby, not-very-pretty, scarred woman who wasn’t skinny or beautiful or delicate like the women who graced my ex’s computer backgrounds, those women in g-strings and high heels, holding guns while balanced in a sexy squat. And there I was with my fat thighs, cotton panties, and sweaty feet decked out in low-heeled boots.

I thought I might as well be a man for as “feminine” as I was.

It wasn’t until I was in my forties that I started actually pondering my gender identification in a deeper way. Was it possible that some of my feelings of “maleness” were not just born from insecurity, but from the fact that I did not feel like I was only female?

For instance, I notice that I have two very different responses to feelings of arousal inspired by a woman. Sometimes, I feel the arousal unfold through what I know of my sexual response as a woman. And other times, I feel something different — something I can only describe as a male response. The feeling is just a little bit different — an energy that is more singular in its scope and direction than my usual feminine response. It’s an energy that moves very strongly out of me, focused, and directed, and yes, very hard, not at all like the gauzy, intangible, soft force of my feminine desire.

To be blunt about it, it makes me feel like I want to hammer someone.

And it’s not that I can’t feel that in a more feminine sexual response — I do. But it’s different. Somehow, the hammering desire I feel in my female response is again, more diffuse, more like an all-encompassing envelopment, whereas the hammering desire I feel in my male response is laser-focused, precise, tangible.

It’s almost impossible to find the words to describe these subtle nuances. I might not have the words (believe it or not) but I can certainly sense it. And the more I pay attention, the more I dive deeper into this.

Maybe, I’ve come to believe, I have a strong inner masculine, just like my strong inner feminine. Maybe I am not just a “she” but a “she/they”…

I’ve always been attracted to both men and women. In my twenties, I noticed that I had a strong draw to people who presented as androgynous and even more to men who were very feminine in their appearance. This is in addition to also having a real hard-on for hyper-feminine women with big boobs and hyper-masculine men with broad shoulders and abundant chest hair.

I guess you could say I wanted all the usual trappings, but also the reverse, too.

Funnily enough, though, I was never attracted to more masculine-presenting women. That just didn’t do it for me. Maybe because I thought that was a failure of femininity, thanks to all the toxic lessons I’ve learned about femininity and female sexuality. And maybe it was because it was too close to home, reminding me of how I felt I had failed to be a feminine woman.

And then one day, Abby Wambach came along. I don’t know exactly when I found myself attracted her — it wasn’t right away — but one day, I looked at her and found myself drunk with desire. Oh my god. Those lips. The way she talks. And her heart. I mean…you gotta love that heart, which is more important than anything else, for me.

I was so excited: my first butch crush. And somehow, it made me feel like it was okay to feel the way I feel about myself — that I’m not a perfect, feminine woman. I’m a little bit butch.

My crush on Abby has taught me so much about my gender identification and sexuality (which seems silly to say, but it’s true). Her wife, Glennon Doyle, posted a photo of her on Halloween dressed as Iceman from Top Gun (or at least, I assumed as much — there was no actual note about this, but it feels like a natural assumption for we Gen Xers). Though I’m probably the only American woman alive who didn’t have a crush on Val Kilmer in the 80s, I am all over Abby’s Iceman. How can I even describe what this picture does to me?

I guess the easiest thing I can say is that it crumples up all my biases and beliefs about sexual orientation and gender identity into a ball and throws that paper ball into a fire. Whoosh. Gone.

Man, woman, non-binary, straight, gay, pan, bi… All of it. It’s all there.

And I want to feel it all.

I have long considered myself pansexual (as Alice Walker describes the term, though the current definition applies, as well). But I never really thought about questioning the binary limitations of gender until I turned 40.

I do feel like a woman and that my femaleness is an important part of my sexuality. I have felt that way my whole life, so I doubt that will change.

But I wonder what would open up for me if I could let go of the feeling that I have to hit some standard as a woman — a standard I will always fail because I will never be a tiny, traditionally beautiful, delicate, smooth, unscarred woman.

What would happen if I embraced the masculine aspects of myself instead of judging them? If I could play with my masculine sexual energy instead of ignoring it?

As I get older, I don’t feel “all woman” all the time. I don’t think I ever did. I’m a little bit androgynous. A little bit butch. A little bit male.

And as I explore this more, I’m finding it incredibly sexy and exciting to think of the new ways I could express myself as a sexual being who doesn’t have to fit into those neat little boxes.

© Yael Wolfe 2020

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