My heart thudded against my ribs when I read Ace's comment for the hundredth time. I'd sat on their suggestion to speak one-on-one for days, debating with myself as to whether or not I should respond.

Never had I been so open and honest about my sexual preferences. Much less online. My stomach was performing acrobatics rivaling the efforts of Olympic medalist Kerri Strug.

The little devil on my shoulder kept insisting that I should delete my whole blog and pretend that my admission had never happened. After all, I had enough stress with papers, finals, and college acceptance letters.

Only twenty strangers had seen it so far. What if my family or friends found my blog and read it? Ice cold sweat poured down my back, and my hands and feet turned clammy.

You got this. Be strong.

"To thine own self be true."

One thing stayed my hand. Ace had read my thoughts and responded with kindness. Not with a jibe or a funny look like most of the people at my school. It was the kind of reaction I'd expect from a good friend.

Still, my heart plummeted into my stomach at the thought of sending them an instant message. Should I trust them so easily? What if they're a pervert in disguise?

Just to be safe, I scrolled through every one of my old blog posts first. None of them contained a shred of personal information except for a very common first name. 

The coast was clear.

Why shouldn't I add them as a friend? I might find out interesting info.

My hand trembled as it reached for the mouse. I took a deep breath and sent Ace a friend request.

Their handle appeared moments later on my buddy list to the standard tune of an opening door. I breathed a sigh of relief. Cool, they're online. After waiting a few moments so as not to appear too desperate, I typed a casual greeting and clicked send.

My heart thumped while I waited for their reply. Why was my body reacting like a schoolgirl with a crush?

It's the thrill of doing something different. Exploring new territory.

Ace sent me an immediate response, and we began to chat.

What a jerk! Was this all some kind of elaborate prank? Didn't this loser have anything better to do?

"My life as an amoeba"?

Aww, hell no!

I closed the chat window with a furious click and almost blocked them. But they sent me a flurry of messages that changed my mind.

My heart gave a wistful twinge. That sentiment felt all too familiar. I'd always wanted to talk to someone who didn't define themselves by their sexual urges. This author might have written an article that made a difference in Ace's life.

Would it help me find my way?

I had to read it. Or at least give it a shot, if only to satiate my curiosity.

Against my better judgment, I decided to give Ace a chance.

My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. An entire group with other people like me!

Exploring my sexuality had been a lonely and scary road until now. It'd be so easy to give up and just blend in like I'd always done. But I couldn't. Not now. And I didn't want to fight this battle on my own anymore.

Ace was offering me the chance to walk the hard yards with friends.

My fingers danced upon the keys as I typed a response.

AIM alerted me of Ace's departure with the familiar closing door. I couldn't help but chuckle at their comment. They had a point. Almost every stranger who had ever sent me an instant message began with that annoying preface. ASL was an online bangability filter: age, sex, and location.

1. Am I allowed to bang them?
2. Are they the right gender for me?
3. Do I have access to them?

No 'hello', no 'how are you', none of the typical trivial niceties. No need for cheesy pick-up lines. Just a/s/l. It came across as crass to me, and I wouldn't be caught dead saying that to anyone. At any time. Much less to a freaking stranger as a greeting.

Yet another thing I didn't understand about the human condition...

I knew one thing for sure. If I was going to join a group about asexuality, I had to educate myself a bit. After all, I couldn't show up sounding like a total newbie. So I decided to search for good articles on the subject.

It became clear to me right away why Ace had decided to create a Yahoo group. Most of the search results for asexuality were unhelpful at best and downright stupid at worst.

I shook my head and rolled my eyes, unable to decide whether I should laugh or fume at the World Wide Idiocy--sorry, Web. Are these sites for real? What is this bullshit?

Typing with a bit more force than necessary, I searched for the crazy amoeba article. If Ace suggested it, perhaps that was the best place to start. What if asexuality wasn't my thing after all? I might click that little X faster than you could say holy crap in a handbasket.

As soon as I'd read the first two paragraphs, though, O'Reilly's words soothed my concern like a balm on a sunburn. I took my first step into a brave new world.

As I scrolled through it, her words resonated with me. I couldn't believe I'd found someone who understood my views on sex.

Like the author, I wasn't gay, bi, lesbian, or trans, but I didn't experience sexuality like a heterosexual either. She expressed pride--not fear, despair, or anguish--and didn't mind standing up and saying that she didn't have sexual cravings.

O'Reilly didn't make it sound like I was a weird amoeba, but just another expression of humanity. She wasn't some kind of isolated hermit who hated people. Like me, she seemed to have a fulfilling life with good career prospects and friends.

A well-adjusted person.

Just no sex.

Rapt, I scrolled further until my eyes fell on the one sentence that changed my life forever.

It is my nature. It. Is. My. Nature. It is my nature. It is my nature!

YES! Thank you!

I almost leaped out of my desk chair.

In that one sentence, O'Reilly had expressed what I'd wanted to say my whole life. I didn't want to have a husband who ravished my body every night. I didn't dream of raising two-point-seven kids in a giant house with a white picket fence either.

It wasn't a choice or a decision. The more I thought about it, the more I realized the truth.

I'd always felt this way.

When I was four, I'd never wanted to play House like the other kids. I'd never wanted a boyfriend, real or imaginary, even after I'd hit puberty. At the age of thirteen, it'd confused me when boys became synonymous with 'partners-in-petting'. Even after my sixteenth birthday, it'd boggled my mind why anyone would express love or affection by pounding against my flesh until I began to moan and shake.

Now all the pieces were starting to fall into place.

It is my nature not to want sex.

I didn't hate sex. Or sexuals. Unlike O'Reilly, I didn't even think romance was out of the question as long as I met the right person. I wanted to date guys my age. I just couldn't see why boys seemed to link sexual activity with romantic encounters like dates.

Just like they couldn't understand my indifference.

For once, an objective person--an author who knew nothing about me--was telling me I didn't have to be ashamed of my thoughts and feelings. Or pretend to be celibate to get people off my back. My thoughts and feelings were legitimate and valid.

O'Reilly gave me a word. A term for what I was. As soon as I could name my orientation, realization blossomed within me like a spring flower kissed by gentle rain and sunlight.

I am an asexual.

___

Now it's time another author spoke out. :D

Be proud of who you are. No matter what your orientation. We're all human, and we all deserve love and respect. :D

A/N: My Works Cited page is included at the end in Appendix I.

A/N: Definitions for Textspeak are included at the end in Appendix II.