Category Archives: Creative writing
“Doctor, I want the female Viagra thingy, Ah-dee-dee-yee. Can you just get me prescription?”
“I generally want to get to know my patients, so let’s… talk first.”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“Please sit down, ma’am. Thank you. Why do you feel you need this drug?”
“Well… to have more sex.”
“What has led up to that?”
“Well, someone I know mentioned in and we got talking… so my husband said we should try it out. There’s no shame in getting a little help, y’know, when you can’t…. get revved up as easily as others.”
“Do you personally desire to have more sex?”
“I – I don’t know… not really, I guess… I mean, I like the activity once in a while but…”
“So you are satisfied with the intimacy as it is now?”
“No. I mean, I’d like more of it. But not orgasms. More… y’know, all the rest of it. Touching each other.”
“You’ve discussed this with your husband?”
“Not really, no. It’s awkward, y’know, talking about sex.”
“More so than having it?”
“Oh hell, yeah. I mean, you stutter and blush and there’s just so many words not coming out of my mouth.”
“Then perhaps… try to learn to talk and see if you can’t fulfill both your desires? It’ll be a lot cheaper and less harmful than chemicals. I can refer you to a good counselor, if necessary.”
“Oh… yes. Right. Yes, of course, thank you. I’m gonna, uh.”
“Have a good day ma’am. Oh, and ma’am?”
“If you’re in need of a mild stimulant, might I suggest a glass of red wine with dinner? It’s actually more effective and has far less side-effects.”
“Oh… right… Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind. Goodbye, doctor.”
“Next, please. Hello, ma’am, please take a seat.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary Doctor, I just need a prescription for that female Viagra I read about in the newspapers.”
“…have a seat, ma’am. Let’s talk about it, first.”
“No, I’m fine, otherwise, really, and I’m on my way to work, so if you could just -”
“We don’t prescribe it ma’am, for some very good reasons, have a seat, let me tell you why, and perhaps we can find a solution to your problem that does work. Alright?”
The newspapers in Holland keep referring to it as female Viagra. Le sigh. I really hope these are prescription drugs, at least, not available over-the-counter.
My thoughts continue to rattle on… Because possibilities! Ideas! Let’s see what we have, shall we?
- Several books published on asexuality, available online and offline
- Many, many articles written over the past decades, on paper, by magazines and newspapers, on people’s websites, in blogs, in events…
- A very active AVEN world watch forum where links and/or posts are published several times a day.
- Video and audio media in goodly amounts, as well as multimedia projects.
- Dedicated archives for media and zines.
- Several people dedicated to writing quality reviews and offering information.
- Media starting to appear in several languages that would be good to offer, and possibly offer translations or sub/dub versions…
- Probably a whole lot more.
Collecting either references or the media themselves in one place might help visibility immensely. So I figure, let’s think about this as a group, shall we? Hypothetically or realistically, what would be desirable to have?
- An online catalogue or database of existing media, with the emphasis on searchability and possibly reviews. Parallel: a library catalogue, for on- and offline media.
- An online archive with copies or reviews (depending) of existing media, with the emphasis on preservation and offering a wide collection of literature to those interested in a variety of topics concerning asexuality. Parallel: World Watch, but then a website.
- An online library with both existing media and new, where people can post, tag and review anything of interest, with an emphasis on offering a long-term place of publication and inclusive archive that worked to preserve as much of the media available on asexuality as possible, in several languages. Parallel: AO3/OTW, but way smaller.
Please tell me what would have your preference and advice you might have.
The third option is my personal preference, but it’d be the most ambitious project.
P.S. please do tell me if something similar is already in the works and I’m trying to reinvent the wheel.
P.P.S. I’m not trying to replace the World Watch forum, I think they’re a great help in signal-boosting newsworthy content, and I don’t believe in competition. I do believe that there’s room for a more flexible platform than a forum that would add to the pool of knowledge. I’m trying to see if that’s actually something other people want too. Keep in mind this’d be a long-term project that would take time to set up and grow, which’d fit in with the general growth of the asexual community, especially internationally.
(Crossposted to my wordpress and tumblr blogs and the AVEN Visibility forum. Please respond on your preferred platform.)
I have decided that I love you. After mapping out the entire shape of your being in the years that we have known each other, I love you. The greatest flaws you have made and deepest needs I cannot help with and darkest nights that I felt as much as you. I love you.
The initial flame has died, not even sexual, but this curious admiration and the pull to be near you, always, hear what you say, every word. I choose to build on that, every day. I choose to love you again, longer, more, other, every moment.
The shape of us together has become a creature almost independent of us, the intangible member of our trinity. The length of our time together and the richness of our memories and the diversity of ways in which we constructed, deconstructed, destroyed and mended what we share and who we are. I love you.
Oh, the soul of you is beautiful. Joy, discerning the shape of your mind entire. I have tasted every flavour of your spirit. To know them all and be two whole creatures independent in one unit so intimate. I love you.
The synchronicity of us has grown. What you pick up in the store is what I need a day later and a vacation I bookmark is the escape you wish for after a busy day. I love you.
It is an act I perform every day. A choice I make every day. A habit I maintain carefully. Investment and gift and necessity. I love you, because it is logical.
ASEXUAL DATING SERVICE AD
Inspired by “Relationships: Spiritual, Physical and Romantic”
1. EXT. BEACH. DAY
SURFER DUDE and CHEEKY BRUNETTE walk along the waterline hand in hand, talking unheard. They pause to point towards the horizon. CHEEKY BRUNETTE laughs at a remark of SURFER DUDE and sticks her tongue out.
EPIC VOICE (V/O)
Is your ideal date walking along the beach all day and night, talking? Not even stopping for a kiss?
2. INT. LIVING ROOM. NIGHT
BLONDE HIPPIE GIRL spoons BIKER CHICK on a couch, both asleep.
GENTLE VOICE (V/O)
Do you wish you could just cuddle up to her all night long?
3. EXT. UNIVERSITY LIBRARY ENTRANCE. DAY.
HIPSTER STUDENT greets PREPPY STUDENT and points at the stack of books in PREPPY STUDENT’s hands. PREPPY STUDENT nods eagerly and hands over the books, bending over to shoulder a bulging backpack. HIPSTER STUDENT crams the books under one arm and takes PREPPY STUDENT’s arm with a free hand. They walk down the stairs together.
EPIC VOICE (V/O)
Do you dream of the day you can court him like a modern knight?
Fade to logo.
GENTLE VOICE (V/O)
Check out this all-new dating service, specially designed for all you folks who DON’T want your relationship to be all about sex.
EPIC VOICE (V/O)
So are you on the asexual spectrum, or do you feel you are ready to leave all that oversexed nonsense behind? Check out ACE DATES!
Website address appears beneath the logo, which flares from left to right before fading to black.
Liberties were taken with the script format.
When I open my eyes I am on the sofa, still dressed and you in a chair, crick in your neck. I fail to rub the sleep out of my face and the pain out of my lower back while you blink and take in the ceiling.
“Omelet?” I ask.
“Tomatoes and peas, please.” Your shoulders crack and sleepy warmth pins my hip and arm to the counter.
I smile. The more veg your food is, the lighter your heart. I hip-check you out of my way and make us breakfast while you shower.
“My turn for dinner?” you ask, halfway through the omelet.
I nod. “Jenny’s coming as well.” When you grumble I shoot a pea at you nose and you flick drops of lukewarm tea at me.
When you put down your fork I snatch clothes from my room before you can hog it again to play with your hair. “Oy!” you say from yours and I laugh at you.
A courtyard and tiny houses built before Columbus sailed or Constantinople fell.
I close my eyes and open my mind. There you sit, sunning yourself after you’ve done your laundry. When your friend comes back from mending clothes at the girls’ orphanage you might have a beer on the porch.
I’ve peeked into your house before, offended, centuries late, that you had to give up what sexual freedom you had in order to gain the freedom of movement this life offered.
You believed in God, but most, you wished for the city, for freedom. So here you came to live amongst other women, each your own house. Your own bed to rise from at dawn, your own meals to cook.
This second visit, I wonder.
Did you feel not quite right amongst friends? Did you wonder about what they whispered behind hands? Given more choices, which would you have made?
When you saw your friends’ courting and their swollen bellies, did you wish for it?
I reconsider… perhaps the celibacy was in itself part of your freedom, rather than a price payed.
In the late Middle Ages, some women lived in an begijnhof or beguinage.
Murmurs and low light.
I peer between my lashes. The litany of “Lord, I ask you…” does not abate. I lean my forehead on my right hand, unused to continuing prayer beyond five minutes. My left has rested on your shoulder since we started, overlapping two others.
I speak into the silence next, two sentences before I falter, though received with two hissed yesses, and another continues speaking.
I squeeze your shoulder, which sagged when tension left it. The air sits warm and heavy around us all.
When we open our eyes you are near to crying. We all touch, near strangers though we are, hands all over each others’ backs and shoulders. Loath though we are, we leave, glancing back.
That Sunday and the next, I come back, as the others do, drawn into orbit while you update us patiently. When we linger, I speak as if you are my friend and you look at me oddly. We laugh and finally introduce ourselves.
As weeks wear on we will greet each other, but the pull to draw near leaves, a ripple smoothing back into more mundane interaction, a little strand of connection left behind.
Facing front, my eyes catch the back of your head. Messy, short, I always wish to ruffle it like my brother’s. Not today.
Later, my gaze lingers on your profile, not handsome but memorable and able to invite the whole group in on how you feel. You make us laugh, a moment between one task and the next.
But today, my laughter flushes down to drain into a warm belly, clenching up. Down into tingling feet that wish to flee the scene.
Break’s over. My face masks that my mind has turned inwards to check. No – my opinion of you hasn’t changed. No flush of gibberish to mark a crush. Just a slow, low boiling I do not know.
We finish and I leave, analysing. Mild arousal, I guess. You, its cause.
Rough brick hugs my back in support when I lean against it. So, this is what it’s like. So, I can feel it towards an actual person.
I slap my heel against the wall, launching forward to clap my feet against the street, applauding the joyous occasion.
My mind clutches two new questions. What does this make me? What do I want? It rattles its new toys, but as yet, no answer follows.
Mere words translate into facets of a concept, slotting into the structure you’ve spent the past few hours building in my mind.
I straighten a sore back and tighten feet frozen in curls around chair legs.
I do not verbalise questions before you launch into their answers. We have established who sends and who receives today, I only bounce back short summaries to check I am following.
An amused waitress stops by long enough to pour more coffee in our cups and sweep her eyes over us to save the tableau for an observation later, when we pay, back from our little world of two.
Our eyebrows will have travelled miles over our foreheads before we sit back, breathless, exhilarated. Minds released from their rapport.
Come home, when asked, I will not have words to explain dates without touching, intimacy without physicality.
I will pause, hesitant, until the memory of your idea asserts itself and leave me thinking and reshaping it for hours.