Some Boys Just Wanna Have Fun

David has the perfect glasses. They make him look like the sexy professor I always wanted to do in college, if any of my professors hadn't been old or British. His hair curls just the right amount, and in the right places. His casual button-up smooths over his chest, and I feel like I've met him in a sex dream I had six months ago.

"Nice glasses," I say.

He turns to me and smiles. "Thanks. I actually bought them in Canada."

"Oh really? Where? I went to college in Vancouver- UBC."

"Really? That's a good school. I got my masters at SFU, which, as you may know, sucks." 

His voice is perfect. It's sweet, and soft, but deep; like an ex-wrestler who now plays jazz casually and writes poetry. He could describe how to barbecue a salmon and I'd still want to put my tongue all over him. 

We talk, and keep talking, until we've entirely missed our mutual friend's band, as well as the proceeding bands. We've traveled through the world; sampled varying gradients of ales, and have figured out why we're both neurotic in three hours. As I'm walking with my roommate to my car at the end of the night, I proclaim, "I'm going to end up with that guy."

Our first date a week later mimics our first meeting; evenly weighted conversation and exchange of cute witticisms. We analyze our lives, weigh the pros and cons of America. After closing down three bars, we end up on his living room floor, playing makeshift Scattegories.

"I really don't think 'German bands' counts as a musical group," I say.

"Oh, I think it does. If you can keep "spotato," I can keep my 'German bands.'"

"Yeah, whatever. I'll let it go this time."

I put down my pencil and paper, and run my hand through my hair. "Tonight's been fun," I say.

He smiles. "Yeah."

We look at each other for too long. With a weird abruptness, he starts kissing me. His tongue is more fighting mine than embracing it, and for the first time tonight, I feel like we're not on the same page. But I keep going with it, because I'm finally remembering what it feels like to be painfully attracted to someone.

After a few horizontal minutes of friendly tongue battle, I say I'm tired, and ask if it's okay if I stay the night. "But I'm only staying here because I don't want to walk home at this hour. We're not going to have sex," I remind him. Not yet, anyway.

"Ha, no, I'm totally okay with that. I don't want to, either."

Uh, what? "Oh, okay. Good."

I sleep in his bed that night; wetter than a 30-year-old virgin, wondering what he meant by he didn't want sex. Isn't he a guy? It's great that he's respectful, but why is he SO okay with not putting his D in me? 

We hang out a few more times. Every time we see each other, it's like Annie Hall; long shots and fall days, comforting and familiar. He's told me he's attracted to me, and we clearly get along as well as PB and J. But the motherfucker still won't fuck me.

One morning, we're naked in his bed, making out. He begins to attempt at getting me off for about two minutes, kissing me with more fervor, until suddenly, his kisses slow down and he returns to nuzzling me like a puppy. This has happened the last few times I've stayed at his house. Our sexual encounters feel on par with those of a fifteen-year-old Mormon couple.

After I realize what time it is, we get out of bed and he makes me eggs and espresso. I look at him as I'm about to walk out the door. 

"Well, bye!" I say. I look at him like he's five lines of coke and I'm Charlie Sheen.

"Yeah, see you later!" he says, sort of half-hugging me.

I walk out the door, staring at the ground. What the fuck? If I keep sleeping in his bed, why are we not, at the very least, getting each other off? And why doesn't he seem interested in much beyond making out?

"I don't believe in asexuals," my grumpy coworker tells me one day after I tell her about my dilemma.

It turns out asexuals are really hot right now. In a recent Savage Love column, a man wrote in, saying that he felt pressured by his friends, family, and the media to date and be in relationship. He said that as long as he's "got music and friends, [he's] satisfied." David Jay, founder of "Asexual Visibility and Education Network" has recently gone on numerous talk shows and news stations, advocating for the 1% of the population that identifies as asexual. Whether you believe in the idea or not, asexuals are beginning to make a name for themselves, and beginning to speak out against our rigid ideas of sexuality. 

Whether David sexually desires men, women, nobody, or a pack of Mentos gum, I can't keep pretending that I'm not bothered by his lack of desire. I finally say something to him on his couch the following Sunday night.  

"I love hanging out with you, I'm very attracted to you, but every time I leave your house, I feel confused, slightly hurt, and extremely wet. What's the deal? Are you not attracted to me?"

He smiles. I brace myself. "No, I'm attracted to you. And I'm sorry if I've hurt you in any way, that's not my intention. I just haven't felt that sexual lately. And I don't think I'm that sexual to begin with, to be honest with you. Any time I've dated someone who's been...overtly sexual, it just doesn't seem to work out that well."

I'm having a hard time believing him. Did I fart in his face or something and just not remember it? "Okay. So, what would you like to do at this point? I really do enjoy hanging out with you."

"Yeah, I definitely do, too."

"So...should we just be friends?"

"Yeah, maybe. For now."

For now? What does that mean? Like, for the next hour? Two years? How long do I have to wait until I can fuck this guy?

We decide to watch a movie. It ends with us yawning; I look at the clock, and it's nearly 3am. "Umm...so...would you mind terribly if I crashed here tonight?" I say.

"No, that's totally fine."

"Thanks. Should I...stay on the couch, or...?"

"Yeah, that would probably be for the best."

Really? "Okay. Isn't that kind of weird, though? Last week, I was sleeping in your bed."

"Yeah, but, I think if we're going to do the friend thing, then you should probably not sleep in my bed anymore."

I nod. "Oh-kay. I'm really confused- did you just stop being attracted to me, did I do something...? What changed?"

"No, I'm still attracted to you, I just see this getting messy if sex is a part of it. I think it would just be easier if we did the friend thing. I really wouldn't take this personally."

Uh huh. "Okay. Well, I don't know if I'm going to be able to do the friend thing, because I'm still very attracted to you, and this is just weird."

"Well, okay. I'm sorry to hear that."

I shrug, in the light of his DVD player. 

"Can I get you a blanket? It's really cold out here."

I sleep on the couch that night, sliding around in a sleeping bag, staring at his living room ceiling. As he begins to snore twenty feet away from me, all I want is a nice boy who wants to fuck like a man. But apparently, not all men just want to fuck.