truthtrebles

Demisexuality: It All Makes Sense Now

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

Nope, this is not a joke post; this is me taking my enlightenment very seriously. Because many see the definition of demisexuality and say it’s an unnecessary orientation that doesn’t NEED labeling, or duh, EVERYONE is this way, so you ain’t special, yah? But I have never so clearly understood my odd and largely sporadic sense of attraction that I’ve never been able to quite pin down until I explored this new label.

I’ve come across the term occasionally in the past few years. The first time I thought, yeah sounds like me. The second time I thought, hokay, I think I really am this thing. The third time, a few days ago, I thought, HOLY SHIT, THIS IS REAL.

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Because suddenly, patterns in my past dealings with attraction and heartbreak began to fall into place. Sure, most folks would LOVE an emotional connection with those they sleep with. But most can also still have sex without it easily. That’s why casual hookup culture is so prevalent and one-stands are common. But for what i’ll affectionately call the “demi” tribe, those are very difficult. I can only think of ONE time I may have been down for a hookup. Drunk at a party at college, grinding up on a guy who followed me to the bathroom when I got dizzy with the pretense of helping me get water, *may* have made out with me, and said “You know you want this,” as he placed my hand on his crotch. And I think I really DID want it, but I also had an off-campus boyfriend at the time so amidst my idiot party girl decisions, I knew I didn’t want to be a FULL cheater…? Anyway, it didn’t happen.

In grade school, you basically like who everybody else likes to fit in. The pop stars, basketball players, school jock heartbreaker, ohh squeal, hearts on your binder, he said hi to me in the hall blahblahblah. Once I left the realm of adolescence, I realized I didn’t have the same attraction to peeps as my peers did. When the girls around me would say “Oh, check out that hot guy over there,” I’d be the one squinting in the general direction like “Where? Where is he? Is that it?” And being severely underwhelmed.

Because it is EXTREMELY rare for me to experience on-sight physical attraction to someone, and I never knew why.

Whenever men hit on me, my initial reaction is suspicion. I don’t care how “conventionally attractive” they are (and I THINK I can usually spot a “conventionally attractive person” pretty good?). I have never thought “Damn he’s sexy, I’d love to hop on that.” More like “Why tf are you making me take my headphones out right now?” Attraction at first sight doesn’t exist for me.

When I do like someone, it’s because I’ve spent time with them. I’ve noticed their little quirks and chuckles. The cracks in their silly facade when they answer a question seriously. The mischievous glint when they parry back a witty comment without missing a beat. Or the eye contact they make as they watch you love their face burrowing between your thighs……………oops tangent! And it might take awhile to see these things unless they’re being completely natural with you off top. Which means demis often don’t know how we actually feel about the person until some time has passed.

It can be a chore if you’re really TRYING to find someone to connect with.

And it makes online dating an EXTREME hassle. Because you swipe incessantly, wondering if the person you COULD be *MAYBE* physically attracted to actually has the personality necessary to attract you for real since you still need BOTH. I’ve never been too sure of my “type” of men because I’ve been with a variety. I’ve even been with those I’ve only had the emotional connection with, but not the physical attraction. Because the connection was there, I was still able to sleep with them, but eventually I realized it wasn’t sustainable if every time I looked at them I thought WOOF.

So you’re cautious with your likes/matches because you’re trying to be sure there’s the best chance for a connection, but you’ll only REALLY know for sure if you meet them, probably like 3-5 times first, and if there’s still nothing there, go through the awkward “Oops, I’m just not feeling it,” “Wait, really, I thought we had a great time!” “Oh sure, it was nice but I don’t want to proceed sexually yet because your personality has not charmed the shit out of me, but should we try a few more times or just call it now before we waste any more energy??”

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Like dat.

But once you FINALLY overcome the GRIND of connecting emotionally and finding them adorable, the attraction mounts, and then the ATTACHMENT begins. Rapidly. And it can be hard to let go, because of how uncommon it is to feel the attraction in the first place. Which can cause a mess of feelings and tears and frustration if it doesn’t work out and trouble disconnecting because you WENT THROUGH ALL THIS WORK, and when’s the next time the STARS ARE GOING TO ALIGN to find this buildup AGAIN?? It’s exhausting. I can see why it’s classified smack in the middle of the sexual/asexual spectrum. Because demis may as well be nuns while that connection is missing. We’re just not INTERESTED.

But then comes the problem of when you ARE sexually wanting because the last connection didn’t work out, but finding emotional connection is sparse.

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Why are my friends like this?

It speaks to the current hookup culture that waiting an ENTIRE WEEK to sleep with someone is seen as this crazy obstacle now. It should NOT be HARD WORK. Why, BACK IN MY DAY…you know what, FORGET IT. And who KNOWS if I’d even find your friend HOT ANYWAY., PROBABLY NOT, because I’M DEMI. *Bitterbitterbitterbitter.*

I remember when the term “sapiosexual” became popularized years ago. I also identify with that one, however, while I may be highly attracted to intelligent individuals (teach me, senpai!), I am also attracted to glasses, genuine smiles, nice eyes, sarcastic wit, skateboarders….there’s no term for each one (thankfully). You can be attracted to intelligence AND other things. But even if a guy had all that ish, and the connection was missing, it would still be a dead-end for me. I wouldn’t even WANT to still sleep with the unicorn man of my dreams just for kicks because he had all the things I ever wanted. If I couldn’t confide a deep dark secret with him, his penis was useless. The point is, demisexuals don’t WANT to be demisexuals lol. At least I sure don’t. Hooray, I’ve finally gained clarity on my orientation, but I don’t WANT to be this kind of different, horny and angry over it (horngry?).

I would love to “order up” a quick hookup on Tinder to soothe the raging fire in my loins (because I’m experiencing quite a drought) but I can’t just DO IT. I can’t just open myself up to (metaphorically and quite literally) to a person I haven’t spent time and laughed with, assessed their character, and grown to LIKE in some way. Without that connection, it’s just sex. And I don’t want JUST sex with some random “conventionally hot” person. I want something passionate and powerful, with a delicious natural build-up, where our speech was never-ending foreplay and our words were extensions of our tongues teasing our minds and flesh and each confident touch sent electric currents up our joints. And if that ain’t there, then what’s the point?

(I may be a bit of an overachiever). I don’t need “just sex.”

I have always been on a never-ending quest for human connection, sexual or no. I crave authenticity and realness, deep bonds with folks who resonate on the same vibe, honest emotion. I think we all know how hard it is to find on just a friendly level. Move it to the realm where it’s required for intimacy and it makes life that much harder for those who won’t settle for anyone less, in a world where casual is where it’s at and, let’s face it, PEOPLE STRAIGHT UP SUCK. One time I tried settling for less a few years ago and the dope couldn’t even be a proper FWB; I ended up being less satisfied than before. I’m accumulating a lot of “Don’t Settle” lessons at this stage in my life.

I guess the silver lining is that demisexuals are willing to wait for something more meaningful (not like our hearts really give us a choice), which means more meaningful sexual encounters WHEN WE DO FIND THEM, but what do you do in the meantime if you’re a demi who’s not finding anyone to connect with on that level, AND not settling?

Tough it out miserably with your vibrator in the meantime is the main suggestion I keep getting.

Damn my standards. But at least I know I’m not alone.

~Tael

The Non-Instagram Parts of Fitness

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

Fitspiration and #BodyGoals are everywhere. Some authentic, some Photoshopped. All waxed, polished, enhanced with make-up and flaws removed with hair perfectly straightened (seriously, who doesn’t tie their hair up while working out?). The glamorous part of fitness is plastered all over Instagram. Color-coordinated workout ensembles at $129.99 an outfit, toned and airbrushed tushies nestling Brazilian-cut thongs, and spreads of fruit platters, photogenic and supposedly low-calorie chocolate desserts, and delicious-LOOKING green-smoothies that MUST be healthy because an Instagram fitness model posted it (FYI, I’ve had a real kale/veggie/fruit smoothie blended for me by my bestie with no additives or sugar; it was a horrific green sludge that I struggled to choke down).

But when the average I’m-gonna-start-going-to-the-gym-it’s-my-new-years-resolution gal begins a fitness journey, she’ll encounter some things you won’t find on social media. I certainly wasn’t ready for or expecting the following:

1) You can outgrow your wardrobe.

If you’re looking to build muscle mass (as opposed to losing weight, which, actually, everyone should aim for because even for those aiming to lose weight, ideally you should be gaining muscle mass) you want those GAINS. But this means you might go up a size in your clothes. Sounds counter-intuitive, huh? I remember when I learned the truth about “toning.” It’s kind of a myth. You must build muscle in order to “tone.” There’s no other way. You might think, oh, i’m just replacing fat with muscle, but muscle is stronger and denser than fat (and it also lays on top of it), so while sliding slender, jiggly thighs into those tight skinny jeans was once easy, forcing that same denim over thicker muscle becomes more of a challenge. I had never experienced my thighs rubbing together before in shorts (thigh gaps are stupid anyway). I had to buy all new jeans or else risk discomfort and chronic yeast infections. :/

2) DOMS HURTS.

I remember good ol’ Joe Mango from my last job, who religiously woke up at 4:20am (this time means nothing to him, it’s a total coincidence) four days a week to visit the gym before work. Sometimes I’d see him walk slowly down the long hallway to and from the kitchen, with a slightly pronounced pimp-swagger. Now I know the reason. If you’re strength-training your legs, approximately 24 hours later, that Delayed Onset Muscle Soreness kicks in and YOU FEEL IT. Sitting hurts. Standing up from sitting hurts. Walking after standing up from sitting for a prolonged period of time HURTS. You may have to start off with a duck-waddle to get the right momentum going. You eventually forget the hurt if you keep moving, but movement after a time of rest makes your muscles remember, and that memory is brutal and can last for days. #PainzisGainz

3) You will want to eat all the time. And little salad diets won’t cut it.

Not knocking salads (actually, yes I am, I hate those things lol). But, especially the next 24 hours after your gym session, a voracious appetite will visit you that’ll make you want to devour a whole pizza. Which you could, but probably wouldn’t want that to be the meal of choice after a gym session, ey? Note: I have an odd relationship with pizza. 

Good ol’ Joe Mango and fellow muscle-ridden lifter bro Vadim were the human garbage disposals of our old department. Anything we didn’t want, or couldn’t finish, was handed to them to be swiftly decimated. Leftover Chinese? Catch guys. Half-eaten muffin? Here ya go. Spare California rolls or miso soup/salad that came automatically with the lunch special? Delivered to them on a side plate. They never declined our offers. Sometimes they’d battle to the death over our scraps (j/k, j/k, they were gentlemen about it). Once I started gymming, I understood. You gain a Godzilla appetite that must be satiated immediately with something filling. Your body craves protein and hearty repasts; you naturally crave a higher caloric-intake to keep up with your routine and what you’re burning off. And since you NEED those extra calories, including carbs, if you’re strength-training, dieting isn’t an ideal option. The better option is to switch up what you eat so you can consume more of it. #CaloricSurplusisGainz

4) You will stress about working out if you’ve gotten a fresh new tattoo.

I’ll be the first to admit I was raised by a mother who exhibits extreme symptoms of paranoia often, and some of that paranoia surfaces in myself as a result. When I get a new tattoo, I don’t want to move my arm, I don’t wanna flex, I don’t wanna lean on it, sleep on it, bump it, breathe on it. Hell, some sites even caution you to avoid HOT, SWEATY SEX, just for the initial healing process, and they’re right, you can ignore some sensual pangs for a lil’ bit to avoid ruining something you’re etching on your skin for life. Going to the gym with a new tat feels akin to bringing a new baby with you. The gym is filled with bacteria, sweat, potential for infection, what if the weight knocks against it, what if it gets rubbed while I squat, what if I stretch my joint too far and it breaks the scabbing before it’s ready to come off, IS IT POSSIBLE FOR IT TO GET STRETCHED WITH MY STRETCHING, let me check it every 5 minutes to look for signs of ruination but it’s already scabby and peely anyway so if I’ve fucked it up then I won’t know until A MONTH LATER AFTER HEALING’S COMPLETE ANYWAYAHHHHHH.

Extreme paranoia makes me push back my workout sessions 1-2 weeks during the tattoo healing phase.

And also sex.

Social media doesn’t show the whole process. So the next time you’re scrolling through Instagram and pause at that *highly-likely* Photo-shopped model gazing wistfully off a Victorian terrace with a gorgeous tropical island backdrop on her tip-toes like it’s casual but it’s not really cause she’s posing, wearing a designer cropped sweatshirt and cheeky panties with zero cellulite and a practically concave belly, remember the truth behind the glamour.

If it’s natural (or as natural as one can get what with social media’s filters and teeth-brightener/wrinkle-reducing/stretch-mark removing apps and what-not) she likely goes through one of these. And if it’s not natural and simply #adobegains then…these don’t apply.

But shhh…it’s a secret. <.<

~Tael

Mix Hoodies With Black

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I tend to have some pretty down-to-earth conversations about racial truths with one of my cousins, who is like a brother to me. They’re never serious, debate-like, haughty, “woke” ones; just some “Damn, shit’s really like this, huh,” ones.

One lovely experience that reinforced the scaffolding of our own invisible prejudice occurred during a trip to Atlantic City for my birthday a few years back that I’ve shared on Facebook before. It was late and dark and the ATM I needed was the drive-thru kind in an empty secluded lot. My cousin instantly put the fear in our party’s hearts by mentioning how one could easily get robbed here. He does this. Like when we went to see “Get Out” on opening night and he said he hoped no white supremacist would come shoot up our theater in protest of the movie. T_T’ Had me looking at white boys with backpacks who couldn’t sit still and the exit routes for half the movie, praying.

The ATM wasn’t constructed in a way where the car could get close; we rolled down the window and I slung half my body out, engaging my core to access the screen and withdraw as quickly as I could. OF COURSE, at that very moment, a black guy with a hoodie enters the lot and seems to make a beeline for our car. Stuck hanging out the window, waiting for the machine to process the withdrawal, while everyone else is giving commentary, “He’s coming closer!” “Did he just pull out a ski-mask?” “LOCK THE DOORS!!” I panic, terrified and fully believing I’m about to get buck-fiftied for my meager checking account balance. I’m not sure if I made it to the part where I actually got the money. I may have just jettisoned myself back into the car and screamed “DRIVE, JUST DRIVE,” without completing the transaction.

Dude walked right past us.

Was our fear justified?

If you were walking down a block at night and saw a group of Black teenagers clustered outside of the projects, would you cross the street to avoid…”something?”

I don’t. Not anymore. I don’t because what am I afraid of? Why should I be afraid to walk past a group of my own race at night? At most, as a woman, to avoid catcalling, but I’d rather show solidarity. When I confidently pass them, they either quiet down or throw out a greeting. I acknowledge them back as fellow humans and keep it moving and the “big, scary moment” is over. I don’t want to fear my own people. If it was a group of White men in suits, there wouldn’t even be a situation up for discussion, my cousin says. Or if it was a group of Asian men.
What if they were wearing hoodies?

“What about Spanish men?” I ask.
“Probably not. A bunch of light-skinned guys don’t look as threatening.”
What if they’re wearing hoodies?
“But your skin is the darkest of all; would you be afraid to walk past a group of you?”

There is not a clear cut answer.

“What if it were Black men in suits?”

Then it probably wouldn’t be an issue either. Everyone loved Men In Black.

What if they were Black but wearing glasses, skater gear, a Nintendo shirt…blahblahblahblahnothoodies, why do what they’re wearing hold so much weight? Why do we trust clothes before people?

I don’t want that ingrained fear that was instilled in me growing up. I’m Black and I wear hoodies. To fear another Black-in-a-hoodie seems silly. I want to break that fear. And so I walk past them, fearless and without judgment. Because we are all people, and we deserve that much. Most especially from our own.

~Tael

The Zen of Twitter

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I’m proud to say that I’m not a Twitter snob.

You know the type.

They generally have a rather large follower-to-following ratio and openly brag about how they don’t do “Follow-4-Follow.” Then they get publicly insulted when someone stops following them because it wasn’t reciprocated, but why are you really upset? Because you thought you were some kind of celebrity and how could that loser with only 212 followers possibly unfollow YOU? You, with your clearly higher Twitter-cred?

Peasant.

It brings the questions to light: Are you on social media to make friends and connect with like-minded individuals? Or are you simply here to continue the popularity code that most hope to leave behind once they graduate school? Or perhaps you’re out here solely to attain celebrity status and bask in it?

You’ll encounter many who’ll say they don’t care about followers (usually those who have the most followers actually; aren’t they so humble?) For me, the concern doesn’t lie so much with the follower count, so much as the stasis.

Let me explain the Zen of Twitter. It’s the concept of balance (ninjas are all about balance). When you follow someone, you are doing so to somehow “benefit” from this new connection, whether it’s following a brand for updates on sales or new releases, following a celebrity to satiate your fandom, or following someone with a similar point of view who maybe makes insightful comments or gives you a daily dose of laughter whom you become friends with. If they follow you back, you’ve immediately gained something as they’ve completed the “link” and balance is achieved. If, after this, you try to talk to them and they ignore all your @s, that balance is disrupted and you decide if just having them remain as a dead-follower-weight is worth it for your “ratio.”

If they don’t follow you back, there’s really absolutely no obligation to remain following them unless you REALLY dig what they’re posting and you’re gaining from it. It’s their picture and posts that will be showing up on your feed, so you need to decide if you really want them to be there. And the unfollowed shouldn’t be angry if they didn’t complete the link in the first place.

I primarily follow the gaming community on Twitter because I don’t like my feed filled with dumb shit like “Lose weight instantly using this method,” or an innundation of narcissistic selfies (they always find their way in though). I want cute characters, hilarious gaming memes, geek culture, and cats. Anyone not familiar with the gaming community on social media would be surprised at the number of snobs in our own! You’d think that we’d all want to follow each other out of solidarity because we’re posting about the same topics, and not only if we’re currently into the same game, or #TeamNintendo. But also only if we have a wall dedicated to our collection worthy of a #SundayShelves. Even though we follow all the same people. And communicate in the same conversations. And have even played each other online. XD

But the truth is, it’s your Twitter account. And someone following you just because they want to hear your thoughts contained in a 140 character tweet is pretty awesome and should be appreciated. But you are free to follow or unfollow whomever you want to maintain your balance and ensure you’re benefiting from the deal. Unless you’re purposely unfollowing someone you’ve been cool with and had great conversations for awhile with no explanation whatsoever.

Then you’re just a jerk.

As a non-snob, heres a list of those I’m not likely to follow back on Twitter:

-In your face Bible thumpers
-Sexy_gurls_l00king4_gud-time
-GROWYOURFOLLOWERSINSTANTLY
-Feed cloggers who post mundane statuses every 5 minutes (I have literally seen “Bout to walk down these stairs” as a post)
-Strictly solicitors (Posting to promote your mixtape/YouTube Channel/Twitch is fine. Posting to promote your mixtape/YouTubeChannel/Twitch 10 times a day and constantly begging for support and Auto-Dming to help you reach 1000 subs is not, unless you’re reciprocating something to keep that balance
-Those who post strictly in another language, like arabic, cause I dunno what the hell you’re saying

Everyone else is generally good. Keep up the Zen.

~Tael

You Can Touch My Hair

~ Tael ~ Leave a comment

I’ve heard it around the Internet how offensive it is to touch a Black woman’s hair. And maybe I’m feeling kind of left out that no one’s making requests for mine. Then I second-guess myself and wonder: Maybe they have been. Maybe they have, and it’s such a non-issue for me that it’s eroded from my memory.

My cultural collective says I should be enraged and offended if this happens. That it’s supposed to be some subtle form of micro-aggressive racism and I should feel objectified since I’ve had to overcome so much amidst the war against natural Black hair. But I’ve willingly tossed my locks into others’ hands so they can feel how lightweight they are. I’m a proud dreadhead and I’m proud of how far my own have progressed. And one thing I love about having them, is that I frequently receive compliments on them from across the race spectrum, from Black to Asian to Italian, from those I’ve worked with, to passersby on the street, to randoms at a service counter.

And I appreciate that.

I remember the turning point when I decided to lock up for good. It was after watching Floetry’s Say Yes music video.

Dreads are a vibe. A mood. I soaked up that vibe and ejected it out through my scalp and never looked back. I embrace my hair the same way I embrace questions about it. The only one I ever find mildly irritating is “Do you think you’ll keep them?” As if they’re some kind of throwaway hairstyle or fashion statement. Or a pet you’ll grow tired of. This question usually comes, surprisingly, from the Black community. As if I haven’t been cultivating a thriving garden of life on my head for the past 11 years.

But when those of varying races and nationalities find my hair impressive, and stop me on the street to let me know, I appreciate that. And if they say “Dude, I love your hair. Do you mind…” and reach out hesitantly with curiosity, because they’re afraid to finish the question and they fear some perceived inevitable wrath, I’ll whip some locks straight into their outstretched hand and say “Feel em!” The same way I would with a curious toddler who enhances their knowledge of the world through touch. I want you to be interested. Yes, we wash them, although not everyday (but most Black hair isn’t washed every day anyway). Yes, there might be a little lint stuck in there. No, not everyone chooses to let them grow into a tangled mass with little maintenance. Yes, at this point, if I wash my hair in the shower my dreads fall into my butt-crack. And yes, I also sometimes grab a bunch and hold them between my nose and upper lip like a mustache. It feels good.

I want to enlighten you if you’re interested in my hair. And as long as you don’t secretly cut them off from a seat behind me on the subway, we good.

You can touch my hair. Just ask first.

~Tael

P.S. If I get to know you, and you have an afro, I’m gonna ask to touch it. Because it’s an afro.