From the inbox #951

“Well, it’s the greyromantic Asexual again who posted about my closeted experience last time, (or shall I say sleeved?) But the ace did come out of the sleeve for the queen. (Aka, my mom.)

Here’s how things went.

It started out with how she was bragging about how she has excellent “gaydar.”

So, knowing my sexuality that she has never heard of, I ask her, “what does your gaydar say about me?”
She thinks for a moment.
“I don’t think you know what you are. You’re confused. I think you like dick, but…” She keeps thinking.
After awhile, she finally says.
“I wouldn’t label yourself. Once people know you as one, you’ll be trapped if you discover you’re something else.”

Then, I chime in. ” I already have a label, but you’re probably not going to like it.”

Que the intrigued eyebrow raise. “You’re not gay, are you?”
“Not exactly.” I say.
“Do you like guys and girls?” She asks, confused.
“No, that’s bisexual.” I said. (I realise that bisexual isn’t exclusive to that, but seeing as how she doesn’t like trans people, I’m not even going to bring up to topic of nonbinary.)
“Well, what are you, then?” She says.
A metaphorical sweat drop rolls down my forehead.
“Asexual. Look it up, because I’m not explaining it to you.” I finally admit.

I didn’t want to explain it to her, because I have a hard time verbally explaining my thoughts, so it would be harder to convince her this is real.
“Asexual…” She repeats to herself.
I hear a “huh”, and things go quiet.
Now I wait for her to look it up, and see if I get any of the usual comments.

Hopefully things go well, because now I don’t have a sleeve to be under anymore.”

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