Chapter 23
Quinn
Hey Oliver! I wanted to reach out in case you didn’t see…
This Thursday, EQA is hosting an Ace & Aro Night!
It’s open to anyone who identifies on the asexual or aromantic spectrum.
I thought of you because you had questions last time about demisexuality, and I know for a fact that there will be several demi students there for you to talk to if you’re still interested!
Oliver
hey Quinn - yeah that sounds great! I’ll definitely swing by :)
Quinn
Awesome! It starts at 6! Hope to see you there! :)
Thursday, October 9, 2025
Going to an EQA meeting alone isn’t nearly as intimidating as I expected. Now that I’ve come out to Jude and Theo, I’m much more confident in my asexual identity and no longer feel like an imposter in queer spaces.
I’m also eager to talk to some other asexual students. I’m infinitely grateful for Quinn, but meeting more people like me certainly can’t hurt.
Additionally, I’m curious about what the second part of the “Ace and Aro” meetup means. Quinn mentioned it in the text as something like “aromantic” or something? I guess I’m about to find out.
The EQA room is exactly as I remember it, minus most of the crowd. I’m still delighted by the turnout, though—about twenty people.
“Oliver! Hi!”
As soon as I walk through the door, Quinn waves me over to where she’s standing with a group of about six or seven other students.
“Hey, Quinn! Long time no see!”
“I know, it’s been a while.” Her eyes land on my wrist, and she beams. “You’re still wearing the bracelet I gave you!”
I touch the beads and return her smile. “Yeah, so…it turns out I’m ace, too. Your story matched mine to an almost creepy degree, and it explained a whole lot.”
“Oh, wow! Well, welcome to the club!” She gestures to the small group around her. “Everyone, this is Oliver.”
The group goes around in a circle, introducing themselves. As hard as I try to remember their names, I forget them almost instantly. Fortunately, Quinn pulls a stack of name tags and markers from her bag and sets them on a nearby table.
“Also, if you’re comfortable, include your pronouns and your specific identity on your nametag,” she instructs. “It helps facilitate conversations in a setting like this.”
This time, I follow her directions, writing “Oliver, he/him, Asexual” on the nametag before sticking it over my heart. As I glance around the room, I notice more and more words I don’t recognize. “Aromantic.” “Graysexual.” “Aroace.” Ugh, why didn’t I research anything before coming tonight?
My embarrassment must be palpable, because Quinn eventually taps my shoulder. “You’re in a safe space to ask questions,” she says quietly.
“I honestly don’t know what a lot of these identities are,” I admit. “Is there, like, a diagram or something?”
“Can I help?” asks a tall, slender student with freckles and short, spiraled red hair. “I’m Cam.” Their nametag reads their name, “they/them” pronouns, and the word “Aroace.” They also wear a bracelet with orange, yellow, white, light blue, and navy beads.
“Hi, Cam,” I say. “As long as you promise not to hate me for all my dumb questions.”
Cam shakes their head. “Not a chance. Quinn mentioned that you might have questions for us, and I’m happy to help!”
“Okay, what is aroace?”
“Assuming you already know what asexuality is,” they begin, gesturing toward my bracelet. “Aromanticism is the experience of little to no romantic attraction.”
I frown. “Wait, romantic attraction is different from sexual attraction?”
Cam nods. “Yes, they’re different. They’re also not mutually exclusive—you can experience both, neither, or just one. For example, I’m both asexual and aromantic. I don’t experience either type of attraction. Hence the term, aroace.”
“While I, on the other hand,” Quinn interjects. “I experience romantic attraction from time to time, but not sexual attraction.”
Well, shit. “But what exactly is romantic attraction?”
Cam looks to Quinn, who presses her lips together thoughtfully. “It’s a little trickier to explain, but it’s essentially the desire for intimacy and companionship that’s more intense than friendship, but isn’t necessarily sexual. Like having a crush on someone.”
My mouth hangs open as I process this new information. “So, if you’re ace without the aro and Cam is both ace and aro, what about someone who is aro without the ace?”
Cam looks past me and waves to someone. “Hey, Jo, could you come here for a sec?”
I turn to face Jo as they approach—they’re shorter and curvier, with bleached platinum hair in a sleek pixie cut.
Their makeup is edgy, but impeccable. They’re donning two bead bracelets: the first has dark green, light green, white, gray, and black beads, while the second bracelet I recognize as the bisexual colors.
They flash me a bright smile. “Well, hello, handsome! How can I help you?” Their nametag says “Jo, she/they, Aromantic”.
“Oliver here is curious about your aromantic, allosexual experience,” Cam says. “He recently came out as ace and is still figuring things out.”
“Whoa, whoa, wait,” I interject nervously. “What is allosexual?”
“That’s just the opposite of ace,” Quinn says.
“Oh, duh,” I whisper, embarrassed. “Yeah. Sorry, please continue.”
“Absolutely,” Jo replies, hooking her fingers through her belt loops.
“Growing up, concepts like fairy-tale romances or ‘love at first sight’ never made sense to me. Sexual and physical attraction were easy—I’ve always been drawn to hot bodies and physical affection.
But when I asked people to explain what ‘falling in love’ meant, they always said, ‘you’ll know it when you feel it.
’. But I never did, and I often felt left out, or worse, guilty for not feeling it or for not reciprocating.
Now that I’ve embraced my aromantic identity, I’m able to be upfront with potential sexual partners and set expectations right away, so it’s less likely that either of us gets hurt.
I currently have a sexual partner, but I don’t consider him anything other than a good friend I also have sex with.
I don’t prioritize his friendship over others.
He gives me the same warm fuzzies that all my friends give me, with the bonus horny feelings, too. ”
I listen quietly, trying to understand her experience.
In some ways, I can relate. I also didn’t get fairy tales and romances growing up and, honestly, found them rather silly.
But I felt the same way about sex. I’d hoped I would feel less repulsed by the idea once I hit puberty, but I never did.
Even at my horniest, I can’t imagine having a person in my life who is solely a sexual partner.
What would we talk about? Do we just bump uglies for as long as it takes for both of us to get off, then say goodbye?
There’s nothing wrong with that, but I just can’t fathom doing it myself.
On the other hand, I do feel like there’s something between the spectrum of platonic friend and sex partner. Like, what about Jude and me? I feel like we’re more than friends, but the idea of having sex with them fills me with anxiety.
“That’s actually super helpful, Jo,” Cam says. “I also struggle to differentiate sexual and romantic attraction, but that makes sense, because I don’t experience either.”
Jo nods. “It took years of self-reflection and desperately searching for other people out there like me, but now I finally have the vocabulary and community that makes my life so much better.” She looks at me. “So, does that help you at all?”
“Yeah, I think so,” I answer. “Maybe I’m aroace, too, but…” I shake my head. “What about the demis?”
The three others exchange glances, then Quinn gets it. “Oh, demisexuality?”
“Or demiromanticism?” Jo asks.
“Give me all the demis,” I say.
Quinn glances around the room. “Is Lena here?”
“Are you looking for me?” I follow the voice to find a small-statured student with soft features, chin-length black hair, and deep-set almond eyes. Her nametag reads “Lena, she/her, Demisexual,” and her bracelet matches mine.
“Yes!” Quinn exclaims. “Lena, this is Oliver. Oliver, Lena.”
We exchange polite greetings, then Cam explains my situation.
“I guess what I want to ask you,” I begin. “How is demisexuality different from allosexuality? Is it just more selective?”
Lena considers my question before answering.
“I was convinced I was asexual until a few months ago. Sex always sounded gross to me, and I had no interest in dating because most people eventually just wanted sex. It wasn’t until my friend Jiya and I had been hanging out for well over a year that I realized I was also sexually attracted to her, which had literally never happened to me before and hasn’t happened again since.
I’ll spare you the details, but Jiya and I sort of stumbled into a physical relationship, and we were both stunned to learn that I actually really, really enjoy sex. Like, a lot. But only with her.”
I nod. “Okay, so you’d classify your sexuality as more ace than allo, but you’re kind of in the middle.”
“Sort of,” Lena says. “That’s why I prefer the label ‘demisexual.’ I’m on the ace spectrum because I only experience sexual attraction when there’s an established, strong emotional bond. Now that I have that bond with my person, I’m very into sex.”
Interesting. “So, theoretically, I could be demi and not know it yet?”
“Maybe,” Lena replies. “I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.”
“What about romantic attraction?” I continue. “Is demiromanticism a thing, too?”
“For me, the romantic attraction came before the sexual attraction, but it also had a very ‘demi’ feel to it,” she explains. “I’ve met some demisexuals who get crushes on people all the time that aren’t sexual but are very romantic. So, it depends on the person.”
“When it comes to microlabels, I consider myself a demiromantic asexual,” Quinn interjects.
“I don’t experience sexual attraction at all, but I’ve definitely had a crush on a friend or two, years into the friendship.
They never went anywhere, but they felt romantic.
” She smiles at me. “Have you ever had a crush on someone?”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t think so. At least not like my friends did.”
The group waits quietly for me to keep asking questions, but my head hurts from information overload. “So, I guess for now I’m probably aroace, too,” I declare. I glance down at my asexual bracelet and frown. “Do I have to switch to the aroace colors now?”
Several of my new friends giggle. “You don’t have to do anything,” Quinn replies. “You can identify however you like.”
“I think it’s also important to note,” Cam adds. “Sexuality and attraction are fluid and subjective. I know this is a lot to take in at once, but you don’t have to decide anything for anyone else right now, or ever, if you’re not ready. Labels are there to help you, not to trap you.”
I smile. “Huh. I like that. Thank you all.”
“You’re very welcome,” Quinn says, beaming. “Now, if you don’t have any other pressing questions, who’s down for some Jackbox games?” She gestures further into the room where there’s a mounted television, three couches, and various beanbag chairs.
“Oh, hell yeah,” I say excitedly.