Ace - 1. Ace

Security Camera Operators Reveal the Weirdest Things They’ve Caught Someone Doing

The man clicked on the link in the Facebook post, then shoved a handful of Cheez Doodles in his mouth while he waited for the page to load. He sighed, exhaling artificial-cheese-flavored breath directly in the face of the tiger cat that had decided he wanted some of the bright-orange snack. The animal wrinkled his nose at the offensive odor and jumped off the bed, stalking toward the kitchen, twitching his tail.

The man laughed at the feline’s reaction, then wiped his hand on a tissue before scrolling through the click-bait. His other cat, a long-haired gray tabby, nudged his arm, causing him to scroll halfway down the page. He rolled his eyes and petted the insistent creature on her head.

“Silly Bunny. You made me lose my place.”

The man read through the series of anecdotes, laughing or rolling his eyes at the supposedly true accounts, and wondered how many of them actually occurred. He knew he was procrastinating. There were plenty of long-overdue house chores. Which is why, despite having a whole house to himself, he never had anyone over.

He snorted. Yeah, that’s why, he thought. It had nothing to do with the fact he had few local friends. The ones he did have had families and children, so planning around their schedules was difficult at best. So it was easier to give up and stay home, clicking on stupid internet stories and playing computer games.

Anything to distract himself from the state of his house and his life. The man downed half a bottle of lemon/lime soda in several gulps, then burped loudly, prompting what appeared to be a look of derision from the little animal curled next to him.

“Excuse me, your majesty,” he stated. He set the bottle down on the TV tray that served as his nightstand, pushing away the pervasive shame lurking under the surface of his emotions.

He was ashamed of his house, his appearance, and his life in general. His house was just shy of hoarder level, for one. He was not the best at managing his household and had no motivation to do so. Besides, the aging process, plus the excess weight he carried, made routine chores difficult. Moving hurts, but eventually makes the pain better. Not moving gets rids of the aches but ultimately makes the pain worse. What am I supposed to do? he thought. So boxes from his Amazon orders piled up since he had run out of space to store them years ago. Dishes remained in the sink until he ran out of clean ones and had no choice but to wash them. His clothes piled up on the floor and were washed when nothing was clean enough to wear. Going downstairs to do laundry was a daunting process. What if I fall? No one would find me for days. There was no one else to help him or hold him accountable for the state of his living space, which led to major, life-shame number two: being middle-aged and single.

His ample belly served as a resting place for his laptop as he reclined on the sagging mattress of his bed. He moved his hand to grab another fistful of neon-colored poofs but closed the package instead. No wonder I’m so fat, he thought. How the hell did I ever run track? His athletic childhood was a lifetime ago. He was another person back then. Or half of what he was now, at any rate. He snorted, prompting a quizzical look from Bunny. No wonder I’m single. Who the hell would want this? He grabbed a fistful of belly fat and shook it. Although he was an introvert, he considered himself personable. People liked him—or seemed to, at least. He had friends and a good career. He earned a decent income, owned his own house, and actively participated in several hobbies. So what was there to be ashamed of? Other people his size found spouses and significant others. Why hadn’t he?

How had things come to this? he wondered.

The messy house and his physical-fitness level were symptoms of a greater issue. The outside matched how he felt on the inside. He sighed and thought back to the monologue delivered by the priest at his best friend’s daughter’s wedding over the summer. The man hated weddings, and the priest’s diatribe did nothing to change his mind.

“People are designed to seek each other out and search for that special person who completes them. There’s something wrong if someone doesn’t desire to find that other person to share their life with.”

The man scowled. That was rich, coming from a Catholic priest. The clergyman had droned on for over ten minutes, every word piercing the man until he felt like a voodoo doll full of pins. He had felt as if the soliloquy was aimed directly at him, and he had to fight the desire to flee from the stifling stone church.

The priest had stabbed directly into the heart of the man’s insecurities. All his life, he’d felt like a freak. He was happy being single even if he did get lonely at times. He’d never been into the bar scene, and his attempts at relationships throughout the years had all ended disastrously. He’d attempted dating in an effort to appear ‘normal’, whatever the hell that meant. While he liked his partners as people, he never felt much of a connection to them, either emotionally or physically.

Guys were supposed to want sex all the time, right? The truth was that he rarely thought of sex—or, at least, having sex with other people. He read erotic stories and liked to occasionally watch porn. Porn produced a reaction he enjoyed taking care of. But he never felt any desire to share that experience with others. It was simply a physical release.

His family had stopped asking years ago when he was going to settle down. A lot of them assumed he was gay and closeted. Was he gay? He didn’t think so. There was a possibility he was bi since he found both men and women aesthetically pleasing. The thought of having sex with either gender was… well… gross.

The man sighed. Why did his thoughts always turn so dark? He hit the ‘Next’ button, not realizing he’d reached the end of the article. The website displayed the next in the series of anecdotal responses to random questions posed by people with nothing better to do.

People Reveal How They Found Out They were Asexual

He snorted. Asexual. What the fuck did that even mean? LGBTQI… there was supposed to be an A in there somewhere, right? Asexual. From an etymologic standpoint, it meant without sex. Did that refer to people who didn’t consider themselves either male or female? The man shrugged and started reading.

My friends started dating and talking about boys all the time. I felt like an outsider because their interests were changing while mine weren’t. I just didn’t see the appeal.

It was a gradual process for me, realizing that my friends and classmates were all experiencing things I didn’t understand. I’ve never looked at another person and thought, “I want to have sex with them”. I’d rather hold hands or cuddle. Attractiveness, to me, is tied into how nice or intelligent someone is.

I always thought I was a late bloomer and would want sex when I was ready for it. Well, when it didn’t happen in my twenties, I figured out it was never going to happen. I felt broken, like there was something majorly wrong with me. Then I discovered what asexuality is, and my life suddenly made a lot of sense.

The man’s eyes widened, and he ignored the head butts from his persistent cat along with the cheesy snack abandoned at his side. His heart pounded as he read each account, and his hand trembled as he scrolled down the page. It was as if each person had dived into his body like a rude ghost and described exactly how he felt.

He closed the laptop after reading the last word of the last vignette.

Asexual

There was a word to describe him besides freak. Loner. Introvert. Bachelor. Male spinster.

Asexual

There were others like him.

But what did it all mean? He had some sexual desire, so he wasn’t ‘without sex’, if the word was to be interpreted literally.

The man decided to make dinner, reeling from the implication. His thoughts turned to his adolescence, reliving his experiences in a new light.

Panromantic

Heteroromantic

Homoromantic

Demi-sexual

Gray

Ace

What the hell? There was an entire page of definitions on the website for asexuals he had found. He tapped the ‘back’ button. The sea of words and phrases was too overwhelming. It had been several days since he’d read the article on asexuals—days he spent trying on the word and ultimately deciding it fit.

He was relieved to find it wasn’t a ‘one size fits all’ label, although few things in life were. Reading accounts from other people on the website he was browsing, especially from people his own age, helped tremendously. He felt like a giant weight had been lifted off him, and he had even started cleaning his crap hole of a house and going for daily walks.

He had also started searching for others like him. The city he lived in had an active Pride Center, but he found nothing about asexuals on their website. The support site he had found suggested using something called a ‘meet-up’, so he had done a web search for asexual groups in his area. He was surprised to find none. It seemed like there were support groups for everything nowadays, so he was disappointed his search came up empty.

Well, not entirely empty, since there was a group who met in the city next to his. So now he needed to decide if he wanted to make the hour drive to meet a bunch of strangers.

Not just strangers.

Strangers like him.

He pressed the ‘contact us’ button, and started typing.

The man drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and huffed out his breath. It had to be at a Starbucks, he thought. He drank a cup of coffee every morning from other, less expensive, establishments. Navigating Starbucks’ menu and sizing system was stressful on a good day. And while this was a good day, ordering a coffee was low on his list of stressors.

He’d received an almost immediate response to his inquiry about the meet-up. The tone in the email had been friendly and welcoming. He’d replied right away, before he could talk himself out of actually going.

That was two weeks ago. He almost accepted the excuses he kept telling himself as reasons not to attend but shoved them all away. If it was a disaster, he could always leave. He inhaled, steeling his resolve, and headed into the establishment.

There were two groups of people that could have been the asexual meet up group. The man stood and looked between them, unsure which one he should approach. A woman with short, brown hair and bright smile waved him over.

“Jason?”

He nodded.

“I’m Bonnie. It’s nice to meet you. We’re always excited when we get new members.” She gestured toward the small group. “This is Kirsten, Mark, Tony, Andrea, and Oliver.”

He nodded and smiled at each of them, but his heart felt like it skipped a beat when he met Oliver’s gaze. The other man’s eyes were bright green, and his smile touched Jason’s heart in a way he’d never experienced before. He wondered what it meant as he slid into the seat next to Oliver.

“Welcome, Jason. And please, call me Ollie.”

“So Jason, how did you find us?” Bonnie asked.

“Well, I was surfing the web and encountered an article about how people discovered they were asexual. The more I read, the more I realized they were describing how I’ve felt my entire life. I never knew there was a word for people like me or even that there were others who felt that way. I needed to learn more.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Can I get you something to drink? Then you can tell us your story,” Ollie said.

Jason nodded. “Uh, yeah, sure. A mocha latte, please.”

Oliver rose and squeezed Jason’s shoulder gently as he passed by. Bonnie smiled. “Ollie’s a great guy. I think you’ll find his story quite interesting.”

Jason couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face. “Yeah. I think I will.”

A huge thank you to Aditus for his beta input.  This story is dedicated to all the aces out there who feel like they're broken.