I’m a 29-year-old virgin — I don’t know if I’ll ever have sex

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.

This week, we hear from Malvika Padin, a 29-year-old panromantic asexual writer, who doesn’t have sex.

‘I’m completely averse to sex,’ she tells Metro. ‘I’ve never felt comfortable, nor yearned for, sexual intimacy, and I’m happy I’m living a sex-free life.’

While Malvika is on the asexuality spectrum, she can still find herself romantically attracted to any gender, but she’s just not sexually attracted to anyone.

She adds: ‘I’d like my sex life to be non-existent, but still to be accepted by a romantic partner.’

So, without any further ado, here’s how she got on this week…

Warning: The following is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.

Monday

Today I’m just researching and writing some features, before spending some time with my beloved pet dog.

And, like any other Monday in my life, I won’t be having sex with anyone. For the foreseeable future, this will not change.

I’m in a reminiscent mood today though, and I’m thinking of my exes. As a panromantic asexual, I’ve been in relationships before but I’ve never had sex with them.

Of my three partners, I was upfront with all of them about being sex averse — and they seemingly accepted me at first. Then, as we moved forward, they were shocked it wasn’t just a phase or something that would ‘change with time and trust’.

It’s exhausting to explain something deeply personal to someone and feel relieved they’ve understood, only to realise otherwise further down the line.

I’m not discounting trust might have an eventual role to play in making me more comfortable with the possibility of sex, but that would take much longer than most people anticipate. And trust aside, I simply don’t want sex.

Even if they tick all the boxes of my allowances of intimacy, they might be only getting quick pecks — if that! I could never have sex to placate anyone no matter how much I love them.

Tuesday

I’m sat at my desk at home, scrolling through my WhatsApp, when I get the urge to open up one of the many forgotten dating apps on my phone.

Every time I feel especially lonely or misunderstood, I take a gamble and look for love or companionship in my app store.

I usually find myself searching ‘dating apps for asexuals’ in the hopes there will be something for me. Sometimes I stumble into an app that sounds too good to be true — and usually is.

I’ve never found love this way, but I have made a few friends — they don’t ask about my sexual preferences nor care for it. And that makes me happy.

It turns out there aren’t many out there who want a relationship without sex, which means being a sex-averse person who craves romantic connections can be lonely. Still, I keep trying to connect with someone new in the hopes they’ll finally be the one that gets it.

Wednesday

Again, sex isn’t on the cards today. I have personal errands to run, and a couple of professional events to attend, so it’s a tiring day.

In the evening I curl up in bed an tune into the final episode of a Thai Boys Love (BL) show I enjoy. It’s a Japanese genre which focuses on romantic and erotic relationships between men.

They’re typically romantic and passionate, but today there are some rather steamy scenes, with the leads in all their sexual glory and glow. Some sex-averse people can be turned off by even media portrayals of sex, but I’m not one of them.

I don’t mind watching these scenes — and if done tastefully enough, I even enjoy watching intimacy unfold on my screen. Quite often when I watch intimate scenes in the media, I think it looks beautiful. But as soon as I think of it being me, I physically cringe.

Thursday

I’m chatting with a queer friend on a coffee date and the conversation shifts to trying to date differently than we have before. Despite being panromantic I’ve only had serious relationships with men or male-identifying people.

The dose of BL from yesterday plus this conversation makes me consider if I should start exploring other avenues.

I’ve always been equally attracted to female-identifying folks as well as gender-fluid individuals and gender doesn’t matter to me in love, so if I feel a spark, I’d love to pursue it and see where it goes.

But quite often, the asexual experience means feeling out of place, even in the queer community. When I’ve tried experimenting, the drastic range of preferences has often overwhelmed me. I’ve had women are attracted to me but immediately want sex, and others who are asexual but want to be with men only. They just never seem to be on my wavelength.

Friday

With the end of the work week approaching, I’ve been inundated with writing Valentine’s-themed content, so of course love is on my mind.

The truth is, there’s someone I currently have feelings for. We met in passing through work but it’s a bit of one-sided love. Honestly, if I’d not been burned by previous relationships, I might’ve approached them already.

Currently, they don’t know about my feelings, and honestly I’m afraid to pursue it. I have friends who tell me I should go for it, but I don’t know how to explain how shaken my confidence is.

Being asexual means I have to have conversations that neither the other party, nor I, am ready for — at least early on. Telling people you’re probably not ever going to want sex on a first or second date isn’t exactly light-hearted, ‘get-to-know-me’ small talk.

So, whenever I think of pursuing a relationship, I’m held back by the knowledge that the rosy-eyed honeymoon phase will be immediately overshadowed by the need to be upfront.

While I know I can’t lead people on by not telling them, I also don’t want them to misunderstand me and stick around just because they think sex is a distant possibility — when the fact is, it may never be. 

Saturday

I have a nice lazy morning, cuddling with my dog; the perfect Saturday. I mull over confessing my feelings or trying to date, but I’m just so worried about the reaction.

Thinking back, I remember one person I thought ‘got’ me asking if not wanting sex was trauma induced by something that happened to me, and implying it could be fixed with therapy.

Then there was someone I barely knew who asked me if I like self-pleasure, and another who told me I’d never know if I liked it until I tried it. One person even lashed out and accused me of lying about it to avoid a relationship with them.

I always approach many curiosities — no matter how impolite or inappropriate — with an open mind, because I believe that even one person educated is one person who is more accepting of people like me.

But it’s also exhausting. It shouldn’t have to be my responsibility to educate people when all I really want is to be exist in the sexuality I feel most comfortable with.

Sunday

It’s the end of another week without sex, and I’m realising wanting love and companionship, despite not wanting sex, is quite challenging.

I am chuckling at the irony of being open to loving all genders yet finding no gender that accepts me. But I can’t say it made me feel overly sad.

I’m almost 30 years old and a virgin — very much by my own choice. I don’t feel like left out or like I’m behind in life.

Although sex isn’t something I’ll ever want or enjoy, I know I can love deeply and loyally. I vow I won’t stop looking for someone who can recognise and respect that.

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