What is Sexy?

I recently read an article in the March-April 2005 issue of UTNE magazine, a liberal contemporary philosophical publication. Each month this small, hippiesque read highlights a particular issue and recycles articles from other publications for its readers. This month took a deeper look at religion, faith and the modern onset of feminist spirituality. Unbeknownst to most people, I get much of my literary inspiration from the obscure articles in this magazine, thus I urge all free-thinkers to take a trip to your local bookstore and buy a copy.

However, to highlight a larger issue, I would like to discuss something I was inspired to speak about after reading an article discussing the new wave of asexual practitioners. The article by Laine Bergeson looked at the world of the asexual, the non-sexual man and woman that lives for what they label "romantic intimacy." These people are "100 percent, completely uninterested in sex." Never in my life have a met a living asexual. One who did not abstain from sex because of religious reasons or a lack of desired mate, but instead because they felt no sexual attraction to anyone in society.

The "snuggle revolution," a subculture of people who abstain from sexual activity to instead cuddle in orgy like states, was my only introduction to the asexual world. While many of these people are not asexual in nature, but instead young people who choose to abstain from sex until marriage, enticed me. Why does sex automatically entail ejaculation and coital relations? Why can't sexual activity be more of an intimate state of mind, where just being in a state of human compassion is enough to satisfy the arousal of the body?

When I was in high school, sexy was a man who didn't wear sneakers with his shirt and tie laden outfit. Sexy was a boy who did good works and participated for the good human kind. It was intelligence, high SATs scores, and a thorough understanding of Aristotle. It didn't take me long to realize that this was an illusion of sexiness, when these attributes were only acquired merely to allow entrance to one of the few Ivy League schools on the East coast.

When I entered college, sexy meant Irish or Irish-like. Boys in Boston with Irish backgrounds, a liking for Drop Kick Murphys, and Notre Dame football was not hard to find. New England accents and natural hair, no fake-and-bake tans, and wardrobes free from Abercrombie and Fitch became my 'flavor-of-the-month.' It wasn't long until I learned that misogyny and deep-seeded love for the Red Sox weren't the only major turn-offs that came from finding these boys sexy.

Never did I look at a boy and think to myself, "I bet his penis is big." This did not, and does not constitute "sexy" in the book of Miss O. If a girl told me her ex-boyfriend was "good in bed," it didn't make me curious to find out for myself. I didn't look for the pretty boys in the fresh-pressed Dockers or Italian loafers; I was looking for something deeper. I just didn't know, and don't know, exactly what that is.

So I often question myself. If I am not looking at "sexy" as "sexual" than am I too an asexual being? According to the founder of the Asexuality Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), David Jay, no, I am not an asexual. Asexuals don't enjoy sexual activity, not because of emotional or physical trauma, but because of a deeper philosophical and psychological sense of intimacy. They only "enter sexual relationships as a way to express romantic or emotional attraction" but not to satisfy a sex drive. Just because you aren't orgasming with your partner, also, does not make you asexual. Asexuality is a sense deeper than a frustration with sexual relation, but instead a lack of desire to have one at all.

So these days, when I enter into what psychologists and biologists label my "peak years," and I look at fathers with small children in supermarkets, men helping old ladies across the street, and free-thinkers of concrete confidence as sexy I realize that it is not an entrance into asexuality that is responsible for my change of focus from sex to romance and soul, but my entrance into adulthood, motherhood, and self-identification that is to blame. As I think back to the days when I would fuck my boyfriend before class so that I had an excuse to leave post-coitus, I am forced to accept that I am growing older and more responsible. In fact, I am so exhausted after sex the only thing I feel like doing is rolling over, downing a glass of water, and finishing the episode of "The Simpsons" I paused when it all began. I have more of a desire to stick around these days and be "romantic" and truly "intimate." I now know why guys complain about girls "wanting to talk," because as we age, we truly want to be communicative with our partners. I have started to feel it's the public affection at a restaurant dinner table, the admiration of a painted picture, and a lively debate over coffee that is sparking my sex drive, not a giant phallus or a rough quickie that I desired just three years ago. Maybe I am just getting old too fast, I just like to believe I am improving my emotional I.Q.