Asexual Anecdotes: The time I dated a man who kissed me like his grandma.

Frustratingly respectable.

One time—after confidently discovering and understanding my asexuality—I dated a man who I explained my specific orientation under the asexy umbrella to.

A novel-sized explanation of what I was into, and what I was not.

Yet after the second date, he dropped me off at home, leaned in, and gave me a butterfly kiss.

I’ve never been kissed by a butterfly, but I KNOW that first kiss couldn’t have been far off.

Then two more goodnight kisses came later during our time dating that were exactly the same: puckered and light like a cat’s arse… but less cutely illustrated.

The imprint of his kisses were the equivalent of an apricot looking at a can of La Croix to flavor it.

The wind has touched my lips harder than the few times he did!

And eventually, I confronted him about his barely-there pecks and the fact that that was the only time he’d ever touched me… Except the one time I slipped on some ice.

But even that wasn’t a storybook catch. Just a firm elbow grip.

That’s it. That’s all.

Needless to say, we broke up soon after, once he told me that he didn’t wanna go too far with me cause he knew I wouldn’t be into it…

Despite me telling him, again, in novel-length detail everything I was cool with almost as soon as we started talking.

All that went over his head and he took it upon himself to assume I had been abused and didn’t know better I guess.

I can only assume he couldn’t imagine why anyone would only be into a select few things in a romantic relationship unless they were scarred from past events.

Who knows? It’s all just a silly story now.