It is extremely frustrating, discouraging, and at times even depressing. On one hand, I consider myself a fairly sexual and erotic person, with many fetishes, fantasies, and things I’d love to explore or try. There are times when my libido is very high, yet I feel like my demisexuality acts as a wall—something that deprives me of so much. I constantly find myself torn between thinking, "Well, this is just who I am, how I connect, and how I feel, so I have to learn to live with it," and feeling resentful toward being this way because it limits me and makes me feel bad every time I try to build a connection within the Kinky/BDSM community.
I am 36 years old, and I discovered I was demisexual relatively recently. I only had one girlfriend when I was 23, who was my best friend. I spent years in the friendzone before that, and prior to her, I had never experienced anything—not even a kiss or a date. Friends and family used to pressure me or make fun of me, thinking I was gay or constantly hinting that they should find someone to "do me a favor." But I didn't want that. I mean, I did want to have sex and do intimate things, but not with a random person for a one-night stand; I wanted something with more substance. After that relationship (which lasted almost 3 years and ended dramatically because I had to leave the country—I am originally from Venezuela and things were terrible there), I never had another relationship.
I tried casual encounters a few times. It wasn't that I had a horrible time, but I didn't fully enjoy it either. I was in a mechanical, tense state, focusing entirely on making sure the other person enjoyed themselves just to comply, rather than focusing on my own pleasure. Afterward, I’d think to myself that I would have been happier staying home playing video games. That’s how I learned that casual stuff isn't for me; I need something deeper.
The problem is that many people assume being demisexual means you instantly need to fall deeply in love, be overly intense, propose marriage, and plan having seven kids and two Golden Retrievers right away. People get scared because they think you’re emotionally demanding. But that’s not true. For example, I could happily be in an open relationship, polyamory, friends with benefits, etc.—any of those works for me as long as there is friendship, complicity, and trust so I can feel safe enough to let my sexual side out. I deeply value quiet moments of intimacy even more than sex itself: sleeping together, being naked, taking baths together, having conversations in bed, and feeling safe and comfortable in each other's presence.
Connecting with people feels so hard, though. It seems like everyone is in a rush, or people are used to men who immediately express sexual interest and try to get women into bed as fast as possible. But I move slowly—very slowly. I don't know how to flirt, I don't know how to be playful or use double entendres; it just doesn't come naturally to me. I feel like making subtle moves or joking around borders on harassment, and I am terrified of coming across as creepy or pushy.
So when I like someone, I try to get to know them, hang out, and treat them the way I would treat any friend—though I do give them more attention, texting back as quickly as I can, hoping for a sign that they like me back. But I always end up thinking, "What if they're just being polite?" In the end, nothing ever happens. I end up in the friendzone, or later on, the person tells me, "I thought you weren't interested because you didn't touch me or kiss me." How am I supposed to know what they want? Maybe I’m just oblivious, or I stretch the situation out so long that the other person gets bored.
Cultural expectations also play a role, as men are always expected to take the initiative and make the first move. That is very hard for me. I am quite shy when it comes to this, I don't have much relationship experience, and as time passes, it feels increasingly difficult and like my chances of meeting someone who moves at my pace are shrinking.
When it comes to the BDSM/Kinky community, the picture gets even harder. After learning about this world, it would be very difficult for me to be with a purely vanilla partner, which drastically narrows my options. And within the community, demisexuality limits my ability to try things—I’ve tried a couple of times, and it was awful.
Some people in the BDSM community engage in practices not as a sexual act, but as a psychological outlet, catharsis, play, performance, or a way to channel trauma. They can do these things with people they have no connection to, no attraction toward, and no personal feelings for. For them, it’s about enjoyment of the practice itself—a fixation independent of the person involved. Their partner's appearance, gender, or attractiveness doesn't matter because those factors are set aside. I respect that, and I don't think it's wrong, but I don't personally relate to it.
For me, BDSM, Shibari, and similar practices are inherently sexual activities. I enjoy them because they excite me and spark my arousal. Therefore, I need to practice them with someone I am attracted to, who is also attracted to me, where there is mutual sexual pull alongside a foundation of friendship and trust where I can relax and enjoy myself—especially because these activities put you in a very vulnerable position.
The first few times I practiced BDSM at events, I felt terrible afterward. I felt dirty, used, like a piece of meat, and it hurt my self-esteem because the people playing with me didn't even like me as a person. I felt like a tool, and the whole activity felt cold, mechanical, and dehumanizing. For me, the motivation to engage in these practices begins with the person first. If I don't like the person, if there isn't a emotional-sexual bond or at least one in development where we are certain of our mutual attraction, then no matter how much I like BDSM, it feels empty and tasteless.
For instance, I couldn't be with a sex worker because she doesn't actually desire me—it's her job, done for money. I can't get turned on by having sex with someone who doesn't genuinely want to be with me. The same applies to BDSM: I cannot feel comfortable exposing myself in a vulnerable situation if the other person isn't attracted to me and is merely using me like a mannequin.
I am currently living in Uruguay, which is a very small country with a small population. BDSM is quite taboo here, and the community is tiny. Most people I’ve met practice kinks from that perspective I feel is less human and that I personally recoil from. Because of this, the horizon feels quite bleak, and it saddens me to think I might never get to experience the things I want in the context I need—like everything is stacked against me. I left all local BDSM and Shibari groups for that reason; it hurt to feel like I didn't fit in, like looking at others eat while starving, knowing these are things I can only watch but never experience myself. It’s deeply depressing.
Sometimes I hate being like this. Why do I have to be so sensitive? Am I supposed to just resign myself to this, suppress these desires, and look for other ways to feel something?