Editor’s Note: This is an anonymous guest post from someone who is looking for constructive comments and feedback. Comments are open on this post for your reflection and discussion, to communicate with the author, and to offer your own experiences. There will be ZERO tolerance for rude comments or ridicule. If you do that, I’ll delete your comment, and ban your IP.

You are encouraged to offer feedback. The author is interested in knowing what you have to say.

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I have a problem. It’s something I’ve struggled with all my life. I need help, and I also need to know I’m not the only one. Or am I?

I have no libido. I have no interest in sex at all. I guess a therapist would call me asexual, although somehow I’ve managed to conceive five wonderful children.

By the way, this is not Lotus of  Merry Crotchmas fame. I can’t speak for her but I’m pretty sure she likes sex. I am an anonymous guest writer. For a long time I’ve wanted to write about this issue, but my blog is very public and it doesn’t get much more personal than this.  In fact it borders on pornographic, so if you’re sensitive to that you may not want to read on.

It all started when I was a child. My family is very religious. In order to foster chastity in me, I was indoctrinated not just  to think of sex as something reserved for marriage, but something so disgusting it should be completely avoided. If there was a kissing scene on TV my mother made mock gagging noises, and my parents never kissed or hugged in front of me. I don’t want to sound like some self-involved whiner, but they never hugged me either or told me they loved me, though I know they did. When it was time for sex-ed, my parents had me pulled out of class so I wouldn’t be exposed to it. I learned about sex and periods later from my friends. When I did get my period I slipped a note under my parents’ door to let them know and maxi pads began to materialize in my bathroom. It was never discussed. As an only child I often wished for a sister that I could talk to about it.

At first this repression backfired. I discovered masturbation at an early age, though I didn’t know what it was. I just knew it felt good. Then when I was about ten a friend of mine showed me her stepfather’s dirty magazines, and I was far from repulsed, although in hindsight all that was shown was the female upper body. In junior high I discovered Harlequin Romances, which I had to hide under my mattress, and I marked all the sex scenes so I could reread them whenever I wanted. As I got older, I discovered Cosmopolitan Magazine and memorized every sex tip.

Somehow I made it through high school as the other kind of statistic: the odd kid that didn’t lose her virginity. I didn’t want to be a virgin, but I didn’t want to be a slut either. I’d decided that I wouldn’t go looking for sex, but if it came knocking I wouldn’t turn it down. I was a fairly popular and attractive girl, a cheerleader even, and I did manage to land a boyfriend my senior year. But I was so shy with him I could barely speak in his presence. I was saddened greatly but not at all surprised when he broke up with me after about a month of this.

When I moved on to college, all my friends were having sex. But not me. My virginity was its own chastity belt, enclosing me in a protective bubble. Anyone with a penis dared not approach, however much I wanted them to, and I was too shy to put myself forward.

I reached the age of 20 without ever having been kissed, or even having any idea what a penis looked like. Finally I found another boyfriend. He was someone I worked with. I had my first kiss, and it quickly evolved into full-blown make-out marathons. But nothing more. Oddly enough, John had a small penis complex. I told him I’d never even seen a penis before, but he was afraid to let me see how small it was. I put myself forward as much as I could stand, determined to lose my virginity. One night I even snuck into his bed with a box of condoms, but he wouldn’t have it. A few days after that he broke up with me, he said he wanted a relationship that was about more than sex and that was all I seemed to be interested in. The other guys we worked with were incredulous and rather interested at this news, but I didn’t want to continue working with John after that, so I left that social sphere.

The phenomenon continued. I’d hopefully go on dates, wearing sexy underwear, armed with the knowledge of Cosmopolitan, but my dates seemed to be as shy as I was, waiting for me to take the initiative. And my very conservative upbringing prevented me from taking that initiative.

I finally resolved myself to being single. Of course as soon as I did that, my future husband came on the scene. I was 26 by this time and felt old. Jeff was a known player in my area, but also the only man that was still single. So when he made his move, I went for it. Because of his reputation I was certain it would be a short-lived, sex only relationship, and I was okay with that.

The experience of sex was not at all what Harlequin and Cosmopolitan Magazine had led me to expect. Sweat, hair, breath, sticky saliva, gross noises, after-smells, yuck. The greatest disappointment of all was oral sex. I knew it was supposed to be the greatest thing ever, but as Jeff’s head began to move down my body I became more and more appalled. And then seeing his head there between my thighs, I had never been more mortified in my life. He lifted his head and told me I had the most beautiful vagina he’d ever seen. That only made it worse. I was horrified.  My whole body was tense and I wished he’d just get it over with. As he worked at it my body responded, but my will was stronger. I didn’t like the physical sensations. I didn’t like the idea that I might lose control. I pushed him away.

And then it was my turn. I thought I knew exactly what I was supposed to do, but it was all theoretical. Remember, I’d never even seen a penis before. And there was hair, and smells, and strange alien movements. I gathered my bravado and went for it. But Jeff had also read Cosmopolitan, and had learned that you’re supposed to let your partner know exactly what you want them to do. He wouldn’t stop talking, asking me to do this or do that, use my hands more, go this way, stop this other thing, until I gave up.

I felt like an idiot and a failure. I was supposed to know how to do these things. Isn’t it instinctive? Why did I not find his penis attractive? Why did it, in truth, repulse me?

The logical assumption here is that maybe I was gay. Of course that did occur to me, and I gave the thought a good deal of consideration. But I found female genitalia even more repulsive.  I decided I’d simply placed to many expectations where they didn’t belong, and shouldn’t have assumed I’d be a sex goddess from the start, even though everyone seemed to think it was supposed to work that way.

While the sex was a disappointment to me, it wasn’t to Jeff, and what was supposed to be a physical relationship only developed into something more. We got married, and had a big wedding with all the pomp and frills. I spoke to Jeff about my inhibitions, and he promised to help me try to get past them. He understood that his attempted direction had put me off of oral sex, but I was afraid to tell him that it went beyond that. I didn’t like or want sexual pleasure. I didn’t mind trying to appease his libido, but that’s all it was for me, an appeasement. Because you can’t have a marriage without sex, can you?

When my first son was born, I saw a magazine with an article titled, “Get Your Sex Life Back.” I was thrilled, I thought it would have suggestions on how to increase my libido. Instead it was geared toward women with high libidos, explaining how to work more sex into your schedule. And ever since I have seen this as the general way of things. Women are expected to want to have sex, and to want it often. There’s no help or support for women who don’t fit this description. It makes me feel like a total freak, ashamed and afraid to ask for help.

And now the years have passed, and having five kids with busy schedules has made it all too easy to avoid sex.  I feel horrible about this. My husband deserves more and better.

I know I need help, but I don’t know where that help should come from. Jeff has not tried to help me get over my inhibitions as he said he would, but has been very understanding about my aversions, far more understanding than the majority of men probably would be. I don’t know if this is psychological, a result of my upbringing, or if it might be something as simple as a hormone imbalance. Some might even say that if my experience was broader I might feel differently. Maybe that’s true, but I doubt it.

I wonder if I’m really the only one on the planet that could happily live out my life without ever having sex again. Scientists seem a lot more interested in giving men erections than in making women receptive to them. Maybe there are others out there who are ashamed to come forward, as I certainly have been. But I want to like sex. I want to be that sex goddess I always thought I’d be. But for me, that’s like wanting to be a rock star and yet not even capable of speech.

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But ridicule her or say anything rude and your comment will be deleted.