Harshita Dagha And what did I learn? I am a DEMISEXUAL August 5, 2017

Demisexual is relatively a new term for someone like me. The dynamics of sexual orientation were till date limited to a few terms we all are familiar with, namely, heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual and asexual but off late the internet has been gung-ho about demisexuals. However, that isn’t new either. Let me reiterate an incident which was yet unspoken.

This happened when I was in a college, average looking, athletic, lithe and nerdy. People around me maintained that I had a very difficult aura. I didn’t know what that meant, I still don’t. I was easy going and did have many guy friends. But none I would be attracted too. I recall how the peer pressure was taking a toll. Every friend I met did have a boyfriend or would be seeing someone. In the heat of the moment, I decided to date a random. And, yes, it wasn’t a wise decision.

Was I harassed? No! Nothing like that happened. I just came to my senses.

Read on.

“Amol, I just want to tell you that I like you. I don’t expect you to reciprocate those feelings but I just wanted to confess.” I wrote in my message to him. So far he was the only boy I could rely on. We had been friends for a year now and I did like him from the time we first shook hands. Something electrifying, some weird sensation that I had never experienced before woke up my being. I knew this was different. I knew he was different.

I was jittery. I wanted to know what his answer would be. Of course, I wasn’t expecting a yes.

“Meet me,” is what he wrote.

Now that wasn’t something new. We had been pals and we could meet like before. That message wouldn’t come in way. And so we did meet.

Right at the corner of Gora Gandhi, he stood with his back leaning on his bike, a Unicorn, wise choice, I’d say. He waved and I waved back.

“Hi!” I said.

“Hello! What’s up?” he asked.

“Just returning from office. Hectic day. Had to be at the Taj Lands for the trailer launch party of Aftab Shivdasani’s movie.”

“Aftab, that guy from the film Masti? Who watches him? He is passé. Why would you go? And since when did you start working?”

“Oh! You are so full of questions. I am interning with a news agency.”

“Oh!”

“So how come we meet? And why aren’t you regular in college? Remember this isn’t your Thakur, this is Xaviers we are talking about.”

“The hell with your monitoring. And we meet because you asked for it.”

I was a tad surprised hearing this. I feigned innocence.

“Me? How come?”

“Didn’t you send me that message? Or was it someone else?”

“Err…that message. See, I can clarify. I think we should sit and talk.” I pointed at the restaurant behind us.

“No, we are good like this.”

“See, I just confessed my feelings and I don’t expect you to reciprocate the same.”

“What if I do?”

“What if you do? What if you do!”

Oh. My. God. I was reeling and swooning wasn’t a good option now. I was dumbfounded. When he motioned me to sit on the bike, I did. And in a vroom we were out of the crowds into the seclusion of the back roads. He was familiar with the back roads, as was I. This wasn’t the first time I had ridden on his bike. He had dropped me home on a number of occasions but today was different.

When we took the last turn and just a block short to my house, he gently took out the rose he had kept hidden all this while. Smiling, he handed it to me and kissed my hand. I was blown away, I truly was, still am. Even to this day, I have clung to this memory.

That was that. But I was in for a mess ahead.

Amol did not meet me after that bike ride. He only replied to my messages. I was crazy. I don’t know how things happened or why it happened. But it was more like a domino effect.

In my messages, I regularly asked him to meet me but he refuted time and again. It frustrated me to think that he was playing games with me. Believe me you, I didn’t even know back then what playing games really meant. I would tread to my workplace, headphones plugged in, listening to sad songs and would cry on “Big girl don’t cry.”

The second semester had begun and we had kept in touch only via SMSes, there was no WhatsApp in that era. I tried really hard to talk to him but he wouldn’t pick up the phone. He was healthy and hearty, that much was assured because he loves himself much more than he can love any girl. But I wanted to conclude this facade. I was hurting within.

And it happened.

I was working on a project with my classmates when my phone buzzed.

“I shouldn’t have given you hopes. I am sorry. We should end this here.”

I was relieved. I felt so much better. Light-hearted even.

“Yes, true. Thank you so much. I feel better now.” I reverted.

That was the end of it. We stayed friends. But chaos had commenced.

I heard tales of rebound and how I was supposedly Amol’s rebound. I wanted to do away with these feelings for him. And so my search ensued. I was flirting endlessly with unknown men on Orkut, some were asking me out and I was asking some men out. I didn’t dare meet them, though.

One fine day, when I had been to the doctor I saw a boy, in his twenties, perhaps, sitting next to his mother. Saffron sweat shirt and denim, wheatish complexion and a charming smile. It goes without saying that his smile cast a spell. I did like him. I wasn’t sure, however, how do I get in touch with him. Was the universe conspiring for impending stupidity, I don’t know. All I know is that he happened to ping me on Orkut and it took me no second look to recognize him. Disappointing was the fact that he hadn’t recognised me.

“Where do you stay in Borivali?” he sent a scrap to me.

“Near the BMC Dispensary,” I wrote.

“Oh! That’s like minutes walk from my house.”

I had a strange sensation upon reading it, like someone was pressing ice to my nape.

“Meet me.” Another scrap again.

“I can’t.”

“C’mon. We should meet.”

“We don’t know each other.”

“We will. Once we meet, we will.”

“We should chat for a while.”

“Okay.”

Let me be very frank, I liked chatting with him. He was a dream come true. In time I had met him once. He came across as a decent guy. But his next proposal was quite indecent.

“Let’s go to Gorai beach tomorrow,” he said holding my hand.

“Why Gorai?” I hadn’t a clue where was it and how to go there. It was a beach in Mumbai, yes but I had never heard of my friends or family head to Gorai for picnic. I assumed it must be just a hangout place. I said yes.

The next day he picked me up from the station and vroom we went. We entering the most unsought vicinity in the city. We took a ferry and landed on the other side of the town. Yes, it was a beach, a beautiful beach, alas, a secluded one.

Looking around I realised that the place wasn’t meant for couples, it was meant for those seeking a room. Jitters, butterflies, I don’t know what I really felt. That guy, the one I still haven’t given a name to, held my hand and we sat down on a boulder. There wasn’t anything either of us was planning to do but it happened.

The next minute we were in lip lock. His mouth searched mine, exploring, tantalizing, teasing, mine was flabbergasted, confused, scared. The touch genuinely seemed gentle but the taste, no, he wasn’t meant to be. This wasn’t meant to be. I didn’t have strong feelings for him. This couldn’t be. I should stop this. No, perhaps, I should take a chance. I tried kissing him back but it just wouldn’t happen, the feelings wouldn’t come.

That was it. Nothing else happened. He wanted to own my feelings he told me and he realised that I wasn’t ready. He will wait, he assured.

But I have rushed to conclusion and a sane one at that.

I. Could. Never. Have. Feelings. For. Him.

He was not the one.

“We can be friends,” I texted him.

“No, I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your boyfriend. I want you. I want to marry you.” He kept repeating and it made me all the more averse.

We were no more friends. There were no more texts. There were no more scraps and soon Orkut would be no more too.

Had it been with Amol, things would have been beautiful I am sure but this relationship, just wasn’t meant to be.

What did I learn? I am a demisexual!

Are you, too?

This engineer-turned-media pro aims at engineering creativity. A dreamer, she's out in this world to win hearts and sell smiles for free! If there's a man draped in funny-looking purple robe, she'll write about it. If you have one ear on either side of your face, she'll write about that too. She loves expressing so much that she often reads out to empty rooms and yells, "I know you're listening!" Her love for expressions, Bollywood and romance is truly undying, unconditional and unapologetic!

Gain the momentum from the reads that mean to you with our personalised feed weekly. Let’s do this!


Comments