A (Very) Brief Heterosexual Dating History, Bachelorette #6

Anna Jane

Height: 5’10”
Hair: Black
Eyes: Blue
Talent: Teaching Sunday School
Random Fact: A year later, she ended up marrying the guy she asked out weeks after asking me out.

The Date:

I was at church—sitting in my regular seat. 3/4ths of the way back on the left side. It was my own little corner. My seating was strategic. Not too far away from the pulpit so as to appear disinterested (yet not too close, which could result in undesired attention). On my one side was an armrest and the other scriptures and notebooks to take up enough space next to me so that anyone wanting to sit next to me had to ask.

Generally, the space was later occupied by a male friend from high school or someone from the elders quorum, but on this particular day, I found myself unprepared for a simple request. Leaning over as the meeting began, she asked, “Is this seat taken?”

I moved my things and she scooted around me. For the next hour and fifteen minutes, we didn’t say a word to each other. We just listened to the speakers and remained confined to our personal spheres. I wrote in my notebook as she looked through her hymn book.

Once the meeting ended, though, she started up a conversation. Despite her very shy, librarianesque demeanor, she was very forward, “Are you doing anything on Friday? I have tickets for Harry Potter and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

Although Harry Potter and Anna Jane weren’t really my idea of a fun Friday night, the decision wasn’t a difficult one. I was supposed to accept every opportunity I might have to make my life better—to come closer to that celestial, picket-fence ideal of a wife and children.

“Sure,” I said.

The date, it turned out, came off about as indifferent as my response.

Nothing went wrong, but nothing stuck out:

She picked me up.
We went straight to the movie theater.
We talked a little bit about our families.
We watched the movie.
We talked a bit about the movie.
She took me home.

Things at church didn’t change. There was no awkwardness or angst. We’d gone as friends and it was only a date in name. Analytical as I was, I couldn’t help but consider what all of this meant.

Is there a girl I want to date? Someone I want to kiss? Have sex with? Be with forever?

The answer seemed to be no. And since there was no way I could feel that way about a man (because that’s what I’d been taught), I concluded that I was asexual—I was incapable of having those feelings for anyone. Any angst or arousal was simply chalked up to spontaneous, uncontrolled hormones as I consigned myself to a life alone.

The Lesson: I’m just not that into you(r sex).

End of Series

This sense of lonely contentment disappeared months later when the answer to many prayers and the resolution to the confusion I'd experienced came to me in the form of Grey. Upon meeting him, I knew why things had never worked out with the girls-- even the most intelligent, beautiful, and charismatic of them. What followed was a long process of coming out to myself.