Demigods + Demisexuals
On Being Less Sexual + More Voyeuristic Than Your Average Bear
I’ve been an avid connoisseur of the male form for as long as I can remember.
Catalogs. Magazines. Movies. TV shows. If there was a well-lit jawline or well-defined chest in the frame, I noticed. Appreciated. Studied, even.
The real world, thankfully, has always offered plenty of beautiful men too. Grocery stores. Gyms. Sidewalks. Entire cities and civilizations have been built on eye candy.
I love looking at men. Always have. Always will.
But wanting to look and wanting to leap into bed are two very different impulses.
When I first came out, I assumed appreciation automatically translated into appetite. If I found men aesthetically compelling, surely I was supposed to want as much sex with as many of them as possible. At least that seems to be the prevailing narrative. Swipe. Match. Meet. Rinse. Repeat. Chemistry as sport. Sex as handshake.
And I tried. Lord knows I tried. So much so that I developed a reputation amongst my dearest, nearest, and queerest as a bit of a floozy. (Oh, how I love that word!)
What I’ve discovered, after years of trial and error, is that my internal wiring doesn’t quite match the homosexual blueprint. While I can spot a demigod at fifty paces, at fifty-three, my idea of an “afternoon delight” is more having lunch and making out with someone I like than fucking every Tom, Dick, and Harry in sight.
My sex drive has never been a steady hum. It’s more like a rollercoaster designed by someone who enjoys twists and turns. There have been long stretches when I felt sexually charged and curious. And then long plateaus when sex feels like an abstract painting. Interesting in theory. Less compelling in practice.
That inconsistency has frustrated some former partners and confused more than a few friends with benefits. At times, I have felt like a faulty appliance. Fully capable of admiration, but unreliable in execution.
It has taken me a long time to realize I’m not broken. I’m demisexual.
DEMISEXUAL
noun: a person who experiences sexual feelings and attraction only after developing a close emotional relationship and not on the basis of first impressions, physical characteristics, etc.
The definition doesn’t fully explain my demisexuality. I experience sexual attractions and feelings all the time. I just don’t usually feel compelled to act on them unless there is at least some level of connection, even if it’s of the “One Night Only” variety.
I’m far from asexual. I absolutely experience desire. I simply prefer to know his name before I start crushing in real life. I want a conversation before we drop trou. For me, physical desire grows out of connection. It doesn’t usually precede it.
That realization explains why I can admire strangers endlessly without feeling the need to act, why hypersexual spaces leave me feeling out of sorts and sync, and why cuddling and kissing have always ranked high on my list of priorities.
For years, I didn’t appreciate fellow demisexuals because I didn’t know how many of us existed. I thought I was inconsistent. Or shy. Or secretly prudish.
It turns out there’s a wide spectrum between asexuality and hypersexuality, and I simply live somewhere in the middle of said spectrum.
Discovering that has been liberating. It means I can stop pretending I’m hot-to-trot all the damn time. I can stop apologizing for needing more than a dick pic and time slot. I can own the fact that I may be less sexually impulsive and more visually appreciative than the average bear. I love the art of men. The aesthetics. The mythological glow of demigods in good lighting.
But when it comes to real intimacy, I crave something quieter and slower.
A name. A story. A shared joke.
Yes, I still appreciate a great chest and a perfect ass. I’m not blind. I’m not immune. But I no longer confuse admiration with obligation. Not every spark has to become a fire. Not every beautiful body is an invitation to perform desire on demand.
There is nothing wrong with wanting connection to precede combustion.
I’m wired for intimacy. For attraction that deepens. For desire that grows roots before it grows teeth. Connection first. Everything else, if it comes at all, comes after.
Appreciating demigods doesn’t make me any less demisexual.
Keep calm and appreciate on!
Clint 🌈✌️
P.S. Whatever your preferences or predilections, I’m here and queer to cheer you on. What two or more consenting adults choose to do is none of my business or concern. I wish more people would adopt this policy. Get your pleasure on, y’all!
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ends 02.28.26
FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
02-27 = Angelina Weld Grimké (1880-1958) = American teacher and writer 🌈
02-27 = Libby Davies (1953- ) = Canadian politician 🌈
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“There are as many worlds as there are kinds of days, and as an opal changes its colors and its fire to match the nature of a day, so do I.”
John Steinbeck
🚢🎁🦜😱🐧🍰🏳️🌈🎵🌈 Thanks Clint Demigod 🌈🎵🏳️🌈🍰🐧😱🦜🎁🚢
I never knew the name for it. Demisexual. When did that get noticed? I've been wired that way from the beginning, and like you, I thought I was obligated to be and feel hypersexual. Just doesn't work. I had a lover who was hypersexual, sought many encounters while I was content with domesticity and the occasional whoopie time. Needless to say it didn't work out. Frisco in the 70's moved from friendly ground for us demi's to a sexcapade. Somehow I withdrew from the madness, never understanding quite why. Never got or succumbed to the plague that killed so many of my friends. Thanks for this post. Thanks for the beautiful men here and in all the other places. Intimacy, propinquity (nearness), even (gasp!) friendliness and friendship...those are real turn-ons for me. And evidently you as well. It's a big club, you say. I'm happy to know about it at last.