Confessions of an Asexual Man

Love and Sex

Confessions of an Asexual Man

Illustration: Mudit Ganguly

I

remember the first time I thought of sex. I was a 12-year-old attending school in a Mumbai suburb. During the lunch break, a classmate whipped out a copy of Maxim magazine that he had flicked from his sister. There was Mariah Carey on the cover. A few boys gathered and flipped through the pages (in retrospect, they were suspiciously sticky), they ogled at the gorgeous, unattainable women attempting to stick plastic objects into their various orifices.

I remember staring at the Carey cover spread, thinking she was a beautiful woman, and that I would love to meet her one day. One of my classmates, who claimed to be Eminem’s number one Indian fan, said that he would “jack that shit”. I knew vaguely that it meant; he wanted to have sex with her. But I had no idea what that entailed.

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