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Dating in the twenty-first century was something Steve was completely unprepared for. Back in the thirties and forties dating had been so much simpler. You liked a girl, you took her dancing, maybe a movie, or a walk in the park. There was a structure to outings, almost always in public, and the most he had to stress over was a goodnight kiss after a few dates if the girl was so inclined. Now, in this strange modern time, people would go out without ever actually going out. Dates could be just random meet ups at people’s homes, completely unstructured with a casualness that Steve found unsettling. And don’t even get him started on Netflix & Chill. Everything was so fast and loose that Steve’s anxiety had him wanting to curl up on his sofa and never leave his apartment just thinking about it.
It wasn’t that Steve resented people’s ability to date whoever they wanted and in whatever way they liked. It was fine if that’s what they wanted to do, and Steve would never begrudge them for it. It just wasn’t for him. There were too many expectations now, the physical aspect of relationships so much more commonplace and accepted as normal. There was even slang for it now, PDA. Not that Steve minded most PDA, the hand holding and a chaste kiss on the cheek occasionally. That was all well and good for the most part, it was just the rest of it. The more physical aspect of relationships was what terrified Steve.
It had taken a few disastrous dates before Steve had heard the term “ace” from a girl. They’d gone back to her place for a movie after their second date and Steve had very politely turned down a blow job that she’d tried initiating. He’d explained he just wasn’t interested in that, or hand job, though the offer was very kind of her. She’d just shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh, I didn’t know you were Ace.” Then they went back to watching the movie about cars that turned into alien robots or something. They’d gone out a couple more times but eventually she stopped making plans with him.
Steve had needed to Google the term ace later on, the word rattling around his mind curiously. There was a sea of information online about asexuality and the different variations of it. He poured over the information for hours, learning about the different shades of the ace spectrum and where he fit on it. Steve felt a puzzle piece in himself lock into place at the discovery, he was asexual, ace. There was an empowerment to having a word for it after so many years of Steve just accepting he was abnormal and trying to fake his way through. Steve realized he wouldn’t have to fake it anymore, he could go on dates and tell a girl he was ace to avoid any awkward or unwanted sexual advances. He also realized there were others in the world like him who would be okay, and even welcome, a relationship that was limited to hand holding, cuddling, and maybe an occasional kiss. Impulsive with the joy of discovering a way to express himself, Steve purchased a few pins and a tshirt all with ace pride colors.
Dating didn’t become any more successful after Steve’s great revelation, but it became easier in a way. He found it better than dating back in his youth, even. Armed with the words he needed to express himself Steve no longer wanted to hide away and avoid relationships. It wasn’t a guarantee that he’d eventually find a nice ace girl who he could settle down with, but it gave him a little bit of hope that maybe, one day, he could.