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I. When summer rolled around and the city's swim team moved to the local outdoor pool for their ungodly 5 AM practices, Marco found that changing his equally-early morning run to include looping through the park around the pool made it infinitely more interesting. This was partly due to the whining of the swimmers as they did their best to avoid getting in the cold water, partly because of the quiet but incredibly threatening counter-attacks of the comically short ex-Navy SEAL head coach who still sported a military undercut (and somehow managed to make it look good), and mostly because of the youngest coach who also sported an undercut (it was two-toned, completely unruly, and absolutely ridiculous--Marco loved it) and waved his daily can of Monster around with alarming gusto to emphasize everything he said. Marco couldn’t get enough of the shenanigans of that youngest coach. He paced, he directed, he bantered with the swimmers and other coaches alike, he danced to the radio, and he apparently was the reigning champion of kickboard frisbee. Marco wanted to know that man more than anything else in the world. But what did he do? Run silently past every day like the creepy stalker he was.
II. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t a creepy stalker, exactly. It’s not like he followed the guy home or to the grocery store or anything. But he did feel like a coward, more and more with each day that passed that he didn’t stop to actually talk to the man who had so unexpectedly caught his interest. But, Marco wondered, could you really blame him? He’d spent year after year while growing up going through the same process of painfully failed relationships. He loved getting to know the person, loved the friendship plus a bit extra, loved the silly-drunk-in-love that they’d feel just like they should. But everything always had to have a point, have a goal, have an endgame. Always the same endgame. And when his partner would get to the point that normally started that endgame of making out and sex and everything, that’s when it would fall apart because Marco never could do it. Why did it have to be that way? Why did you have to do those things? Why couldn’t anyone seem to want a relationship without everything in it leading to that end goal? Marco didn’t have anything against sex, he understood that it was a wonderful thing for many, many people. He just personally couldn’t stand it.
In college he was lucky enough to find some friends who knew much more about orientations than he did, and after reading through some websites they recommended, he was overwhelmed to have finally found a term to describe him: asexual. But having a name for it didn’t make the rejection any easier. He still felt broken, and every failed relationship just added a new scar. One day, Marco had had enough of the painful breakups, and he set a moratorium on any and all relationships for himself. He’d had enough of that pain to last a lifetime.
But somehow...somehow he just couldn’t get that wild-haired coach off his mind.
Marco kept running.
III. By the time Marco was full-on pining for just one conversation with the guy, the man in question looked up one day and stared Marco right in the eyes as he was running past. It was steady, it was deliberate, it was longer than a simple glance should be, and it looked like a challenge.
Marco put on more speed, went home to scream into a pillow, and didn’t come back for two days.
IV. Of course Marco had been stupid to think that he could have run around the pool for days--weeks, now--in a row and no one would notice that he existed. And now the guy had stared him down and Marco couldn’t just be a coward and not go back, because his brain would never let him rest until he stopped feeling guilty and wondering what if.
So he went back, and this time when the man looked up, Marco met his eyes with a challenge of his own.
V. The next day, Marco woke up earlier than usual and started his run early. He passed the park’s little pond and saw some little ducklings taking what might be their first swim and decided to stop to watch. When a voice suddenly said hello right behind him, Marco jumped so violently that he ended up in the pond next to the little ducklings and their annoyed mother, squelching in pond mud and spluttering like a beached trout because he was staring up at none other than Mr. Swim Coach.
When the man’s momentary concern and apologetic expression changed into a grin as he offered Marco a hand up out of the pond, Marco closed his eyes and admitted defeat. He didn’t stand a chance against that smile and those crinkled amber eyes under the wild hair. Marco was a goner.
VI. As the weeks passed and Marco got to know Jean better, he fell further and further down the hole. At this point, he couldn’t escape the black hole of his attraction to Jean if he had a climbing harness and the most powerful crane in the world. But there was still always that fear of rejection that Marco could feel eating away at his heart. When Jean found out Marco wasn’t exactly like everyone else, wouldn’t he leave Marco like all the others had? If Marco couldn’t give him what he wanted, Jean wouldn’t want to stay. Marco didn’t want to lose him--couldn’t lose him. Maybe...maybe with Jean he could do it. If it was the only way to make Jean stay…
V. They were in Jean’s living room, sitting on the couch curled up next to each other while watching reruns of an old TV show they both liked. Jean’s lips found Marco’s and brushed against them ever so gently, no lighter than a feather brushing air, letting Marco decide whether or not to accept. Marco closed his eyes and nudged his own lips gently against Jean’s, enjoying the contact and closeness with someone he loved so much. But suddenly he remembered all the past times this had happened, how it always just kept progressing further and further and--
Marco pulled away.
“Marco?” Jean asked softly.
“I-I’m sorry,” Marco said. “It’s nothing. I just--”
“Was that going too fast? Was it uncomfortable? I’m sorry Marco, I--”
“No, no, really!” Marco was quick to reassure him. “It was a good kiss, it really was.”
“Really?” Jean asked.
“Yes, I think--I think it was the nicest kiss I’ve ever had.” Marco’s eyes fell to his lap, where his fingers laced together so tightly his knuckles turned white. Jean didn’t miss it.
“But…?” He prompted softly.
“But…” Marco whispered. His eyes darted to Jean, then over to the TV, then the wall. “But...I--” He took a breath, held it, and exhaled. “I’m asexual,” he blurted out, still not looking at Jean. Marco closed his eyes, not wanting to see the reaction.
“Okay,” came the reply.
Marco opened his eyes and looked at Jean. “What?”
“I said okay. You’re asexual. So what? Life isn’t all about sex, and any love that’s healthy shouldn’t be either. If people enjoy sex, that’s great. More power to them. But it’s not like it’s a necessity.”
“I-I-”
“Marco, are you afraid I’m going to leave you just because of that?”
Marco looked down at the couch cushion. “Yeah..."
Jean reached out and cupped Marco’s face in his hands, bringing it up. “Hey. Look at me Marco, c’mon.” Marco’s eyes finally came up to meet his. “Look, I’m guessing you’ve had some rotten experiences with relationships in the past. Especially if you tried dating in high school or college, I am so, so sorry for what that must have been like. But not everyone in the world wants sex, okay? You’re not alone. There’s a whole big spectrum out there, from people who totally crave it, to people who might enjoy it but only sometimes, to people who totally don’t at all. You should never feel ashamed of being the way you are.”
“You don’t have a problem with it?”
“I’m demisexual, myself," Jean said, lightly. "Doesn’t really bother me at all. I might want it a little, now that I’ve got a close bond with you, but I don’t need it at all. And it’s not like I’m a passion-driven animal--”
“Except at the swim meets, right?”
Jean laughed. “Yeah, okay, okay. Maybe I do get a little intense at those. But the point is that even if I wasn’t demi, it still shouldn’t ever be a problem. Love is more than physical pleasure. Love is more than just feeling good. It's sacrificing. It's putting someone else before yourself because you really care about them. Their wants, their needs, their comfort. If you really love someone, it isn't be things like sex that are most important. It’s the person that matters, and your love for them. So no, Marco, I don’t care that you’re ace. The only things I care about are making you happy and making sure you’re comfortable.”
“Jean, I--no one has ever said anything like that before. I d-don’t know what to say!”
“Just tell me what you’re comfortable with, and what you don’t want to do. I want you to feel safe and completely comfy, okay? If anything I do ever makes you uncomfortable, please tell me, okay? You’re more important than kissing or anything else like that.”
“You do the same, okay? Please?" Marco begged, brushing Jean’s hair away from his temple with gentle fingers. “I want to make sure you’re always happy and comfortable too.” He smiled at Jean. “I’m absolutely fine with cuddles, hugging, hand-holding, kissing--it’s just once it gets to the making-out stage, that’s when I can’t do it anymore.”
“So kissing like we just did--that’s all right for you?”
“Yes,” Marco almost moaned. “Gosh, yes. That was wonderful. It was fine. Great.”
“Then,” Jean bit his lip for a moment. “Would you...mind if we did it again?”
Marco leaned in, and with a soft smile and a long sigh he gave Jean his answer.