“When I thought about sex, it was as something that would happen to me someday – I would meet the right person (at the time I thought it would be a guy), fall in love with him, and we would “make love” and it would be wonderful, like in the romance novels I had read. I never asked myself if I really wanted this; I did not know it was possible not to want it. I never asked myself if having sex would really be so wonderful, when I felt nauseous and deeply uncomfortable whenever I read more factual and realistic (but not necessarily detailed) descriptions of sex, like in biology class when we talked about human reproduction, or the couple of times I looked up sex education websites. I did not think it was possible not to want sex, so it had to mean that this discomfort would pass when I met the right person. When I discovered that asexuality existed, I did not think it might apply to me – it was too “special” an orientation, too rare, and I was not really aware that I was not interested in sex anyway (since I expected I would only be interested with the right guy). But when I eventually (for other reasons) had to question my orientation, asexuality appeared the only possible answer – and when I decided that it had to be the right one, I felt relieved. I had never felt pressured before, but now I was liberated; I had never thought that I might not want to have sex, but suddenly I was happy to know that indeed I did not have to – and that I probably would not.”