i.

ASEXUALITY WAS A spectrum, as Fifer Ione was fond of declaring to anyone who would listen.

"Not all asexuals are opposed to sex," she would beam over the lip of her pint of hard cider, standing at the bar at the Mecklenburg Inn, smiling as widely as she possibly could at whoever she happened to have roped into this conversation.

"Really?" That night it was Jack Mirren, who was a minotaur who'd just gotten finished playing his set at open mic night that Thursday evening. "Because, uh, I thought that was implied in the term asexual. As in, ‘the absence of sex.'"

"No, it's a common misconception," she said, taking a drink. She'd made a rule that she wasn't going to drink hard cider anymore, due to the hellish headache it always gave her the day after drinking it. But it was so delicious, it was hard to remember that. Usually, she'd be very good for her first two drinks, having some very light beer with a tiny alcohol content or even a hard seltzer. But then, the cider would call to her, and she'd be a little too tipsy at that point to make good decisions. "It's a spectrum, so not all asexual people are celibate. Some of us just exclude it in certain circumstances."

Jack furrowed his brow. "Then, I mean, maybe everyone's asexual, because there's a circumstance that would make anyone exclude sex. Me, for instance? I'm never getting it on in a public bathroom."

"Okay, well, that's not really the same thing," said Fifer.

Jack shrugged. "So, what do you mean?"

"Okay, well, there are demisexuals," said Fifer. "And that means that you don't find a person attractive until you already have an emotional connection with them. Demisexuals often have a lot of sexual attraction, but it just arrives late. They don't see a person and think, ‘Whoa, he's hot.'"

Jack thought about it. "Huh."

"Or you could be aromantic but still sexual. That still falls on the spectrum of asexuality."

"What's aromantic?"

"It means you don't want a romantic connection with another person. You might, however, still enjoy sex."

"So, like, all men," said Jack. "All men are aromantic."

"Oh, come on," said Fifer. "Men do so want romantic connections."

Jack shrugged. "All teenage boys, then."

She sighed. "No, it's not the same thing."

"Okay, so how is it different?"

"I mean?" She gestured with both hands. "Lots of teenage boys enter into romantic relationships. They have girlfriends and they do not just have those girlfriends in order to have sex with them."

Jack folded his arms over his chest and eyed her with his bull head, letting her know that he might not actually agree with her assessment.

"Or boyfriends," she said belatedly. "Teenage boys sometimes have boyfriends. How heterocentric of me." And she wasn't even totally straight. She was bisexual, really.

"I'm just confused," he said. "I thought I knew what asexuality meant. It's pretty cut and dry, isn't it? Now, you want to say it's something completely different?"

"It's a spectrum ," she said.

"You always say that you're asexual. It's like your big thing. And now you're not?"

"Oh, tangles and briars," she said.

"Because, I mean, if you're not, and you ever want to hook up or—"

"Jack, I am," she said.

"Oh, you're the kind that doesn't like sex, then?"

"It's complicated," she said.

He raised his eyebrows.

"I like the idea of sex," she said. "I just don't ever want to do it."

He drew back. "What?"

"Never mind," she said, sighing.

"Wait a second." He leaned across the bar to look at her. "So, you're telling me, like, you've never had sex? You're a virgin?"

"Yes," she said, nodding at him. She had long ago gotten used to fielding personal questions like this. She didn't mind them. If she was going to start an open dialogue about asexuality, she needed to be prepared for that level of curiosity. She considered it her mission in life to educate people. It was her thing, as Jack had said.

"Well, how do you know you don't like sex if you've never tried it?" he said.

"Because I think about actually doing it, in actual life, with all the skin and the sweat and the fluids, and eww." She was matter-of-fact about this. Her brand of asexuality was called aegosexual.

She actually had a fairly high libido. She masturbated every day, sometimes twice or three times. She loved to read smutty romance books and smutty fanfic and really dirty stroke fic erotica. She found actors and celebrities attractive, but she had to admit that her favorite object of attraction was a drawing.

Cartoon smut was perfect. No unsightly hair. No strange bulges. Things were always smooth and perfect and there was no, well, pesky reality to it.

Real sex seemed frankly disgusting to her.

When she masturbated, she never fantasized about herself. She always thought about other people, pretend people. Lots of times they didn't even have faces and lots of times she didn't even picture all of them. She pictured bits and pieces, thinking more about what they said . She liked to play around with different sorts of scenarios. She liked them to be a little deviant, and she would never actually do things like that. It sounded dangerous and gross and uncomfortable.

Basically, Fifer liked sex as long as she wasn't part of it. A-ego-sexual—as in, the absence of the self in sex.

Jack shrugged. "Okay, but it seems to me you should try it once before you give up on it entirely. Like, how do you know you don't want to have sex if you've never done it?"

"I just do," she said, shaking her head at him. "And really, why is it any of your business telling me what to do? And furthermore, what if I were a lesbian? Would you say to me, ‘How do you know you don't like dick if you've never tried it?'"

"No, that'd be fucked up," he said, ducking down his head. "I mean, I know that I don't want to have sex with a man even though I never have, so…" He looked back up at her, sheepish. "Sorry."

"It's okay," she said, giving him a little smile. "But now you know, right?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding. "This was actually a really interesting and informative conversation."

She giggled, lifting her glass to toast him. "That's what I'm here for." This was her mission in life, after all.

Jack chuckled. "Sorry if I was…" He took a drink of his beer. "I consider myself a pretty open-minded person, you know?"

"I know," she said. "It is Shepherdstown. Takes all kinds here."

"Yeah," he said. "Anyway, I guess I just never really considered it before."

The door to the bar opened with a jangle. There were a set of bells—like sleigh bells from Christmas—attached to the door, announcing everyone's arrival or departure.

Jack turned to see who it was.

It was a tall guy wearing a hoodie and jeans. He had a skull for a face—a deer skull, complete with antlers. He was carrying a musical instrument in one hand and an amp in the other, and his hands were skeletal as well. The musical instrument looked small, but it was shaped like a guitar, so it must be a mandolin or a ukulele or something, she thought. An electric ukulele? Hmm.

And his face . Fifer knew there were certain sorts of people who were more magical than others. This guy was obviously held together by magic. Was he… did he have skin? Organs? Did he drink beer?

"Hey Hollis," said Jack.

"Jack," said Deer-Skull-Hoodie-Guy, giving him a nod. "How's it going?"

"You know, same shit, different day," said Jack. "You playing?"

"Nope," said Deer-Skull-Hoodie-Guy.

"Nope?" Jack was confused. "But you brought your—"

"Yeah, I just like to carry around heavy equipment and musical instruments for fun." This was delivered deadpan, and since he had no capacity to change his facial expression, it was particularly effective.

Fifer burst out in laughter, high-pitched and a little squeal-y.

"Hey," said Jack, rolling his eyes at her. "Fuck you."

"Sorry, dude," said Deer-Skull-Hoodie-Guy. "But I mean, you walked into it."

"I did," said Jack, chagrined.

Deer-Skull-Hoodie-Guy nodded at her. "Hey there. Don't usually see selkies so far inland."

"You can tell that?" Fifer burst out with.

"Shit." Deer-Skull-Hoodie-Guy cleared his throat, bowing his head. "Sorry about that. Uncool. I'm Hollis Mac."

"Fifer Ione," she said, touching her chest.

"She's like the local celebrity, dude," said Jack. "Back from her latest tour."

"Yeah, but I'm not touring again," said Fifer, shaking her head.

"You play?" said Hollis.

"And sing," she said. "I guess you do."

"Yeah," said Hollis, nodding at her. His voice was sort of pleasantly deep, wasn't it? "Let me, um, put these down, actually." He lifted the instrument and the amp, and then he disappeared back through the doorway into the other room of the Mecklenburg.

Fifer peered after him. Well, he was an interesting person, wasn't he?

"YOU CAN GO ahead of me if you want," said Fifer.

Hollis was now bent over the small chalkboard where all the open mic signups were, chalk in hand. It was sitting out on one of the tables. He looked up at her. Well, did he? He had no eyeballs.

She surveyed him for a moment, curious, then she held out her hand for the chalk. "Erase my name, there, and I'll put yours in. If you want."

"No, I don't mind going last. If I wanted to go earlier, I should have gotten here earlier," he said. He scrawled his name on the chalkboard. He straightened. "Unless? Did you want to go last or something? Since you're a… celebrity? Should I have heard of you?" He got his phone out of his back pocket and held it up. "Fifer… how do you spell that? ‘Ph' or ‘F'?"

"Don't look me up," she said, pushing the phone down. "There's nothing to see. I'm not a celebrity. I'm definitely nothing like that. It was not a big tour. It was mostly coffee shops, really, not even real gigs, just…" She shrugged. "And anyway, I'm never doing it again."

"No? Didn't like it?"

"Hated it. Always hate it, in fact," she said. "It's my third tour ever, and I… I hate everything about touring. I hate driving for long distances—and I always end up driving myself unless I get someone to come along for some of it, but it's hard to ask people to do that, considering how much time and effort it is for them, and the tour is not exactly a lucrative proposition at this point, you know? So, I can't pay people. I made some money, which I think is cool, I mean, all things considered, but now it has to last me a while. Anyway… I hate it. Sleeping in hotels, not cool. Being away from home, being on my own, having to interact with strange people every day…" She made a face.

"Yeah," said Hollis. His voice sounded like he was grinning, but his skull face didn't change. "I can see that."

She felt embarrassed for some reason. She didn't get embarrassed easily, really. She was a little bit socially tone-deaf, to be completely honest. She liked to be around people. She liked to talk their ears off. She tended not to notice when they wanted her to shut up, though. Not until it was too late.

Even then, it wasn't embarrassment she felt. No, then it was a two-ton weight of shame and regret. She had two modes—oblivious chatter and tangles-and-briars-kill-me-now.

"No, I doubt I'd like touring either," he said. "All of that does sound pretty uncomfortable."

"Yeah?" she said.

"I'm sorry about announcing to everyone you were a selkie," he said, his voice lower. "I forget people can't see it."

"How can you see it?" she said.

"Long way from home," he said with a wry chuckle.

"So, you're, like, magic—pure magic?"

His gaze met hers, and she didn't know how because he only had dark pools of emptiness where his eyes should be, but he was definitely looking deeply into her eyes now. "No, not pure magic."

"You don't have… skin?" She cringed. "That was probably out of line, huh?"

"No skin," he said and he sounded amused again. He leaned closer. "You're not the first woman to be interested by the skull thing, and I don't mean to be overly, um, explicit, but it does tend to make things easier for everyone if I just make it clear up front that I don't have, uh, a cock. So, if you're—"

"Oh, no, no! I'm asexual," she said.

He drew back. He cleared his throat. "Oh." He sounded embarrassed.

"I just—"

"I should get a drink," he said in a choked voice. "I'm really sorry if I—" He shoved his hands in his pockets, stared at her, and then, without another word, turned and walked off.

"So, you can drink," she said softly. To no one.