My Experience with Dance Clubs and a Disconnect with the Body

I am very uncomfortable in modern dance clubs. There are several reasons for this, but the biggest and most pressing has to be with my experience of disconnect with my own body. Granted, I am not a fan of the music or the general culture that pervades clubs, and granted that I cannot dance, but even if I could I am not totally convinced I would enjoy it to the full extent I may deserve to. For lack of a better word, I am a prude, but only in terms of my relationship to my body- I have always been fascinated by sexuality and the beauty and form of other bodies.

In particular, I find the female form to be a beautiful, consistently inspiring thing to me. This isn't to say that I am not still romantically inclined toward men, because that is certainly the case, but my adoration of the female body stems directly from my inability to see or feel of myself as a sexual person. When I am watching sex scenes in movies, even if the man is more attractive, I am drawn to the woman because I know we share something in common, but there is such a struggle in me to make the connection that I end up admiring her like a work of art I could never produce. The way she moves, holds herself, and is fearlessly naked is a mystifying and stunning thing for me to watch and in moments, I see her dance like others may watch an intricately choreographed ballet with the exception that I remind myself, time and time again, that this isn't as learned a behavior as a dance is- ultimately, what she is doing is natural. This is where the struggle comes from; how can something be so natural to this woman, who shares the same form as me, and why am I so different?

It has no logic or reason to it, in my eyes. Sexuality has always been encouraged and accepted on both sides of my family. My mother regularly walked around topless without a bra in sight and we thought nothing of it. Sure, I was bullied as a kid and had some fairly serious issues with gender when I was continually being inferred to and mistaken as a boy for a solid 3 years of my teen years, but none of this seems to add up to what I am now. I know I shouldn't try to find reason for my sexuality because I know that I should have accepted by now that it is the same (and not totally alien to) as someone being gay, trans-gendered, or straight. Nonetheless, I cannot stop searching for an answer. The extent to which I am so drawn to and fascinated by the sexuality and bodily expression of others is only salt in the wound.
Discovering that I am asexual was horrifying on a few levels, but mostly it felt like a sad kind of defeat. To know that I am so inept at something supposedly so natural and so undeniably interesting and expressionate and critical to an every day life is disconcerting, at the very least. Never mind that I cannot connect with my partner with any of the same intimacy other relationships have the privilege of having, but I can also never connect with myself like others can whether they be dancing at a night club or using public showers. It is not the gaze of others that has me uncomfortable being uncovered. I am not ashamed, I am not disgusted, but I am uncomfortable. I have a very healthy self-esteem, too, which even further muddies the water. Even just considering the esteem of the body I still feel good about my appearance and yet I cannot find the means of dancing at a night club. If I am not given steps to follow I am lost at what to do with myself. I cannot find the portal through which people go where they let go and have their instinct and bodies take the wheel.
This is part of why I actively search for means of "play". It would be a lie to say I ride my bike, go for hikes, swim and once enjoyed my job doing gymnastics and leading games for children at the YMCA for purely health reasons. Physical activity can engage me in ways which allow me to explore what I can do and how far I can go.

I am both fascinated by and jealous of the sex lives of my friends, though I do know where my fortunes lie and of course, those are with my boyfriend, Kyle. I am so fortunate and perhaps to make up for this very pressing disconnect I feel towards my own body and sexuality, I have an endless reserve for joy. A part of me never wanted to write these experiences and feelings down and another part of me wishes that I had the courage to make this part of me so much more public than it is. For every person that can only assume I am a prude, regardless of what level of understanding they have about me, I wish there was a way for me to explain to them that this couldn't be farther from the truth. These conversations, however, make people uncomfortable even when they share something in common. My explaining to the average person that sexuality is an engaging and awe-inspiring aspect of life in my eyes, though one I cannot find a way to connect with, is more or less akin to an alien telling you that your eating habits are truly and genuinely amazing but they merely absorb nutrients through their eyeballs. It's weird. I have come out to a shockingly small population of people mostly because it just doesn't seem necessary, but also because I do not know how to come out and answer questions without innumerable defense and explanation and assurance as to the difference between my sexuality and my opinions on others sexuality.

To wrap it up, I should mention that Lena Dunham is an absolute inspiration. Watching Girls is an experience I never knew I needed until I discovered it 3 years ago. 10/10 would recommend and 10/10 would bang.