If love and sex are separate, than why can't I be happy with the idea of having both with different people?

I'm terribly in love with her, and terribly attracted to her, and I want to make love to her so terribly. Every kiss and every touch just exacerbates things, but I can never draw myself away.

There are others I could have sex with. There are others I want to have sex with. There are others I have had sex with. She doesn't even mind. The only positive I've found in being in a relationship with an asexual is that sex truly means nothing to them, so me having sex with someone else doesn't bother her so long as my heart belongs to her.

But it doesn't change the fact that I want her. Whether I'm pleasuring myself or having sex with someone I don't care for, I try to imagine her face, her eyes, the curves of her body that she frowns when I touch. I think of her smile, that irresistible giggle, those thighs that drive me wild when she wears shorts, the very same that I want to spread open and... it gets me where I need to go.

But when I lay in bed and look up at the ceiling, I realize that I'm all alone, even if there's some woman in the room getting dressed or lighting up a cigarette or falling asleep beside me. Those girls might as well not have faces or names, because they'll never be her.