SEXING WHILE AUTISTIC
⚠️ Caution: Awkward intimacy and unsolicited honesty ahead.
⚠️ Warning: Sexy Talk Ahead
Last warning - I am about to discuss intimacy, affection, and all the ways humans apparently expect each other to “just know” what to do. Prepare for awkwardness, sensory overload, and unsolicited neurodivergent commentary.
Caution: may contain actual useful insights, but mostly chaos and embarassment.
When ‘Netflix and Chill’ Means Actually Watching the Movie
Let’s be clear: if I say I want to watch a movie, I actually mean watch it.
Not make out through the dialogue, not pretend to follow the plot — watch it. There’s a character arc! There’s lore! There are subplots I will overanalyze later (and during).
The modern dating landscape is confusing enough without euphemisms that double as cognitive traps. “Netflix and chill” sounds safe — calm, sensory-friendly, maybe even cozy. But suddenly it’s a social script test, and I didn’t study.
Am I supposed to make a move? Are they? When’s the right time? Should I have chosen something less engaging than a three-hour documentary about old growth forests? Was that flirting - their knee is touching my knee? What is actually going on here?
It’s not that I don’t want connection — I just need it to make sense. Tell me the plan. Give me the subtext in plain text. Or better yet, skip the subtext entirely and just say, “Hey, do you want to make out?” That’s communication I can actually process.
Because if you don’t, you might just end up with me earnestly explaining the cinematography while you’re trying to be seductive.
Sorry. But also, not sorry. The lighting was exceptional, but the blanket was too rough… oh and why is your fridge so loud?
Warmly,
Pearl
Touch Me (But Maybe Don’t)
The paradox of autistic intimacy: craving touch… until it’s actually happening.
Some days, a hug feels like a reset button — grounding, warm, safe. Other days, it’s like being wrapped in an emotional straitjacket made of static electricity and obligation.
It’s not that I don’t want affection. I do. I just want it on my own terms, at the right time, with the right texture, temperature, and pressure (so basically never during a surprise back-hug from behind while I’m trying to load the dishwasher or organize my art supplies.
People talk about “the language of touch” like it’s universal. For me, it’s a dialect I have to consciously translate. “Soft” can mean comforting or unbearable. “Firm” can be grounding or overwhelming. And after a long day of sensory input? Please love me from a respectful distance — preferably through a blanket burrito or shared Google Doc.
Physical affection can be beautiful. It just needs subtitles.
Warmly,
Pearl
Eye Contact: The Least Sexy Thing I Can Think Of
Some people swoon over a sultry gaze, I cringe. Eye contact is like a pop quiz for my nervous system. It’s a surprise attack, a trap door, and a tight rope all at once. Forget swooning, whatever that is, it makes me want to throw myself out the nearest window to escape.
The solution? Parallel play, read to me about one of our shared hyper-fixations, or take me outside and show me a tree you think I’d like. Emotional intimacy doesn’t need a staring contest; it needs comfort, predictability, and a sense that you can be yourself without performing.
Kindly,
Pearl J.
A Few Intimacy Survival Tips
Scripts are your friend: Role-play scenarios, pre-plan dates, or discuss your needs in advance. Social improvisation is exhausting; save mental energy.
Sensory prep matters: Lighting, textures, and noise can turn intimacy from pleasurable to overwhelming in seconds. Adjust your environment accordingly.
Communication over cue-reading: If someone expects you to “just know” what they want, they’re wrong. Ask, clarify, repeat. This isn’t romance; it’s applied neurodivergent problem-solving.
Self-compassion: Missteps happen. Awkwardness happens. Embrace the glorious chaos. It’s part of being authentically you — and that’s super sexy.
I Actually Did/Said This:
Don’t Kiss Me
Me (dead pan): What are you doing? Are you thinking of kissing me?
Them: Actually, yes.
Me (also dead pan): Please don’t. It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you, but just not right now. Not with you looking at me like that (into my eyes).
What Do You Want To Do
Planning The First Date
Him: What do you want to do?
Me: Practice tree identification.
And Another Time
Him: What do you want to do?
Me: Not make any decisions.
Did I Wear Shoes to The Restaurant?
I was on a dinner date, sitting in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant. Everything was fine… until my feet made it clear that I could either wear shoes and accept the inevitable panic attack OR take the shoes off and enjoy the date.
Cue internal monologue: Do I politely suffer in silence? Or… do I liberate my toes?
The answer, naturally, was the second option. I slid my shoes off under the table. My date didn’t even notice… Until, in the car on the way home, I realized I forgot my shoes at the restaurant. A little laugh. Then awkward conversation about “foot comfort” ensued while we headed back to the restaurant for my shoes.
Lesson learned: sensory survival > social performance. Shoes are optional; comfort is mandatory.
The Lavender Essential Oil Incident
For some reason I thought wearing lavender essential oil on a date would be charming. It was not.
My date arrived to pick me up for our dinner reservations. I made it all the way to the car. Then I realized I was breaking out in a rash and a migraine was imminent.
We did not discuss this. I did not negotiate. I simply told him, “ I need to shower and change before we go.”
I retreated back into the house, leaving behind a trail of floral panic. My date changed our dinner reservations while I showered and changed.
Lesson learned: essential oils do not substitute for basic preparation.
Sexing While Autistic Ideas, Tips & Workarounds
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Sensory sensitivities don’t clock out just because you’re naked.
That silky lingerie? Feels like sandpaper.
That lavender essential oil you thought would set the mood? Congratulations, you’ve just triggered an asthma episode.
It’s not that autistic people don’t enjoy touch — it’s that touch can be very… specific. Sometimes firm pressure feels grounding, but a light brush of fingertips feels like being licked by static electricity.
Tip: Talk about it! “I like pressure here, but not there.” Experiment with fabrics, lighting, scents, and textures. Create your version of “romantic,” not Hallmark’s.
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If your brain needs time to prepare, schedule intimacy. Make it part of your comfort routine: favorite playlist, consistent lighting, familiar scents.
Predictability doesn’t kill passion — it frees your nervous system up to relax enough to enjoy it.
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You: “I’d like to discuss what we’re both comfortable with before we begin.”
Them: “Wow, that’s… robotic.”
You (internally): I’m literally doing advanced emotional labor right now.
Tip: Lead with warmth and humor. Say, “I know I sound like a user manual, but I want us both to have a great experience.” Clear > confusing. Always.
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Whether you’re a cuddler, a “don’t-touch-me-now” person, or a “give-me-a-snack-and-silence” kind, aftercare matters.
Intimacy can be intense — your body might need time to reboot.
Tip: Tell your partner what helps you reset. Quiet time, parallel play, or a weighted blanket all count as valid romantic gestures.
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Everyone talks about “afterglow.” I got “after-crash.” Once the sensory and emotional input hit max capacity, you can’t move or talk.
This can be surprising, obviously awkward, and your partner might think you're upset when really
your system is just… done. Like a phone on 1%.Tip: If your nervous system needs quiet time after sex, say so beforehand. “Hey, after we’re done, I’ll need to go still for a bit — it’s not you, it’s just my operating system cooling down.”