Something went wrong.

We've been notified of this error.

Need help? Check out our Help Centre.

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality (A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture) by Sherronda J Brown

Welcome to: From One Bibliophile to Another: Books That Stayed With Me


If you know me, you know books aren’t just something I read—they’re something I live with. I collect them, annotate them, carry them from room to room, and sometimes just hold them when I need grounding. This is my space to reflect on the books that found me at the right time—or wrecked me in the best way.

As a bibliophile, I read for nourishment. For clarity. For the kind of language that lingers. Whether it’s a theory-heavy text, a tender memoir, a messy novel, or a piece of poetry that cracks something open—I’m here for it. I write reviews not just to rate books, but to honor what they stirred in me.

In this corner, you’ll find:
— Unfiltered reflections and quotes I can’t stop thinking about
— Books that challenge, affirm, or gently call me in
— Notes on how a book lives in the body, not just on the shelf
— And honest thoughts on what I’d reread, recommend, or pass on

This is a space for readers who don’t just skim the page—they feel it.

Welcome to my rotating stack of stories. Stay awhile, and let me know what’s on your shelf.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality by Sherronda J. Brown


This book cracked something open in me.

I’ve never identified as “asexual” because baby…nvm. But Refusing Compulsory Sexuality by Sherronda J. Brown redefined asexuality in a way I didn’t know I needed. As someone who deeply loves love—touch, intimacy, passion—I also know what it feels like to not want to be touched at all.

After an unplanned pregnancy and loss years ago, I was celibate for five years. My body didn’t feel like mine, and intimacy felt like a foreign language. When I welcomed it back in, it looked like liberation—but also, if I’m being honest, like survival. A hoe era rooted in reclaiming something I had lost.

As woman who’s also black and queer, I’m constantly sexualized to the point where it makes me cringe. The way I dress, my hair, my lipstick—everything gets read through someone else’s lens before I even open my mouth.

Whether you’re asexual or not, this book is a necessary read. It reminds us we don’t owe desire to anyone. It gives language to the in-between. And it affirms that your relationship to sex, your body, and your boundaries is yours to define—fluid, shifting, and valid.

Using Format