Once, I would have told you that it’s not consent must be enthusiastic and informed. I would have told you that someone who says “yes” without it ever reaching his eyes and voice or who says it in a way that shows reluctance is someone who doesn’t consent at all. I would have told you that if every second of bumping uglies doesn’t make you wanna whistle, that means you should stop immediately.
I wish I were still so naive.
Because today, I know that the idea that consent must be enthusiastic is an outlook that is incredibly ableist.
That’s not to say that anyone, disabled or otherwise, can’t say “it’s only consent for me if I’m displaying typical signs of enthusiasm.” Only that teaching this as universal ignores the nuance required in a more diverse world.
Let me explain. I have disabling chronic illness. I write and speak on it; I’m not shy about it. I don’t know if that makes me an exception or not, but I do know there are far more disabled kinksters out there than we realize. Those who aren’t yet are likely only that way temporarily: on a long enough timeline, everyone will, at some point, experience something physically disabling.
And though this is not exactly the case for all disability, for many of us—particularly those with some illness involved—that means fatigue. That means nausea and vomit. That means blacking out. That means medications that affect my energy. That means depression, stress, and physical pain I can’t masochist out of.
If I only had sex when I was enthusiastic about it, I wouldn’t have a sex life.
To be clear, consenting enthusiastically at some point, in whatever form that takes for someone, including with no signs beyond communicating it exists, IS necessary. What I am arguing against is the consent model that I was taught, where consent must be given enthusiastically every time. I do see the value in that too, as someone from a state that didn’t think women in marriages could be raped until very recently. I do think that long-term consent can be problematic for some and comes with higher risk. I am especially wary as I have had numerous friends assaulted in those situations. But I’m also saying that the “consent enthusiastically in a verbal or visible way before each sexual encounter” excludes many, and that we shouldn’t do that just to cater to who we perceive as the norm.
I’m all for affirmative answers. I think showing a willingness to proceed and having a part in decision-making matters. But I don’t feel comfortable saying that sexual consent requires in-the-moment enthusiasm or enjoying what is happening when it’s ongoing. I don’t think it even requires enjoying not enjoying it, as some of us sometimes do. A choice to be involved, sure. But enthusiasm? No.
Libidos don’t always match up. They match up even less when your ability level is a shifting one. I’ve frequently despaired that the nights I’m horniest are somehow the ones I’m the most laid up. And on the other end, I’ve had spells of being almost angry if my partner doesn’t want to on the days that I’m well enough. Those are the times I’m not actually taking my desires into account—the times I discount *both* our emotional needs in a moment and prioritize only our physical states. No. Not for me. And exactly right for some others. But for me, this turns sex into something my relationship checks off a list, and I will not have that life.
I am able to be enthusiastic some days. I am. Seriously thrilled. Sometimes, sex does look like the consent education videos of my more naive pseudoactivist days, back when I didn’t consider the bodyminds that weren’t like mine was at the time. Other days, for many of us, it looks like dragging ourselves to bed because we clearly wanted to fuck earlier, so let’s go ahead now even though I’m no longer flirty and fun. It may look like little to no signs of affirmation for me because any reactionary energy I have, I’m saving so I can let go when I come. It does, in these cases, look like many varied, intense, often lengthy, sometimes tearful conversations over time:
I’ve had to communicate that I do want to when I don’t want to (in so very many ways), that I don’t always know if I’ll be capable of physical enjoyment and that I don’t always appear to be experiencing pleasure, no matter what the truth is. I’ve had to literally say, “If I seem unwilling to participate, just remind me that I actually am,” even when not talking about CNC. The me in those moments knows that the me in the sick ones still has that desire locked inside her, and that some routes there require a mentality of getting sex started when I still really don’t want to. The me in those moments knows that I’m glad the sick me sucked it up (lol, sucking).
I’m not saying that reluctance or lack of enjoyment doesn’t mean a lack of consent. I’m also not saying you can’t have a preference to only go forward if there are pink clouds and clicking heels. I *am* saying some people with that preference are absolutely leaving some other people unsatisfied. And I’m definitely saying this:
Respecting other people’s bodily autonomy, particularly that of non-normative lives, means respecting our own knowledge that our words don’t have to match how we feel to be valid. Respecting disabled sexuality means accepting what we tell you is a “yes,” even if that comes with hesitation.
Consent is an affirmation. It isn’t an emotion or personality trait.
An enthusiastic yes right before or whenever it needs to be confirmed during sex? I can’t promise that. I can’t even promise a lack of reluctance.
But I was enthusiastic about the idea in advance. I am enthusiastic in theory.
And I get to say that’s enough.
When I’m engaging in something sexual, I may be too exhausted to smile. I may cringe as I negotiate dizziness against thrusts, or the skin sensitivity that makes me pull away against the hand I do want around my throat. I may not give any noises of enjoyment or signs I want to be there. I may not want to be there the whole time. I still want to have been there.
And—whether I reach a point where the endorphins temporarily overtake things or not—in the moments after, lying in bed with weighted blanket and bucket and pills and braces scattered on our floor, I will nestle my head close to His, listen to His threats whispered like secret poetry, sometimes lurch up in discomfort, and bask in the incredible intimacy that is our trust that not today, but tomorrow, I will be singing for joy that this happened.
Endnote: my saying this goes for some in no way means it goes for all. I simply think any world in which we don’t ask “what does consent look like for you and your body specifically?” and teach it looks like a particular behavioral reaction is one that favors certain parts of the population. As the brilliant @_Pavlov_ points out in this extremely important writing on Fetlife, disabled folx face increased dangers and concerns when it comes to consent violation and abuse, and to go forward believing hesitancy will always = consent when someone is disabled is a misread of what I’m trying to say.
If you want to join in on the conversation in the comments of the post on Fetlife, you can find it by clicking here.