Every time I think about the sex that I want, I am always brought back to the same set of visuals in my head. They come in deliciously dirty flashes of a nameless guy and me (nameless? Who are we kidding? It's totally Colby Keller!) having quick, rough sex in dark places. I am drawn to the idea that without warning, the guy would take me out of my wheelchair, and without speaking any words to me whatsoever, have his way with me. This scene has been something that I have clung to as a man with disabilities. This is the kind of sex I wanted all throughout my coming out as a queer cripple -- or so I thought.
I fell in love with this idea of quick sex, because it spoke to a part of myself that I have fought to access my whole life: spontaneity. I think that anyone with a disability, who uses a mobility device and is reliant on others for help, will tell you that the idea of spontaneity is one of the sexiest, seductive things that we could ever want -- and, they'll probably also tell you it is usually just out of their reach.
Truthfully, my days are pre-planned to the letter: someone comes in to wake me up, help me eat, if I want to go anywhere I have to book accessible transit days in advance... the list goes on. So, this idea of being taken by someone in a moment of pure passion has permeated my playtime as a PwD. I used the suggestion of spontaneity as a way to escape the rigid realities I was facing.
I can't count the number of times I have engaged in afternoon delights or late night rendezvous lasting no longer than twenty minutes, convincing myself that this was me being sexy, seated and spontaneous. I would help the guy get off, give him what he needed and he would go. For a brief moment, as I lay there in the afterglow, I would tell myself that this was what I really wanted. I had been spontaneous, and thus in some small way, I was just like everyone else, right?
Truthfully, in these encounters I hadn't actually been spontaneous at all, not even one little bit. Before the guy came over I had to lie to my care-worker about why my "friend" is coming over at 1 a.m., make sure that I had taken off my leg bag before he got there, find an outfit that made me look "down to fuck," but that had actually taken me a transfer and an attendant to put on, and lastly convince the guy that I am indeed the sexiest guy in a wheelchair, and totally worth it. Sounds super unplanned, doesn't it?
If I am honest, these spontaneous tableaus that I played out from pieces of porn I'd seen, weren't at all what I wanted as a man with disabilities. After the hours of planning, preparation and procedure for this to occur, I feel duped when the twenty minutes are over and the guy is galloping towards my door.
My disability has allowed me to discover that I deserve more than that. I deserve the kind of sex that takes time; where every second that ticks by can be cataloged and remembered and really savored. I want the kind of lover who understands that my spastic body doesn't respond to your quick, nervous energy. I need for you to slow down and explore every crevasse, curve and cranny of this cripple. My disability deserves to be devoured slowly, each layer revealing yet another piece of me for you to partake in.
I no longer want to be sexy, seated and spontaneous. The whole idea of quick sex doesn't make me swoon with desire or delight. I deserve sex that values the time I have spent preparing for it. I deserve the time to open my body and mind for a lover and for myself. I deserve the time to say what I want. I deserve to lay and laugh with a lover and bask in the glow of all that comes both before and after. I deserve to be sexy, seated and savory, but most importantly -- we deserve the chance to enjoy sex and disability down to its very last drop.