Nooky. Rumpy-pumpy. Crumpet. Doin’ the wild thang. Gettin’ jiggy wit’ it, having a bit of the old “how’s your father?”, doing the horizontal lambada.
Now that I have your attention, what I’m talking about here is…okay, we’re all adults here, right? If you’re not, put mum’s computer down right now and step away from the keyboard. Right away. Now. That’s better.
Amazingly, it’s been my experience that even today – in this age of anything goes, no filters, no taboos, “do your own thing”, and feel free (in fact, feel encouraged) to discuss it on social media afterwards – the subjects of sex and disability don’t mix. As if putting the two together is seen as somehow…yucky. Just the other day on Facebook, a mate of mine tried to start a discussion on their page about “sex with a physical disability”. This person is someone I know to be very open and accepting, who would have been very happy for anyone to make a contribution, and wouldn’t have judged anyone in any way. They weren’t even trying to be controversial, just start a conversation. Well, guess what? I returned to that particular page three days after the discussion started, eager to read what was said (and possibly, just possibly, hoping for some interesting points of view to use – anonymously, of course – in this blog). And guess how many people in those three days had commented?
None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Not a dicky – well, you get the idea.
So why is that? Apart from the usual reluctance to talk about ‘it’ for all the various traditional cultural/religious/generational reasons (and those may or may not be decent excuses not to), I really don’t know. The only guess I can make is that for some reason, disabled people are seen as somehow asexual beings, without the usual desires or needs most human beings have to love and be loved in return (now I’m starting to sound a bit like a bad ‘80’s song).
It’s either that, or they think we’re all virtuous, virginal little angels, untouchable in our afflictions. Note: anyone who believes this myth ought to have met my friend Mikey. I knew him from Primary School onwards, and he was a treasure of a human being, with a mind like a sewer. He talked openly about sex, in all its forms, even when advised not to. When I came to the age of curiosity as to the birds and the bees, I went to ask my mother about it. She knew Mikey, and advised me to go and ask him. Adding as I walked away, none the wiser, that he probably knew more than she did. He is, in fact, part of the inspiration for this blog passage – and as I type, I can hear his spirit, whispering in my ear approvingly. He was a great guy, and I miss him every day.
We’re all bombarded every day with billboards showing healthy (for “healthy”, read “able-bodied”, usually) humans, styled to perfection. It’s enough to make even conventionally attractive people depressed, never mind those who don’t conform to the media-driven idea of attractiveness.
But those images are usually airbrushed, and give by no means a view of the person inside. And it’s the person inside the body that counts more when it comes to having a healthy relationship.
Just because someone is disabled, doesn’t necessarily mean that they can’t have sex – and it certainly doesn’t mean they shouldn’t enjoy it. Having a disability doesn’t make anyone less than a whole person, and part of that wholeness should include a healthy attitude to sex and sexuality in general. Do you agree?