The struggle is still happening. Here’s what’s come up recently.
Casual dating is virtually impossible. And that sucks. Because I live in a world where nothing is casual–people come to help me at pre-booked times, and many aspects of personal care are discussed as though the world might fall off its tilt, even if it’s just about not having paper towels or something. A lot of what I can and cannot do revolves around the care I’m able (or unable) to access. This makes a lot of my life feel whatever the opposite of casual is–intense?
Anyway, I’ve tried to dilute intensity for both myself and others by taking a dog’s age to get to know sexual partners. My figuring is that if I know them well-ish, I can feel safe(r) and eventually explain just how disabled I truly fucking am, without watching them walk away. But therein lies the horrible truth: Nothing about vulnerability is casual.
It’s a shitty conundrum, really, because I’m dying to have consistent casual sex, if only to say that I can. Also getting laid consistency is really…nice. So all my intensities take a back seat and I pretend to be more [able], [independent], [closer to “average” in whatever way I can fake]. I don’t tell them that I need help showering. I don’t mention that I attach to others quicker than you can say cool whip. And I definitely don’t let them know that I can’t do a five-day work week because 3 days of work completely drains me.
I think I’ve gotten better at communicating that “Friends with Benefits” is an appropriate label for whatever type of relationship I’m gunning for, even though the process by which I do this seems anything but casual or friendship-y. This title allows me the freedom to fuck, without the burden of another’s judgement. In other words, I can escape your ableism, I don’t have to pretend like our lives our similar, because you won’t ask me about my day. I don’t have to watch you realize how different me and my circumstances really are–and then reject me on that basis. I don’t have to watch you take an interest in me because of my difference, and then lose that interest when you realize there’s nothing to see here. All this is curbed by never exposing myself in the first place.
Except, in my experience, sex doesn’t work like that. Not my sex anyway. I all-but have a check-list of things I need from a sex friend– attractive, kind and the world’s best communicator, laughs at my jokes, the usual. Because to me, this person can’t just be a hot bod. They also have to be someone that can handle physical vulnerability in a partner. And if you are one of those people, well, that sucks, because I’m going to want more than casual from you. I’m going to want to be your friend and buy you things and making Christmas stockings with the names of our to-be kids on them and shit. Because you’re a fucking unicorn.
And here I am, back at square one, wondering how I can have my cake and eat it too.