Sex Party Stoppers (Reasons Why PwD Might Opt Out of The No Pants Dance)

On a perfect planet, everyone would stop ogling the PwD-friendly sex party and just come already. But things (and people) are hardly ever that easy, and perhaps talking about the reasons that people are unable or unlikely to attend is just as important as the event itself.  Below are a few reasons why PwD might not show up at our gig.

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  1. Vulnerability. Let’s just get the obvious out of the way.Differing levels of nudity can be awkward, because feelings of being exposed and seeing others exposed can be awkward, and make someone feel vulnerable or generally uncomfortable.
  2. Because Good Help is Hard to Find. “Sure, I’d love to help you go a sex party and get naked and possibly have sex with a person you met 10 minutes ago!” is not a sentence commonly uttered by caregivers, friends, or parents (who sometimes double as caregivers). This is a huuuge barrier in PwD being able to attend the party. Not only do us disabled people have to be comfortable with our own vulnerability, but we often have to find an attendant who is also comfortable, open-minded and willing to help. A situational diamond in the rough.
  3. Because Sex Can Be Hard Our culture puts so much emphasis on spontaneity, it hurts. Movies  and porn glorify sex that it so passionate and quick it almost looks entirely accidental (which is in itself, problematic..).   And for many and most of us, disabled or not, sex ain’t like that–but it doesn’t mean we don’t hold the spontaneity standard close to our hearts.

The spontaneity standard can hit some PwD pretty hard–as it often just isn’t possible with the amount of figuring that goes into great sex; and the planning that goes into our lives, generally. Andrew and I term this sex planning “sex-storyboarding,” and as much as I hate it, communicating what works and doesn’t sexually (and expressing that before, during and after sex) is the surest way to a positive sexual experience. Unfortunately, sex-storyboarding requires a lot of pre-requisites, including patience (on the part of both parties), self-awareness of likes/dislikes, position preferences, and ability to communicate these specifics. In short: Sex can be hard.

Add to that the fact that disabled people have been treated as asexual for centuries, and you have a group of people that have not yet been given the chance to explore or understand their sexual fantasies and the like. Due to lack of opportunity, they may not be aware of their sexual desires, or have indeed internalized that they are asexual, PwD may not be able to storyboard their sex, making sex even harder.

5. Because Money Sucks. The big one. A high percentage of PwD live under the poverty line, many on fixed incomes, and even those of us who are privileged enough to work often struggle to make ends meet. There are so many factors that contribute the the systemic oppression that keeps almost all disableds that aren’t Christopher Reeves (RIP) or Stephen Hawking,  broke–I’m not even sure where to start.  Ableism that keeps  us unemployed (“You just wouldn’t get the job done as efficiently in this busy environment…”). Ableism that treats us like thieves for needing help when we can’t work. Ableism that asks us to “prove” we struggle to work and “prove” that we’re disabled–even if our disability is permanent. Ableism that only hires those that drive/ bike/ run.

Lack of finances means so much–maybe it makes us unable to hire attendants. Or travel. Or pay cover. It’s just another sex-party stopper.

6. Lack of Personal Agency Y’know that ableism we just glazed over? It can kill your insides over time. This means that as a PwD, you might often feel out-of-control of your own life, as it can so often be dictated by those more able than, and the systems that govern them (think: medical system, housing system, personal care system). In terms of sex party attendance, this might result in PwD not even realizing or believing that they can actually attend.

In terms of practicality, if you’re a person with a disability that’s been institutionalized at some point (as many of us have), then you might not even be aware of your own ability to access resources (such as attendant care, accessible transit), and you might be limited in the area of personal agency. I was 21 before I learned how the Ottawa buses worked, people. Twenty-fucking-one.

Point is, ableism is such a strong force, that some PwD understandably think that they can’t access certain resources or venues, like a sex party. Because before now, they really truly couldn’t.

7. Safety Sometimes we internalize that we’re vulnerable, because everyone tells us we are. Sometimes we truly are vulnerable. Whether grounded in truth or stereotype, the belief that a sex party puts our safety at risk (even though the party will have safety proctors to prevent anything unwanted…) safety will likely be a factor that keeps many PwD away.

Please, add things I may have missed, my perspective is limited.

My hope is that this play party will be one of many, that this will in fact become more normalized, so that at the very least, people can move on to sensationalizing something else–and disabled people can have access to sex parties, no questions asked.

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#WheelieAttachment Rd 2

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A couple of nights ago I wrote a post detailing wheelies’ need to be incessantly clingy. It was full of self-negativity and became a scapegoat for my personal attachment issues. My attachment issues still exist–very much so– but below I’ve tried to reconcile with that post by providing a more systemic approach to the attachment issues PwD face. More specifically, I’ve looked at the ways in which the vulnerability stereotype, combined with society’s tendency to blame loneliness, and wheelies themselves, have created unhealthy attachment environments for PwD. Take from it what you will.

Vulnerability Reinforced

It’s my belief that solidifying vulnerability as a part of a person’s identity contributes to a life of overcompensation and clamouring after validation from others. Media stories on disability (few as they may be) generally have 3 subcategories: Inspiration, integration and abuse. The third category portrays us as helpless, unknowing, lonely people, who simply crave connection.

Reports depicting the abuse of people with physical and/or developmental disabilities enforce the idea of disabled people as vulnerable and perpetually lonely. In this news story from October, CBC details the sexual assault of a woman with an intellectual disability, on a bus in Winnipeg. Do me a solid and count the number of times they refer to this woman as vulnerable in the video segment. Seriously, try it. Notice how the first word used to describe the woman, after mentioning her young age, isn’t intellectually disabled– it’s “vulnerability”. The word is then repeated in different tenses by different people throughout the piece, followed by an assault statistic and a quote from an “advocate of the disabled.” (hehe, can I be an advocate of the gayed, please?). If by some form of amnesia, you forget the details of this assault, you can be sure not to forget this woman’s vulnerability, in relation to her disability.

There are a slew of other articles which also focus on vulnerability, but don’t take my word for it, Google ‘disability’ and anything and you’ll see what I mean. There’s this article, describing a number of abuses in ‘care homes’ in Alberta, this stat sheet on abuse of women with disabilities in Newfoundland and Labrador  and this statistical myriad, exposing that 83% of women with disabilities will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime.

What does all of this say about vulnerability and disability? Well, for starters, that it’s a stereotype that holds truth. Some stereotypes are out in left field, used for oppressive, manipulative purposes. But the disability + vulnerability stereotype originates from a place of honesty—you can see from the statistics, that disability and vulnerability are extremely correlated.

It also demonstrates that vulnerability often overshadows the other realities of people with disabilities, like stereotypes often do. The internet is overwhelmed with disability and abuse conversations, depictions, and coverings. What it lacks is the other aspects of disability—or more accurately, the humanity, to be seconded by the disability. There’s a reason the woman in the CBC story was only described as young, vulnerable and intellectually disabled. There’s a reason vulnerable was used at least a dozen times, and was by far, the leading descriptor. The truth is that, while abuse IS rampant within the disability community, so too is our loss of humanity in the name of sensationalization and stereotyping.

Don’t misunderstand, this post is not about to minimize the horrific problem that is abuse and assault of people with disabilities, my point is not about the assaults, it is about our one-dimensional focus on this vulnerability. It’s my opinion that no matter how much truth there is to a statement regarding a certain group, that statement becomes a stereotype when it allows us to lose sight of the group’s humanity.

By way of challenge, I suggest re-framing thoughts around disability and vulnerability. I think we should do what we’ve done for other experiencers of violence and assert that they are, in fact, survivors. This not only blows stereotypes out of the water, but it illuminates the fact that we—PwD and people who have experienced violence—are people….people with strength, even.(I know right? Stop the insanity).

Blaming Loneliness

People often believe loneliness is to blame for the prevalent abuse of people with disabilities, thinking that PwD’s hunger for companionship make them more susceptible to mistreatment—but to blame loneliness is to blame a symptom, not a root cause.

Loneliness is a hated part of human existence, well-understood by everyone on this planet, and probably by intelligent life galaxies away. Here’s a list of the contributors to wheelie-specific loneliness:

  1. Currently, I’m pulling a number out of my butt that says 60% of people won’t really be close with a wheelie because, “yikes what are you?!” Anyone want to do a ‘Would you befriend a wheelie’ poll?
  2. Wheelie’s Personality. So out of the 40% that will even consider being around you in public, only 15% jive with your brand of weird.
  3. Walkie’s Personality: You only care about 10% of those 15% that like you. What number does that leave us at? This blog doesn’t do maths.
  4. Money—All the wheelies I know are broke, except for one, and he’s one of the smartest people I know. Just one of those terribly resourceful motherfuckers that everyone and their mom envies.

Anyways, majority of wheelies are broke for most, if not all of their lives. Google              poverty rates and disability. It’s hard to be social without money.

  1. Accessibility—Nobody wants to kick it with you when you can’t meet them at their friend’s apartment, or go see their friend’s band, or join the after-party that’s atop 3 flights of stairs. You remind them that the world is unfair, that they are not into you enough to carry you around. You make them feel like shit.

The above list is incomplete, but you get the idea (Other contributors: Limited/no access to education, no access to supportive housing, struggles adjusting to social norms, after x number of years of being excluded). The problem is so much bigger than lonely wheelie who just wanted a friend. It’s systemic. And yet, PwD are still blamed for out lack of ability to find ‘normal,’ consistent, securely-attached friendship. Just the other week, The Telegraph published an article promoting, (among other things), that disabled people have help making relationships work. The article focuses on Tibby Owens, an“advocate for the sexual lives”of people with disabilities” . Owens is in her 70s, and has released a book for the caregivers of PwD called Supporting Disabled People with Their Sexual Lives. Her belief is that disabled people ‘mess things up,’ in the realm of dating. She’s positively oozing condescension and wheelie-blaming (that’s a thing? It is now.). Read:

“A lot of what we’re doing is helping disabled people gain the sexual confidence so that when they do meet someone they like, they don’t mess it up,” Owens says. “It’s all about being positive and enjoying it and achieving some sexual fun for the first time in their lives.”

Mess it up? Sexual fun for the first time in our lives? Lady, you and I need to have a sit down. Buy me a coffee ASAP.

The insinuation here is that someone might be able to bring PwD sexual joys for the first time EVAR because we are too lonely, isolated, and socially inept to figure it out ourselves. And again, while I recognize that this is a reality for some, I see no positives in acting like disabled people are to blame for not having all the awesome sex. We’re not. Stigma is. People’s misunderstandings about how our bodies work, what our limitations mean, and what they can offer, is certainly another area where my finger points. But me, my loneliness, my tendency to “mess it up”—damnit lady, if I could solve that, I would have a husband on a ranch by now (just kidding, manure is fucking gross). Please stop blaming me, stop blaming us and our lonely, it’s unproductive. And truly, Ms. Anointed to Help Wheelies Fuck, we were doing that long before you got here.

This post is so long and garbled, who knows why I started. The bottom line is that, stereotypes hurt, and when society perpetually sees us as vulnerable victims, and people who are all about the lonely, or people who don’t know how to fuck, well fuck you. Not in the fun way. Let’s rethink these beliefs and the blame that commonly accompanies them.