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Like most American women, my view of consent was both progressive and terribly dated at the same time. I was informed about rape, I knew how to forcefully say "no" and was more than comfortable doing so, and had a handful of pleasant hookups and minor relationships under my belt by the time I had my first real boyfriend in college. He was incredibly attractive and all through our short-lived relationship, I simply felt lucky that he wanted to be with someone like me - attractive enough but not anywhere close to his muscular, careless beauty. He was kind and sensitive and I give him the benefit of the doubt that no one taught him about what real, authentic consent meant.
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| image: fem2pt0.com |
It would go like this: we'd start making out, and it would get progressively more intense, until he put his hand to my pants and would begin to unbutton them. I'd put my hand on his and move it away. He would never try twice in one night - what a great guy, I thought. There was no verbal communication, and consent to him simply looked like my non-verbal hand-moving "no," instead of a loud verbal "yes." This happened for a while until one night I decided I was ready for my first below-the-belt experience and didn't push his hand away. It felt wonderful and terribly uncomfortable at the same time, and we didn't talk about it afterwards. He never asked me how I was doing, if what he was doing felt good, or what he could do better. I started to get him off with my hands, but he never succeeded in doing the same for me. I didn't have the language to express my feelings of frustration and a nagging sense that this wasn't equal and therefor wasn't right. No one had ever taught me to advocate for my own pleasure, and I certainly hadn't seen it in any of the TV shows, movies, or songs that largely educated my view of sex.
We broke up before ever getting to the point of intercourse. My next boyfriend was more serious and would ask "is this ok?" as he was in the first stages of putting his hands somewhere new. He put the last guy to shame with his respectful questions consent, even if he was basically already doing it, and when I got him off he would always return the favor. His way of asking for sex for the first time was to say "would you want to have sex?" during a particular steamy make-out session. I said no, explaining that it was my first time and I didn't think we were serious enough yet for me to do it and feel comfortable. He accepted my no and a few days later even thanked me for doing it, saying that I was completely right, intercourse would change the relationship and he didn't want to do it until I was completely comfortable. We ended up doing it a few months later, when I was on a medication that I later learned was severely changing my mood and personality. I'm not sure I would have done it if I had been in my right mind. But it happened, it was fine, and it doesn't matter now.
That same temporary mind alteration that I went through caused us to break up. Half a year later, no longer heartbroken, I met the next guy, and this guy refused to ask for anything. I know what you're thinking: what a jerk. Maybe even a rapist-type jerk. But in what was revolutionary for me at the time is that his lack of asking for anything sexual was paired with his lack of doing anything sexual past kissing. We would have hours-long make out sessions and he would never put his hand on my pants, never ask to take it to the next level. These were my two versions of consent, and without them, I figured he must not be that into it, or there must be something wrong with me that he didn't want to take it further. Finally one night, my body raging with a 21-year-old's hormones, I asked him to start using our hands on each other. He smiled and said "sure" and we commenced in what was the most glorious orgasm I had ever had. There was zero discomfort, zero worry, and though I didn't fully grasp the reason at the time, I know it now: we were doing it because of the desire of him and me, rather than just his. The thing that is basically always missing from the equation of first times together - female desire - was present. And it changed everything.
It was the same with intercourse. I wasn't ready and he never asked for it, either verbally or with his body. We decided to take a trip to a nearby city go to an art exhibit we both wanted to see, and for some strange reason, I found the day to get the cheapest hotel was Valentine's Day, which happened to fall on a Friday when neither of us had class. With everything falling so neatly into place, we went for it. I began to feel a tingling pressure to have sex - we would in a hotel, away from our homes, on Valentine's Day, no less. Of course we should have sex that day - it was the perfect storm of romance and opportunity. But I felt the pressure and didn't want to cave. The day came closer and my worries grew. But once again, we fooled around and he didn't make any kind of motion towards sex. I felt relief and also a respect that I had never, ever felt from a man before. Everything was clearly on my terms. I felt powerful in a way I didn't know I could - to be so in control of my own body, to be able to do what I wanted exactly when I felt like and not a second sooner was amazing. If he had asked I would have felt pressure to please this guy that I was falling in love with, and might have done it out of that feeling alone. Alternatively, if I had said no, I would have felt guilty about denying him something he wanted. But he never did. He understood that even asking is a form of pressure.
I finally did ask for sex, a few weeks later. After the Valentine's Day hotel scenario had passed, I realized that this man was someone I could trust completely, in a way I never knew I could. I asked him if we would like to have sex, and he said yes. And like before, it was incredible to engage in the act free of any pressures, and worries, and doubts about what I was doing. And it was the same for him - sex free of a single doubt that he had pressured me in any way, sex with absolutely zero worry that I didn't want it 100% made it incredible for him too.
A man not asking for sex or pushing for it in any way is still something that feels - and probably is - revolutionary. Waiting until the woman asks for it because she is so completely ready to rip his clothes off and go it at it is something that I had never heard of before and have never heard of since. It goes beyond the mere "asking for consent" from a partner before engaging in a new activity, and is lightyears away from pushing a boy's hand away to signal "no" and hoping that he respects it.
The typical first time ideal involves a man who is respectful of his parter's "no" regardless of how frustrated he is, and a women who, when she does say "yes," is very in love and feels respected, enjoys the act even without an orgasm, the main reward being that she now feels closer to him. Like I said before, the thing that is always missing from this "ideal" is female desire. All men should learn from this story: that waiting for the woman to ask for it is both the most authentic consent possible and leads to the greatest pleasure from both sides.
Check out the next post, Radical, Authentic Consent for more information on why authentic consent matters.
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