I’m Disabled.

— Why Do You Assume That Means I Don’t Have A Sex Life?

As a woman with mild Cerebral Palsy, writer Jennifer McShane has to think outside the box when it comes to navigating sex and dating. In an essay for Vogue, she reflects on misconceptions, the highs and lows of disabled sex, and why a safe space for conversation is essential.

By

Desire is a complex thing. It’s a potent, almost indescribable force that propels us forward; that aching yearn to be wanted and loved. Almost every great piece of work ever written, not to mention every Adele song, centres on this. Which is why it remains baffling to me how so many think that, because I am a disabled woman, I don’t have any.

I thought endlessly about this aspect of my life recently, when Billie Eilish told an interviewer, “I have never felt desired… And it’s a big thing in my life that I feel I have never been physically desired by somebody.” My throat constricted as I realised her words encapsulated how I’ve felt almost my entire adult life. As a woman with mild Cerebral Palsy (CP), living in a society rooted in ableism, it’s impossible not to notice how the words “sex and disability” are rarely used in the same sentence. It’s assumed I don’t have a sex life, that I don’t want one, that I surely don’t consider myself a sexual being.

Take the nurse who once scoffed away my mention of a cervical smear. “What would you need one for?” she asked, genuinely mystified. Even well-meaning friends’ responses to my raising the topic have hurt. “I didn’t think you were like that, Jen!” they said, wide-eyed and excited, almost gleeful. It was meant kindly and in fun, but afterwards, part of me was angry. Do I not have the right to the same desires as everyone else? Is it too much to ask to be so fiercely wanted by someone there’s room for nothing else in their brain? To want them back so fiercely it might ruin my life (as I’ve heard it can)?

It’s this base assumption from the majority that I do not – could not – need this that makes it hard for me to express something so important, so vital, so natural, to others. Talking about it doesn’t feel natural to me and so, nothing about my pursuit of desire feels natural either. It always feels slightly forced, timid, like I shouldn’t really be doing it (pun intended). Crucially, I can’t remember anyone telling me, ever, as a disabled woman, that I should make my sexual wellbeing a priority.

In my formative years, there was plenty of love but no safe space for that part. No accessible health setting I felt comfortable in, no articles in teen magazines on sex and disability to offer shaky words of wisdom (Dear Sugar would come along too late), nothing on film or TV I could identify with, no guide that wasn’t cold and only vaguely factual in its attempt to address how I should navigate this already complicated terrain. And in our Irish household, you simply didn’t discuss anything like this. So I shut that part of myself away for a long time.

I never felt I could talk about the awkwardness, the feelings of isolation and loneliness. I felt I was infantilised very early; a woman who couldn’t truly grow up, always on the outside of everyone else’s “normal”. It wasn’t until later that I took my body seriously, determined to at least try to find out what might work and what wouldn’t. Because way back when, my biggest fear was, rather dramatically, in the vein of Monica Geller, that I would die a virgin.

Happily that’s no longer a risk, and there have been good moments. Like when an older man I was casually seeing told me I didn’t have to worry about (in what can be exhausting emotional labour and no one’s idea of fun foreplay) my splints, or the fact it might take me so long to get undressed it’d surely be a mood killer, or to try this way or that, because: “I know what you need.” To my surprise, he was one of the few who really did, and I happily lay there. (Albeit lamenting the fact that – to paraphrase Vogue’s dating columnist Annie Lord – he still wouldn’t see fancy mesh underwear after all his efforts, because I regretfully hadn’t bothered to buy any.)

But those moments are, sadly, not all that frequent. Because mostly, it’s hard, and rather soul destroying when they say they can’t do this, that it’s too weird, that they don’t see a future with a disabled woman because they can’t cope with not having a sex life (an early misconception from more than one).

I’m what’s known as a maladaptive daydreamer. My vivid and near constant daydreams are my coping mechanism, a way to check out of reality when it gets tough. In these daydreams, there’s little rejection and lots of the good stuff, but lately I’ve begun to wonder if this is a subconscious crutch I’m using, one that stops me from really living, from putting myself out there. That it will stop anyone else getting near me. It would help if there truly was a safe space for disabled people to have these conversations. I want podcasts, books, films, disabled sex columns – everything we don’t have now. Because if we don’t see ourselves, how are we to break barriers? It’s 2023. We all deserve love, healthy sex lives, and the chance to have our lives ruined, should we desire it.

Complete Article HERE!

Think You Can’t Have Good Sex After a Chronic Illness Diagnosis?

Think Again!

Your sex life shouldn’t be halted because of bad advice, embarrassed doctors, or a lack of knowledge.

by Amy Mackelden

Receiving an unexpected diagnosis can affect every aspect of your life, including your sex life.

There are so many misconceptions when the topics of chronic illness and sex converge, making it a potentially scary subject for anyone learning to live within their “new normal.”

I was diagnosed with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis (RRMS) 2 weeks after my 30th birthday, and I had a plethora of questions on my mind, some of which involved my sex life.

Multiple sclerosis (MS) is a chronic condition in which a person’s nervous system attacks itself, creating lesions on the brain and spine, often damaging the nerve pathways. This can result in numbness, tingling, itching, nerve pain, spasticity, mobility changes, and many other symptoms.

As a result, I knew my sex life was going to change, but I had no idea how.

It took some time, but I eventually discovered it was possible to have a satisfying sex life while living with a chronic illness and disability.

It might seem obvious to anyone who’s living with a lifelong condition or disability that sex is often an important aspect of our lives. However, when it comes to seeking medical advice following a life altering diagnosis, sex regularly goes unmentioned.

Research shows that many healthcare providers have limited knowledge of and confidence in talking about sexuality and chronic illness and disability. They’re also commonly really uncomfortable bringing it up with patients.

Meanwhile, research is limited on sexual dysfunction related to chronic illness. It makes sense, then, that some medical professionals may be uncomfortable addressing the subject with patients.

However, this lackluster response can sadly make those of us with chronic conditions feel as though we’re asking too much, or that the support we need just isn’t available.

If, like me, you’ve broached the subject of sex with a medical professional, it’s likely that you’ve also had mixed results.

Some suggestions have been helpful, from “use more lube” to “have sex earlier in the day to avoid fatigue.”

Others have made me question whether my sex life is important, and more specifically, if anyone else believes that my sex life is worth saving.

However, it’s crucial to find the right healthcare provider who understands the unique needs of someone facing a difficult diagnosis or lifelong condition.

It’s impossible to explore all of the ways that a chronic illness or disability might affect a person’s sex life, especially as each individual will be affected differently.

After finding out that I have MS, my sex life changed, first for the worse, and then for the better.

I had a major relapse that affected both of my legs and caused numbness from the waist down. This made sex an uncomfortable experience for several months afterwards, and I lost the ability to feel orgasms.

There were times I wondered whether I’d ever experience an orgasm again. Sex itself felt strange and made me tingle all over, not in a good way.

My body has also been affected by pain, mobility changes, and fatigue, but I’ve persevered in spite of any difficulties because I didn’t want to give up on having a sex life.

While I’ve spoken to some wonderfully supportive doctors and medical professionals, it’s also been suggested that companionship is more important in a relationship and that I should make the most of what I have, even if it doesn’t involve sex.

The implication, of course, was that sex was somehow less important to a person with an incurable illness, but that’s simply not the case.

When it comes to disability, people often speak of accessibility, so why shouldn’t the same parameters extend to having sex?

Here are some of the things that might make sex more accessible (and more fun!) if you’re living with a chronic illness.

Communication is key

While it might sound obvious, communication is key in any relationship.

“Some people believe that if two people love each other, sexual activities should automatically feel mutually wonderful and satisfying,” says Lee Phillips, EdD, LICSW, a licensed clinical psychotherapist and AASECT certified sex therapist.

“The number of sexual problems reported by people with chronic illness demonstrates all too conclusively that there is nothing automatic about sex,” says Phillips.

It’s all too easy to feel frustrated when sex and intimacy don’t magically happen the way we want it to.

When one or both partners in a relationship have a disability or chronic illness, it’s more important than ever to talk through any issues or concerns there might be.

For instance, sometimes my condition affects my ability to physically feel anything during penetrative sex, and I always let my partner know about any new symptoms or changes I’m experiencing.

“Sexual communication is critical because it can address sexual likes and dislikes, turn-ons and turn-offs, sexual needs and desires, sexual fears and concerns, past positive sexual experiences, and past negative sexual experiences,” says Phillips. “It is the key ingredient for enhancing a sex life.”

Explore intimacy and your ‘new normal’

While not everyone will be interested in therapy after receiving a surprising medical diagnosis or adjusting to life with a disability, finding a therapist who understands your needs could make all the difference.

“I always call therapy the safe container,” says Phillips, who hosts the Sex & Chronic Illness podcast.

“It is the place where people who are chronically ill feel safe and it is a place where they are not judged. It is the place where they can learn the skills in using their voice. This helps them become more aware and assertive in expressing their sexuality.”

If you’ve recently received a diagnosis, then it’s possible you’re feeling shell-shocked and lacking in confidence.

This is why considering therapy and finding a specialized therapist could be particularly helpful, especially if you’re dealing with relationships, intimacy, and sex.

“We have to realize that when so much changes in a person or a couple’s life due to chronic illness, a satisfying sex life can be one way to feel healthy and normal,” says Phillips.

Get creative

Whether you’ve always hoped to explore your sexuality in more depth, or you’re looking to spice things up post-diagnosis, it’s always possible to create more fun, excitement, and surprises in your sex life.

“When living with a chronic illness, sex can be a powerful source for comfort, pleasure, and intimacy,” Phillips says. “Therefore, I always say that you have to get curious about your partner and get creative with your sex. People start to look at this as a new sexual adventure because so much has changed due to chronic illness.”

If, like me, your physical sensations have changed with your chronic illness, you might need to try new positions and techniques to achieve orgasm or feel good during sex.

If you can, try viewing this as a positive thing rather than a burden and an opportunity to create greater intimacy with a partner.

Depending on your illness or disability, you may not be able to restore sensation to certain part of your body. That doesn’t mean pleasure isn’t possible.

“Focus should be on stimulation to the chosen area without any plans of moving to any other areas or having sexual intercourse,” says Phillips. “These exercises place the emphasis on intimacy and pleasure over the goal of performance and orgasm.”

If your body has changed because of a chronic condition or disability, then using toys or props might help. (If you have regularly bemoaned the lack of fully accessible sex toys, a new company, Handi, might soon have the answer.)

Don’t give up if you don’t want to

Perhaps the most important thing to remember is that the choice of whether to have a sex life is yours and yours alone.

Whether you’re working on your orgasm solo (like I needed to do), or you’re embracing sexual intimacy with another person, your sex life is yours.

It shouldn’t be halted because of bad advice, embarrassed doctors, or a lack of knowledge.

Complete Article HERE!

Let’s Talk About Sex and Disability

By Briana Beaver

“Can you even have sex?” Scooting back on my massage table, I brace myself against the wall. Taken aback by the abrupt question, I consider my response. “Yes, I can.”

The truth is I am embarrassed to admit I’ve had this conversation with a few men.

Having a physical disability and related health issues has made dating seemingly impossible. Battling antiquated ideas about what physical disability means for sexuality is something I took up as an undergraduate honors thesis. But however idealistic my aims for educating the world are, I’m still just a single woman with a boatload of fatigue and dwindling patience for ignorance.

Although I am anything but modest when it comes to discussing sexuality and disability in an academic setting, apparently, I’m uncomfortable when it comes to talking about my own abilities. Painful as it is for me to admit, I just don’t have enough experience to answer some of the questions I’m being asked. That is, if I want to answer them.

While part of me appreciates the honesty and proactive nature of such questions, I’m also simultaneously offended. What makes men think they have any right to this information? How is this appropriate at this juncture in early dating?

The fact that disability and sexuality are rarely found together in education, literature, or culture makes navigating these kinds of conversations confusing. Classes about sexuality in my own educational background have never included disability. If anything, the sexual being part of my humanity seems to have been completely ignored because I have a disability.

Although I’ve always planned on getting married and becoming a mother, the logistics of intimacy and the potential accommodations I might require have never been brought to my attention. Attempting to search for relevant resources has yielded mostly depressing results. While people with disabilities openly discussing their sexuality and rights is becoming increasingly common, I still haven’t seen many good resources that offer guidance.

My embarrassment about my limited experience with sexual intimacy is highlighted by awkward conversations like these. I wonder if it is the type of conversation women and men have regularly. I dodge questions that feel too intimate, yet I’ll reveal honest details about the absence of men in my past.

Mostly though, I feel inadequate as a human. I feel small, patronized, and infantilized by a culture that tells me I’m unworthy of sexual attention.

While the topic is uncomfortable, I wonder if somehow it’s a stepping stone to the kind of romantic relationship I’m looking for.

Baby steps, I remind myself. Baby steps.

Complete Article HERE!

I Have Cerebral Palsy.

This Is How I Have Sex

“I found out early that I’m not always good at using my fingers, but I am good at using my tongue. So why not focus on that and try to get good?”

by Mark Hay

Research and charity organizations have dedicated a heartening number of resources to studying—and offering support to—those living with cerebral palsy (CP). CP is a rare disorder which may lead to vastly varied effects on a person’s lifelong balance, movement, and muscle tone and control. Yet for all the support and information out there, almost none of it explores how CP can affect an individual or a couple’s sex life.

This is not an unexpected research gap. It is representative of society’s tendency to desexualize disabled people—to see them as weak or pitiable and therefore infantile and impotent, objects of sympathy and care but never of sexual interest or agency. But it is a glaring gap. In a number of recent studies, adults with CP told researchers that they do have normal sex drives and desires. They have also said they lack support in learning how to navigate the complications their CP can cause in sex, not to mention the social stigmas about CP that affect the views of many in the dating pool. This lack of sexually focused research, education, and general support seemed to be a major source of discontent for many involved in these studies.

Thankfully a few people with CP, like Daniel James, Ryan Haddad, Spencer Williams, and Vix Jensen, a couple of organizations, like Cerebral Palsy Scotland, and even the disability-friendly sex toy maker Sportsheets, have in recent years started to fill that knowledge gap. Together, they have shared personal stories and compiled and spread the small amount of medical information about the intersections of sex and CP.

These resources, while limited, highlight how diverse the experience of sex with CP can be: Most people with CP experience some issues with balance and positioning, fatigue, or pelvic floor muscle tone, not to mention spasticity and stiffness in their joints or muscles. For some, these issues are minor, maybe even functionally inconsequential. But for others, they limit the positions or acts they can engage in, or require clever fixes involving, say, pillows and harnesses. Almost everyone, though, reports struggling with self-confidence, the idea that they are desirable and worthy of sexual pleasure, in the face of relentless cultural desexualization.

Still, most discussions of sex and CP focus on the experiences of the individual with the condition alone. As the saying goes, it takes (at least) two to tango; in any sexual relationship, be it short- or long-term, involving an able-bodied and disabled person, both parties have to figure out how to navigate sex together. To shed a little light on how this two-way navigation and exploration can unfold—keeping in mind the caveat that everyone’s sexual experience, especially with a condition as complex and varied as CP, is unique— VICE recently reached out to Alexander Presthus, a man with CP, and Christina Casetti, his long-term able-bodied partner. They told us, in detail, about how they initially felt out, built up, and now manage their sexual and intimate life together.

Alexander: [I started thinking about how my CP might affect my sex life] in my early teens, or even a little before. It was quite evident that girls didn’t see me as a potential love interest. For the longest time, I thought I would never find anyone. I thought no one would be interested.

When I was around 20, [I realized girls could be interested in me]. It takes people a certain amount of time and maturity to get used to the idea of something romantic with a disabled person. So around that time, girls tended to be more open to me, whereas before, they were completely off the idea. I had my first kiss when I was 20—in a hospital, actually, so very romantic. That’s when I started to gain some confidence. After I started gaining confidence, it was easier to get the interest of a woman. It snowballed from there; I got my first regular girlfriend when I was 22. That experience solidified my confidence in being able to have a fairly normal sex and romantic life.

But fine motor skills are not my forte. When it comes to sex, positions that are more adventurous are a no-go. And I noticed that people thought I was fragile. They were afraid something would go horribly wrong during sex, or thought that they would hurt me or something like that.

Still, as I got more confident, I got less scared about what other people would think. So I got more honest and open [about my CP and sex]. But I wouldn’t mention it much because I didn’t want to make it a bigger deal than it was.

Christina: Yeah, [when we were getting involved], you just said, “I have CP.” Oh, okay.

[Before I met Alexander,] I’d just had experiences with able-bodied people. I study medicine, but everything in those books is just so sterile. So I’d never thought about the sexual [side of things.]

So when he said, “I have CP,” well, first, I hadn’t noticed because we met on Skype and he was sitting so it didn’t really show. But I didn’t know what to expect. Then I read [about it, including an article he’d written on sex and CP,] so I had a bit of insight… But I felt lost, because it was entirely new. And when I tried to find things out, I didn’t find many resources. Everything was for parents and caregivers [of children with CP]. I would have liked to talk about sex and CP with someone who was not him and say things [that I was feeling but] that he might perceive as negative. I don’t want him to be sad—especially if he’s the problem, so to speak.

But I didn’t have any expectations [going into sex]. I just took what came and said, okay, if we work, we work. I also learned from him that there’s always a solution. And we found them.

Mostly, I just wanted to keep things natural with him, like I had with other people before him, and to find out together what we could do and what we liked and talk about it.

Alexander: I don’t think we talked much before [the first time we had sex].

Christina: We did talk a little bit about things you could and could not do. One thing that stuck with me was you not being able to put the condom on and needing the partner to do it. I’d never done it before and I was a bit scared. But that and other things come more naturally to me now.

Not just in sex, but in general, I would tend to overstep and do things because I’d think, oh, he can’t do it. But then I’d learn, oh, he can. Everything else, though, we talk about [in the moment] and decide if it’s better if he does it, or if I do it. With the condoms, though, it’s always me.

Alexander: It’s just more practical.

Christina: But he tells me things, and I listen.

Alexander: Which is a great improvement on the majority of the population, because they don’t listen. They have a preconceived notion of what they should do [with a disabled person]. People either tend to be overbearing and do everything for you, or they’re over-afraid and don’t do anything.

Complete Article HERE!

Hospital’s new online workshop helps parents talk about sexual health with kids with disabilities

By

Having “the talk” fills most families with dread. For parents of teens with disabilities, the conversation often takes on an added layer of complexity. Parents want to keep their especially vulnerable children close and safe, while instilling independence and strong self-esteem. They want their kids to assert their own boundaries, even as these children often require assistance with many aspects of their daily lives. Parents want their youth to go out into the world and have healthy relationships, but they worry because disabled people are at increased risk of abuse.

In a bid to help, Toronto’s Holland Bloorview Kids Rehabilitation Hospital launched a new online tool Monday designed for parents looking for insight into how to speak meaningfully with their disabled youth about sex. The new workshop, available free to the public off the hospital’s YouTube channel, covers everything from good relationships and consent to gender identity and social media – this for a cohort often left out of the sex ed discussion, thanks to lingering stigma around disabled people’s sexuality.

“We have needs and desires as well. We need to be educated on how to navigate these situations and have these conversations without it feeling like it’s such a taboo topic,” said Emily Chan, who co-designed the new workshop as chair of the hospital’s youth advisory council.

Chan, 22, has centronuclear myopathy, a rare neuromuscular condition. She said parents of those with disabilities often keep a “tight rein” on their children, but she urged them to speak with their kids about healthy relationships early, “not waiting until we’re heading into adulthood, or already in adulthood.”

The online workshop follows the release last week of new guidelines that recommended sexual health education be made available at short- and long-term care facilities serving youth with disabilities or chronic illnesses, with information geared toward their specific needs. Colleges and universities should offer comprehensive sex ed training to those studying to be caregivers and personal support workers for disabled people, according to The Canadian Guidelines for Sexual Health Education from the Sex Information & Education Council of Canada, a non-profit organization promoting sexual and reproductive health.

Joanne Downing sets the same priorities when she talks to her three children, ages 17 to 21, including her 19-year-old son Matthew, who has quadriplegic cerebral palsy and is non-verbal. Downing wants them all to be safe, respectful and make good choices.

“We talk about ‘my space, your space,’ and ‘good touch, bad touch,’” Downing, 57, said about Matthew. “He can understand whether or not he’s crossed that barrier or if someone’s crossed that barrier on him.”

Downing offered a family perspective for the new webinar and coached parents at two workshops held at the hospital over the winter. Talking to her own son, Downing uses proper terminology for body parts, and explains the difference between private and public space. One thing she recommends parents do with their disabled teens is differentiate between platonic friendships and romantic or sexual relationships.

“[Matthew’s] perception of having a girlfriend is someone of the opposite sex who’s a friend that he can hang out with,” Downing said. “He definitely likes girls and he flirts. He loves it. He knows pretty much every single swim instructor at the pool.”

Downing stressed the importance of striking a balance between autonomy and safety. Even though she’s involved in every facet of Matthew’s life and care, the mother has also taught her son how to ask for privacy.

Autonomy is critical to discussions of sex ed with this cohort, according to Yukari Seko, a research associate at Bloorview Research Institute, who along with social worker Gabriella Carafa developed the new online workshop. “Research shows that parents of children with a disability can be overprotective, and understandably so because they need more help,” Seko said. “But it can sometimes hinder their transition to adulthood. They need to learn and practice taking some risks.”

Opportunities to be independent – and to fail – are integral to figuring out what you want and don’t want in adult life, said Chan. “Youth need the chance to explore their environment and their relationships with others, to not be afraid to make mistakes and to learn from those mistakes,” she said. “You need to be able to get out into the real world and have those experiences to shape your personality, beliefs, values and how you approach different situations.”

At the same time, safety is a very real concern for these parents. Children and youth with a disability or chronic health condition are at an increased risk of sexual abuse, according to the Canadian Paediatric Society.

Miriam Kaufman, author of the Society’s report on this issue and the book Easy for You to Say: Q and As for Teens Living With Chronic Illness or Disability, said it is particularly important for parents of disabled youth to discuss consent, not only because these children can be more physically vulnerable but also because they’ve gotten conflicting messages about bodily autonomy all their lives.

“We have trained, from birth practically, young people with disabilities and chronic health conditions to put up with things that in any other context would be considered abuse: medical procedures, painful procedures … being held down for procedures and being told not to yell and to co-operate,” said Kaufman. “We train these kids from a young age that it’s okay for these strangers in the health care system to have access to their bodies. … They’ve learned that they don’t really have ownership of their bodies.”

It’s always a fine tightrope for parents of kids with disabilities, Kaufman said, who are trying to protect their children while helping them develop positive self-image. “Most parents also want their children to grow up sexually healthy, to be able to have relationships and be happy in those relationships,” Kaufman said. “They don’t want to totally freak them out about sexuality, in terms of protecting them.”

At Holland Bloorview, Seko urged families of disabled youth to educate themselves on these issues, but also to listen to their kids’ questions and observations.

“They are the experts of their life, too,” Seko said.

Complete Article HERE!

Sex & Accessibility 101:

How to Have Super Hot Sex with or as a Disabled Person

By

I was once a horny and confused disabled teenager, and somehow managed to come into my own as a horny and downright pervy disabled adult. Growing up, no one ever talked to me about sex or sexuality. Outside of my peer groups (and often times even within them), sex was a touchy issue. Doctors, educators, family — they all functioned from a place that sex wasn’t for someone like me. And woof, how do you feel good initiating conversations about your bod and all the things you find yourself wanting to do with it when even your doctor seems squeamish about it?

Fast forward to 2018, and doctors are still garbage. But I like to think that we queers of the world are ever-evolving, and as result, getting pretty hip to the concept that all different kinds of bodies want to connect with other bodies. With that in mind, I’m not going to waste any time defending the desirability of disabled folks. Disabled folks are desirable. Period. Disabled bods and access needs are still left out of the conversation when it comes to S-E-X and well… f*ck that. So settle in and hang out for a minute. We’ve got a lot to talk about.

Disability Sexuality

Disabled folks make up the largest minority population in the world; upwards of 20% of people in the US are living with a disability. This means whether you, yourself, are disabled or not, disability touches everyone in some way or another. Our genders and sexualities vary as much as anyone’s, but our access to communities that affirm (or allow us to explore) our genders and sexualities is frequently lacking. Navigating sex and disability as a queer person has its challenges, but outside of societal misconceptions and misinformation, it’s not necessarily any more (or less) complicated than navigating any other body or sexuality. Bodies are weird. Sex is weird. Weird is good.

While the information here can be useful for anyone, this guide primarily focuses on physical access needs in sex. Disability is an incredibly broad umbrella term. There are a lot of different ways that disability exists in the world, and needs and considerations vary greatly. This is in no way meant to be definitive or all-encompassing. All bods are different and need different things. That’s kind of the point. As always, take what applies and feels good for you.

Communication

Inarguably, communication is the key to good sex, period. But, for disabled folks (and the babes that love them), those conversations may feel a little more vulnerable than conversations some able-bodied folks are used to having, and it helps to learn better ways of navigating them.

It should go without saying, but assumptions never do anyone any good in the bedroom (or anywhere, really). It’s important to find ways to communicate your wants and needs without ambiguity. Knowing what you want can be half the battle whether you have accessibility needs or not, so don’t be afraid to do a little work in finding that out for yourself. Handy worksheets like this old gem from our own Austen, Ara, and Geneva can help you not only brainstorm your own wants and needs, but find common ground with your partner. Talking about you want to do with your partner, also opens up the line of communication to advocate for the things you may need in order to do it. If you’re feeling anxious, try to remember that these conversations feel vulnerable for all bods involved, so be kind to both yourself and your partner! Initiating potentially vulnerable conversations about sex and bodies can work best outside of the bedroom. Talking about sex can feel daunting enough; changing up the space and talking it out before you’re in the bedroom can help ease some of the pressure and help you connect.

If you’re able-bodied and your partner isn’t, remember that when your partner is opening up to you about their body, it’s a conversation, not an inquisition. Make sure you’re meeting them in the middle, not putting them through an interview. Talk about your own boundaries, needs, hopes and expectations. Rather than “How do you…?” or “Can you…?” lines of questioning, focus on pleasure (i.e. “What are you into?” “What feels good for you?”). Your interest is in finding out what makes them feel good, not unraveling the mystery of their body. Good conversation topics to consider: preferred words/terms for parts, parts of the body you do or don’t like to have touched/seen/etc., body sensitivity or pain.

A common don’t that comes up all too often is the dreaded “I don’t even notice,” “You’re pretty/handsome for a disabled person,” or “You’re not disabled to me!” Able-bodied folks tend to think these are compliments, but I can assure you as a person who’s heard it all, they aren’t. The last thing anyone getting down and dirty with you wants to hear is that you don’t see them, or that you have to avoid parts of them to feel attraction for them.

If you’re disabled and wanting to open up communication, remember that communicating with your partner is a back and forth. You’re not responsible for sitting under a spotlight and disclosing your medical history, and you should never feel pressured to say or do anything that doesn’t feel right for you. Everybody’s got needs and expectations in physical and intimate relationships! Try not to feel weighed down sharing yours.

Communication while getting down is important, too. Tell your partner when they’re making you feel good, and be open to vocalizing (and switching things up) when something’s not working for you. Likewise, be open to hearing from your partner when something isn’t working for them.

The effort it takes to hone your communication skills really pays off; it feels good to know what you partner needs and expects from you, and it feels really good to know that your partner cares about what you need. Besides, talking about sex is great foreplay, pal!

Getting Down

Setting the scene

One thing disabled folks with physical access needs are beyond familiar with is the need for preparedness. Sometimes we can get bogged down by all the little details needed to make a space accessible; sex is really no different in that regard. Setting the scene for the sex you want helps ease anxiety surrounding unwanted interruptions or time-outs. It helps keep things flowing, and builds up the anticipation — which can be exciting!

Making sure that your harnesses, toys, positioning furniture, lube, and clean up supplies are within reach is a great start, but there’s more you can do to set the mood. Don’t underestimate the power of intention!

For folks who experience incontinence, waterproof pads and blankets can help with anxiety surrounding unwanted (or wanted!) messes.  While any mattress pad could do the trick, items made for play such as the Liberator Fascinator Throw, or the Funsheet can make the playspace feel less sterile and more sexy. Think about what kind of material makes you feel best in these situations. Throws like the Fascinator absorb fluid without leaking through, whereas items like the Funsheet do not absorb fluids (which can potentially feel overwhelming for some folks). Regardless of your preference, when sexy time is over, just toss your sheets/throws into the washer and you’re good to go. Anxiety surrounding incontinence can feel like a lot, but try to remember that honestly all sex is messy and that’s often half the fun.

Lube & Barriers

Lube is f*cking important! This is true for everyone, but especially when stimulating a part of the body that has limited or no sensation. Apart from wanting to avoid general injury, many conditions can make it difficult for a body to produce its own lubricant. Find a lube that works well for you and your partner and use that lube generously.

I won’t go too ham in talking about barrier methods, but I will note that there are a lot of options to consider, from a proper fitted condom on penises and dildos/vibrators, to dental dams, and the very poorly named “FC2 female condom.” Be sure to be conscious of sensitivities to frequently used materials such as latex (and less commonly allergenic) nitrile/neoprene. It’s best to stay clear of barriers with added flavoring or spermicides. Always remember to check your lube is safe for use with the barrier method you’re using!

Positioning

There are an infinite number of ways to get two bodies to connect in just the right way. Shaking things up and exploring the way things feel best not only ensures you and your partner’s comfort, it’s also just hot and fun. There are gender- and sexuality-inclusive online quick guides like this one from The Mighty that may help get your creative juices flowing. There’s also positioning harnesses and slings like Sportsheets’ Super Sex Sling and Doggie Style Strap that can help take some of the pressure off of strenuous positioning. Sportsheets is a disability-inclusive brand also offering items like shower suction handles and foot rests, and other positioning tools that can aid in accessible play.

If your partner needs help transferring out of a chair or another assistive device, let them guide you in helping them properly. Don’t ever lift or move a partner without being asked to, and don’t ever move assistive devices to unreachable places unless your partner asks you to.

Harnesses

For some with limited mobility, spasticity or pain in the pelvic/hip region, standard harnesses may not be an option for strap-on sex. Fortunately, there are multiple harness options for those looking for accessible ways to engage in penetrative play, and getting creative in the harness department can be just as hot as it is practical! Sportsheets offers a thigh harness and the La Palma from SpareParts offers a gloved hand option. For folks with penises using strap-ons, SpareParts Deuce is a great option. Designed to be wearable regardless of ability to achieve erection, the harness has an upper ring for use with a dildo, and a lower ring for penis access.

Toys

This is the part where I might as well start by throwing my hands in the air praising the Hitachi Magic Wand. As a stubborn contrarian I’d love to find a reason to tell you why it doesn’t live up to its hype, but I’d be lying. Apart from being probably the greatest sex toy on earth, with its strong vibrations, large head, and versatile modification options, it’s also probably one of the most accessible. There are hitachi toy mounts like this one from Liberator, various head attachments, speed controllers (which do need to be plugged into the toy/wall, but also extend the range quite a bit), and good ol’ DIY mic stand setups. The rechargeable wand does away with the need to stay plugged in and is worth every penny for the upgrade.

For anal stimulation, b-vibe offers a wide selection of remote vibrating anal toys in a variety of sizes and shapes, eliminating the need to reach down to adjust or change settings on the toy during use. For comfortable wear in seated positions, try options with a thin base like the snug plug or the pleasure plug from Fuze.

For folks with penises who may be experiencing what sex expert Joan Price refers to as erectile dissatisfaction or unreliable erection due to paralysis, but want to engage in penetrative sex, ppa/extenders like Vixen’s Ride On paired with a comfortable harness can be helpful in achieving penetrative sex with a partner. The Pulse 3 Duo is also a great partner toy option for folks with penises of varying functionality.

If you can, skip the ableist toy manuals that come with most sex toys and instead, talk to a sex educator at your local progressive sex shop about your prospective products and how to use them safely and care for them. It’s well-documented that there’s historically been (and continues to be) a problem with unfavorable language in a LOT of sex toy user manuals and packaging. If you don’t have access to local progressive sex toy shops, shops like The Smitten Kitten, She Bop, Early To Bed, and Babeland all have online stores and customer service options that can be really helpful.

After Care

Lastly, be sure to check in. After care isn’t an option; it’s a major part of play. Talk to your partner about what feels good for both of you when play is over. Maybe you or they need to be held, or like a glass of water when things are winding down. If incontinence is a concern, it may help to have a course of action pre-planned for cleaning up in a way that helps to relieve stress or discomfort.

Ultimately, there are plenty of tools and tips to achieve the sex you want, but the bulk of the work relies on successful communication. Remember to think beyond speaking, and consider how you’re listening. Are you doing what you can to create a connection that supports your partner in voicing their wants and needs? Supporting your partner through the vulnerable parts paves way for the creativity that comes with engaging and fun sex.

A few quick references:

The Ultimate Guide to Sex and Disability

Disability After Dark Podcast

Exile and Pride: Disability, Queerness, & Liberation

Complete Article HERE!

Sex, technology and disability – it’s complicated

Media portrayals of sexuality often focus on a visual and verbal vocabulary that is young, white, cisgender, heterosexual and…not disabled.

By

People living with disability are largely excluded from conversations about sexuality, and face overlapping barriers to sexual expression that are both social and physical.

Media portrayals of sexuality often focus on a visual and verbal vocabulary that is young, white, cisgender, heterosexual and … not disabled.

My research into inclusive design explores how design can – intentionally or unintentionally – exclude marginalised or vulnerable people, as well as how design can ensure that everyone is included. That might mean design of the built environment, everyday products, or even how information is presented.

UTS has been collaborating for over a year with Northcott Innovation, a nonprofit organisation based in NSW that focuses on solutions for people with disability, to understand the barriers people face, and how inclusive design can help break them down.

When it comes to sexuality, new technologies have a role to play – but we need to look at both the opportunities and risks that these developments bring.

Starting the conversation

David* is a young man living with cerebral palsy who expresses a deep frustration about being unable to have his sexual desires met. He revealed his thoughts during discussions around sex and disability.

I can’t get into a lot clubs in my wheelchair – or restaurant or cafés for that matter. So where do I go to meet someone? Or go on a date? Let alone if we wanted to be intimate!

Northcott Innovation’s executive director Sam Frain isn’t surprised by what these conversations are revealing:

People with disability want to date, fall in love, or even fall out of love. They want to be recognised as the adults they are. In acknowledging their capacity for meaningful relationships, we must also acknowledge their sexuality – in whatever form that takes.

David faces complex social barriers too. Because it’s hard to for him to discuss his sexuality at all, coming out to his mother feels particularly fraught:

My mum doesn’t really know that I want to meet a future husband, not wife. I want to go on more dates. I don’t just want to meet other men with disability either. I want to meet lots of guys – but where can I go and how do I do this?

Inclusive sex toys

People living with disability have diverse physical and social support needs when it comes to expressing their sexuality. That means there isn’t going to be a one-size-fits-all solution. Rather we need a design approach that allows for customisation.

A new research project at RMIT, led by industrial design lecturer Judith Glover, is investigating the design of customised, inclusive sex toys.

Aside from some engineering research undertaken earlier this year at the University of São Paulo into the neurodildo – a sex toy operated remotely by brain waves – inclusive sex toys are an under-explored area of design research.

Glover feels strongly that designing sexual health products or services – whether for therapy or for recreation – should be treated as any other area of design. She acknowledges that the sex toy industry has barely started to address sex toys for an ageing population, let alone solutions for people with various disabilities:

Some of the people I meet, who are physically incapable of holding and moving objects, may have trouble communicating verbally – yet who really yearn to be able to develop their own sexual practice. Plus who doesn’t need to just get off every once in a while?

David agrees:

I really want to explore the option of sex toys more, but I don’t know what to try, or how to use it.

Social media and intellectual disability

Connecting communities together is an important strategy to overcome marginalisation and amplify the voices of people with disability.

Social media is a space where technology brings like-minded people together. But creating safe online spaces for people to express their sexuality can create unforeseen challenges – particularly for people with intellectual disability.

Deakin University and the Intellectual Disability Rights Service (IDRS) set up a closed Facebook support group earlier this year for people with intellectual disability who identify as LGBTQI. Jonathon Kellaher, an educator with IDRS, says:

Group administrators quickly realised that people who were not “out” and did not understand that group members can be viewed publicly were at risk of accidentally “outing” themselves when requesting to join the group.

To address this issue, the group privacy setting was set to “secret”. But this meant new members had to wait to be added, so it became a barrier to the group’s potential as a social connector. Deakin is now working on a project with GALFA to learn more about how people connect in this space.

Technology must promote inclusion

Then there is the elephant in the room: sex robots.

Manufacturers claim sex robots provide health and social benefits for people with disability, but researchers have been quick to point out that there’s no evidence to support the range of claims that have been made.

While it’s possible to see the introduction of sex robots as a form of assistive technology – a new way to experience pleasure, or to explore preferences and body capabilities – there’s another, more tragic, side.

Viewing sex robots as a solution to the loneliness of people with disability (or anyone for that matter), or as a remedy for a lack of available dates, risks perpetuating and exacerbating the social and sexual exclusion of people with disability.

Technology can’t replace human connection, so it’s critical that new technologies support greater inclusion for people living with disability. It’s a human right to be able to safely express and enjoy sexuality, and have the choice to live a life with pleasure.

For David, that fits in to his ideal world very clearly:

One day I really want a husband to love me, two children, and to own my own restaurant.

Complete Article HERE!

Being paralyzed does not mean I can’t have sex…

and six other myths about sex and disability debunked

Samantha Baines, Matt Tuckey and Shannon Murray debunk some of the biggest misconceptions they come across

By Poorna Bell

Despite pockets of progress, such as online fashion retailer ASOS recently releasing wheelchair-friendly clothing, there is a long way to go when it comes to representation of people with disabilities.

Ignorance abounds because of narrow depictions of living with a disability. Nowhere is this more evident than when it comes to sex.

To counter this, people such as disability awareness consultant Andrew Gurza are driving candid conversations about sex and sexuality. Andrew’s Disability After Dark podcast addresses all kinds of stories around disability and sex. Andrew, who has cerebral palsy, told the Huffington Post last year: “Whenever we talk about sex and disability ― if we dare ― it is in this painfully sanitised way that tends to tell you nothing about the person with a disability, their sex or what they actually want ― it doesn’t shed any light on how it really feels.”

Here, four men and women debunk some of the myths and misconceptions they encounter about sex and disability.

1: ‘Sex with a disabled person must be pretty boring’

Actress Shannon Murray, 41, who experienced a spinal cord injury when she was 14, tells misconceptions about sex and disability still come at her from all corners. “Just like any other human being, disabled people have desire. We want to be touched, to touch, to feel pleasure – why is that still such a ridiculous taboo? Why are intelligent people genuinely shocked when they learn that I have sex?

“If anything, I’d say some of my disabled friends are some of the more sexually adventurous and confident people I know. We have to be creative and find different techniques that work for us and spend every waking hour being adaptable to the environment around us.

“Sex is no different, though it’s much more fun.”

2: ‘I’m not a sexual being’

“There has been a real disservice done to disabled people by the mainstream media who have only told very one-dimensional stories,”  Shannon adds. “You see disabled men who use sex workers, or people who are frustrated and angry at their bodies.

“It can feel very marginalising; it’s all very woe is me. I think that suits the idea that non-disabled people have about our lives: that we’re asexual, incapable or it’s too complicated. However if you venture on to websites or publications aimed at a disabled audience you’ll see a much more rounded and interesting experience.”

3: ‘Being paralysed means I can only have sex missionary style’

Shannon says: “Some of the misconceptions I’ve faced is that I can’t have sex; that I am incapable of having sex; that I must be numb from the waist down; that because I’m paraplegic I can only have sex in the missionary position; that I can only have sex in my chair; that I can’t feel pleasure; that I can’t give pleasure; that orgasms are impossible and that I can’t have children. All of which are untrue.

“It’s also interesting how frequently strangers think it’s perfectly acceptable to ask me about my sex life within an hour of meeting me.”

4: ‘I must be shy in bed because I have a disability’

Far from it, says Joanne*, 51, a housewife who is profoundly deaf. “When I first started having sex, because I could not hear anything, the sounds I was making were extremely loud. I only found out because the man I was having sex with put his finger on his lips in a ‘sssh’ motion. I got really self-conscious – I mean, how loud was I?

“So I decided to record myself masturbating, and asked my best friend to listen to it. To my embarrassment she said I was very, very loud! I soon met my now-husband and our first sexual encounters were strained as I always stopped before things got to a point where I thought I would start getting ‘excited’.

“Finally, I decided to tell him and he laughed because he thought it was his fault and was relieved. In a sensitive way, he said he would always let me know if I was getting too loud and I’ve sort of trained myself to be less noisy.”

5: ‘My hearing aid must be a turn-off’

“I love sex and hearing aids don’t stop me from loving it,” says comedian Samantha Baines, 31, who acquired her disability at the age of 30. “I mean, I do need to take my hearing aid out before sex as they aren’t good with fluids – I don’t want to see my audiologist and explain how I got spunk in my hearing aid.

“Taking your hearing aid out isn’t a very sexy procedure when you are in the moment. It’s a bit like taking your socks off or peeing after sex – it just has to be done.”

@samanthabaines 

6: ‘It’s ok for disability to be treated as a sexual fetish’

Joanne says: “Growing up as a child I was made to wear hearing aids which really were of no benefit to me at all. When I used to go out I always was conscious of it and deliberately made sure that I wore my hair to cover them.

“When I got older, I looked just like any other woman, I just couldn’t hear. Except one guy I dated for a few months always wanted me to wear my hearing aids during sex. I think he found my deafness a turn-on which was strange.”

Shannon adds: “When the odd TV drama includes a story about disability and sex it is always negative or traumatic, or conversely our bodies are fetishised for the non-disabled gaze.

“People with disabilties are not curiosities, we are humans with wants, needs and desires. Treat us with the same respect you would any other person that you’re interested in. It’s really not rocket science.”

7: ‘You don’t look disabled so you don’t have to tell sexual partners about it’

“I’ve been guilty as anyone else of not seeing disabled people as sexual beings,” says Matt, “but I’ve realised keeping it hidden is so much harder than being honest about it. Around the time I was correctly diagnosed, I met someone in a club.

“After a couple of conversations over the next few days she started to realise that I had short term memory loss. For the first time I could be open with a woman about my memory difficulties, rather than pretending I’d just forgotten something as a one-off. Two weeks later, I’d lost my virginity to her.”

Complete Article HERE!

Medically assisted sex? How ‘intimacy coaches’ offer sexual therapy for people with disabilities

‘For me, the sex is obviously why I’m seeking this out, but I’m also seeking services like this out because … I feel the need to be touched, to be kissed,’ says Spencer Williams.

[F]or years, Spencer Williams felt he was missing something in his love life.

The 26-year-old Vancouver university student and freelance writer has cerebral palsy. He says he meets lots of potential sex partners but had trouble finding what he was looking for.

“I always refer to my wheelchair as it comes to dating … as a gigantic cock block,” he says. “It doesn’t always get me to the places I want, especially when it comes to being intimate.”

“I thought, if something didn’t happen now, I was going to die a virgin.”

So he Googled “sexual services for people with disabilities.”

That’s how Williams found Joslyn Nerdahl, a clinical sexologist and intimacy coach.

‘Intimacy coach’ Joslyn Nerdahl says sex can be healing.

“I answer a lot of anatomy questions. I answer a lot of questions about intercourse, about different ways that we might be able to help a client access their body,” says Nerdahl, who moved from traditional sex work to working as an intimacy coach with Vancouver-based Sensual Solutions.

“I believe [sex] can be very healing for people and so this was a really easy transition for me, to make helping people with physical disabilities feel more whole.”

Sensual Solutions is geared toward people with disabilities who want or need assistance when it comes to sex or sexuality. It can involve relationship coaching, sex education or more intimate services. They call the service “medically assisted sex.” It costs $225 for a one-hour session.

Nerdahl notes that some people with disabilities are touched often by care aids or loved ones who are assisting with everyday activities such as getting dressed or eating.  But her clients tell her that despite that frequent physical contact, the lack of “erotic touch” or “intimate touch” can leave them feeling isolated, depressed or even “less human.”

‘Help a client access their body’

Nerdahl says each session with a client is different, depending on the person’s level of comfort and experience, as well as his or her particular desires and physical capabilities.

Williams says his sessions might start with breathing exercises or physio and move on to touching, kissing and other activities.

An intimacy coach may help a client put on a condom or get into a certain position.

A session might also involve “body mapping,” Nerdahl says, describing it as “a process of going through different areas of the body, in different forms of touching, to figure out what you like and what you don’t like.”

Social stigma

Sex and sexual pleasure remains a taboo topic when it comes to people with disabilities.

For Williams, accessing this service is about more than sexual pleasure. But it’s about that, too.

“[T]he sex is obviously why I’m seeking this out, but I’m also seeking services like this out because I feel the need to be close. I feel the need to connect. I feel the need to be touched, to be kissed.”

“Sometimes people … offer to sleep with me as a pity, and I often don’t appreciate that. I want things to be organic and natural,” says Williams.

He much prefers his sessions with Nerdahl, in which he is able to explore physical and emotional intimacy in a non-judgmental and supportive setting, even though it’s something he pays money for.

“I think it freaks people out when we talk about sex and disability because most of the time they haven’t thought about that person in a wheelchair getting laid,” Nerdahl says. “They just assume they don’t have a sex life because they’re in a chair, and that’s just not the case.”

Legal grey area

The stigma is further complicated because Canada’s prostitution laws have no provisions for services that blur the line between rehabilitation and sex work.

Kyle Kirkup is critical of Canada’s current prostitution laws that criminalize the sex trade regardless of context or intent.

Currently, it’s legal to sell sex and sex-related services, but illegal to purchase them. (Sex workers can be charged for advertising services or soliciting services but only if in the vicinity of school grounds or daycare centres.)

Kyle Kirkup, an assistant professor at the University of Ottawa’s Faculty of Law, calls the current laws a “one-size-fits-all approach” that criminalizes the sex trade regardless of context or intent.

The current law doesn’t include provisions for people with disabilities, or which deal specifically with services like Sensual Solutions whose intimacy coaches may come from clinical or rehabilitation backgrounds.

“A person with a disability who purchases sexual services would be treated exactly the same as any other person who purchased sex,” he says.

“So it’s a very kind of blunt instrument that doesn’t actually do a very good job of contextualizing the reasons why people might pay for sex.”

There are other countries, however, such as the Netherlands that view medically assisted sex in another way entirely; sex assistants’ services may be covered by benefits, just like physiotherapy or massage.

Complete Article HERE!

How a sex worker helps my wife and I maintain good sexual health

David Heckendorf and his wife Jenni on their wedding day.
David Heckendorf and his wife Jenni on their wedding day.

So, here we go. We are coming out to the nation. Jenni and I have sex with other people. There, it’s done.

But, lets wind back three decades and place this in context.

It is my first job after leaving school. I’m at the Sydney-based Spastic Centre’s sheltered workshop. It seemed very large to a pimply faced 17-year-old fresh from one of the centre’s two special schools. I found the morning tea and lunch breaks in the cafeteria particular daunting when I was one of about 300 wheelchair users trying to be served and assisted to eat before the bell rings to return to the factory floor.

I had seen Jenni at our hostel over the years and she carried an air of importance, with her father being on the board. I soon found her favourite table in the cafeteria. I would try to race to it each day hoping to sit next to her and, perhaps, share a support worker. The time spent together soon extended beyond the lunch table to include activities other than talking.

The mid-’80s in saw a change in the national disability policies from large residential facilities to much smaller group homes spread throughout communities. I was among the first to be de-institutionalised. While Jenni and I weren’t housed together she frequently visited.

After a long courtship, mostly by correspondence, we married on 1 December 1990 in the small university chapel at Armidale NSW, where I was fortunate enough to be accepted to study. Our Byron Bay honeymoon was so delightful that we returned the following year.

We moved to Canberra in search of employment after my degree and to work towards a second qualification. Together, Jenni and I had to survive a number of ‘homes’ that were less than ideal. One was at an Australian National University residence where the bedroom was so small we had to leave our wheelchairs in the public access hallway. In a later house, the bedrooms were not even big enough to accommodate our bed, so we used the living room as a bedroom.

Notwithstanding these challenges, we were doing remarkably well with support from ACT government-funded home care services. That was until September 1, 2008 when Jenni over-balanced transferring from the bed to her wheelchair. She landed awkwardly and broke bones in her left foot, which weren’t properly diagnosed or treated for several months.

This fall had long-lasting consequences on Jenni’s health generally and on our sex lives. Her prolonged and mostly unsuccessful recovery resulted in Jen having further reduced mobility in and out of bed. It meant we had to take extreme care not to touch or bump her foot. We had been fully independent in bed but after the fall the effort involved became too much. We tried different toys and different positions without joy.

Two years after the fall we were at a point where we had to make a decision to either give up on enjoying sex or to investigate the possibility of allowing a third person into our bed.

We were way too young to stop having sex.

Sex is important in most long-term relationships because it increases the pair-bonding by releasing the ‘love hormone’ oxytocin. There is also scientific evidence to suggest that sex has a range of health benefits associated with our immunity, heart, blood pressure, reduced risk of prostate cancer, pain and stress relief.

In early 2011 we arranged for sex worker, Joanne, to begin working with us. With each visit we had to remind ourselves that she wasn’t there to make ‘love’ to us. Rather, in the same way that our support staff ensure that we remain in good physical health – by showering, feeding, and dressing us – Joanne helps us to maintain good sexual health.

Also in 2011 we successfully approached the ACT government to extend the funding of our disability care support to cover these conjugal support services. In December 2015, the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) agreed that, in our situation, a modest allowance for conjugal support service would be reasonable and necessary.

Jenni and I still enjoy doing a lot of activities together. For instance, we work out at the Spastic Centre’s (now the ‘Cerebral Palsy Alliance’) Canberra gym, challenge each other at online Yahtzee, visit our favourite local cafe for morning coffees, and cuddle up in front of our favourite television shows and movies.

Doubtlessly, sex is critical to all marriages. Our love for one another and shared history means sex is important for our marriage too. And, just as with other activities, we just need the right support to make this part of our life happen.

Complete Article HERE!

Price of Intimacy: The Time I Hired a Sex Worker

“Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll.”

By Andrew Gurza

learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair

I’d never considered the price of intimacy until I hired a sex worker. Though I’d been learning to embrace my life in a wheelchair—a result of cerebral palsy—going without touch, or even access to my own body, was taking a toll. Even so, I didn’t come to my decision lightly. I was worried about shame, stigma, and fear, and concerned I’d pay for time and still not get what I needed. I spent weeks quieting the voices in my head telling me that using the services of a sex worker was not a good idea. Would this be the only way I could find intimacy? Would someone even want to do this with me, or would he only view it as a charitable opportunity to help a cripple? Despite all these questions, I sat in my apartment reflecting on my nearly year-long celibacy. It was time to take care of myself.

After scouring site after site with rows and rows of horny men holding their hard-ons, I found David. His smile was warm, inviting, and intriguingly devious all at once. He was older than me, in his mid-40s, and his photos showed off a powerful body, a strong charisma, and an undeniable charm. I’d often felt physically invisible within the mainstream LGBT community, but David possessed everything I longed for.

I sent David a cursory email, telling him that I was interested in using his services, but that I had never done this before, that I was nervous. I also casually explained as best I could that I lived with a disability and used a chair. He emailed back some hours later, letting me know that he had experience working with clients with disabilities. David wrote bluntly: “If I’m unsure of something, I’ll just ask.” It was a refreshing change from all the guys who tripped and tumbled over their discomfort.

We ironed out the logistics—a time, a location, a fee. Knowing that my sexuality would be broken down into a succinct session was daunting, and it took away from the fantasy and spontaneity I had dreamed of. But this, perhaps, was the cost of getting what I wanted, what I needed. David gently reminded me that I was paying for his time, and whatever happened happened. On our very last exchange, just a day before we’d meet, he called and asked me a simple question, though one I have never been asked before: “What do you want?”

Shyly and nervously I outlined my likes and dislikes as well as my abilities. I wanted kissing. I craved body contact. I couldn’t bottom for him because of my spasticity and tight muscles. I’d need help undressing and being put in bed. I paused, smiled. My needs were at the forefront.

On a rainy, blustery Saturday afternoon, my iPhone blinked with the message that David was in my lobby. I looked at myself in the mirror: a long-sleeve shirt, cozy winter sweats, a baseball cap. I headed downstairs in the elevator. When the door opened, I recognized him immediately. “Hey there! How are you?” he said, giving me a big hug as if we were long-lost friends. I kept watching him, in part because I still couldn’t believe this was happening, and because he looked really good in those tight blue jeans and that leather jacket.

A sexy man was in my house. We made small talk, waiting for someone to strike. He led himself into my bedroom and asked me about the transfer device I use to get into bed. I told him he would have to lift my legs while I held on to two gymnastic rings fastened to a hydraulic lift in my ceiling. I continued babbling, watching him get closer to me, taking off his coat, revealing a tank top and thick, muscled arms. He then straddled my chair, bent down, and kissed me. As I reached and pawed at him—my limbs flailing, not wanting to miss an inch—he stopped me. He looked into my eyes, past the rejection and pain caused by other lovers, and spoke with a firm honesty. “It’s OK.”

David drank in my disability and I dared not stop him. He lifted me out of my chair and held me in his arms. He grabbed me, cradled me, and kissed me. I curled up into him so he could feel the scars, curves, rods, and contractures that inform my disability. I felt sexy. He took off my shirt, and together we revealed my skin. As he moved down my body, and took off my pants and shoes, I worried what he would do when he saw my leg bag and my toes, which curled into each other. But David made this act of care exciting and real for me. When I was finally naked with him on the bed—my body going into spastic fits as a result of CP—I started to tense even more as I neared climax. In a piercing moment of release, I felt my two identities collide: queer and crippled came together in a surge of pure, uncomplicated pleasure.

The afterglow was setting in as David lay beside me. He held me tight and kissed my forehead. He told me that I was handsome, and as I looked at his arms wrapped around my spindly legs, I felt he meant it. Moments passed and he placed me in my chair, planting one last soft kiss on my lips before ending our session and saying goodbye. As I sat alone, my adrenaline became diluted by a calming bliss. I could not shame this experience because it marked a passage greater than a fleeting carnal exchange. It was the start of my own physical assertion. I would not settle for an affectionless existence, and I had to strive to honor what I wanted as a seated, but sexually alive, man. I finally had someone see me, and regardless of the cost, I finally showed myself to someone else.

Complete Article HERE!

These Volunteers Give Handjobs to the Severely Disabled

By Nelson Moura and Yun jie Zou

005
Hand Angels helping Andy from his wheelchair into bed.

Andy is a muscular dystrophy patient who lives with his parents in southern Taiwan. Due to his severe physical disability, he was home-schooled and couldn’t leave his house alone, so never really had the opportunity to develop either an active social life or a romantic relationship.

When the Taiwanese NGO Hand Angel—an organization promoting the sexual rights of disabled people—first spoke to Andy, they realized this situation meant he’d also never been able to have a frank conversation with anyone about his sexuality. And as a young gay man who didn’t want to speak to his parents about his feelings, this wasn’t exactly the healthiest situation to be in.

So, over the course of a few months, representatives from the NGO counseled Andy online, helping him to understand his own sexuality and place in the world. Next, they “smuggled” him out of his house and took him to a motel for a handjob.

Taiwan—officially known as the Republic of China—has one of the best health systems in the world; its million or so disabled citizens receive some of the most thorough medical attention you’ll find, including everything from long-term care to traditional herbal medicine. What they don’t receive from this system, however, is any kind of aid when it comes to slightly more intimate issues, namely: orgasms.

It was for this reason that a group of social campaigners and volunteers took it upon themselves to create Hand Angel, an NGO whose main service is giving handjobs to the severely disabled. Members say that their work raises awareness of the fact that disabled people are often depicted as desexualized—as well as having their sexuality constantly neglected—despite the fact they share exactly the same desires as anybody else.

In the Netherlands, the national health system provides a grant scheme for people with disabilities to receive public money to pay for sexual services up to 12 times a year. In Taiwan, sex remains a taboo, and some Buddhists—the sovereign state’s primary religion—believe that someone suffering from a disability means they’re paying for bad deeds in a past life. So not the best mix for those like Andy, really.

“I can’t tell my parents that I also have sexual desires, and I can’t come out of the closet in front them,” he told me. “My family’s care puts lots of pressure [on me] and sabotages me from normal romantic relations.”

Vincent, the 50-year-old founder of Hand Angel, lost his legs to polio and says his disability allows him to better empathize with applicants’ needs, without any of the patronization disabled people can sometimes face. He emphasized that “disabled people share the same physical and emotional needs as any others, and therefore should have the right to pursue them.”

In order to decide who’s entitled to use their services, Hand Angel first assess an applicant’s level of disability. The person has to be recognized by the government as having a serious physical impairment, but can’t be mentally disabled. Once they’re cleared, the service is totally free, but each applicant can only receive three bouts of sexual stimulation.

Volunteers—the group of 10 people actually giving the handjobs—come from varied backgrounds; some are gay, some are straight, some are disabled, some are PhD students, some are social campaigners and some work in the media. It’s made very clear to me that these volunteers only use their hands for second-base kind of stuff—that hugging, caressing, and kissing on the face are all fine, but anything penetrative (fingering, oral sex, vaginal sex, and anal sex) is not.

006
The hands of Hand Angel volunteers

When Hand Angel took Andy to the motel, the volunteer caressed him thoroughly and gave him a handjob. He described the intimacy being so intense that, for a minute, he believed he was in love. He knew it was only temporary, of course, but the experience provided him with an emotional connection he’d never felt before.

This is part of Hand Angel’s mission: not just providing a sexual service, but also bringing forth an emotional and social transformation in applicants.

“[Andy] was very introverted before, and didn’t really know how to interact with people,” said Vincent. “However, through months of talking online, I discovered something changed inside him. When our group was reported by the media and got lots of criticism, I saw Andy joined the public debate and argued with those [critical] internet users, trying to illustrate his opinions.”

In Taiwan, where a discussion of sexuality is restrained by strict moral codes, there was also plenty of mockery leveled at Hand Angel. Internet users starting posting comments like: “Do they also offer ‘Mouth Angels?'”; “I’m retarded; can I apply for Hand Angel service, too?”; and “Only three times in a lifetime?”

There even appeared to be negativity on an official level. The executive secretary of the Taipei United Social Wealth Alliance, Yi-Ting Hu, commented on the NGO, saying: “Speaking from personal opinion, I don’t think we need to bring up disabled people’s sexuality as an independent issue. There are more important and urgent problems we need to deal with. Don’t you think if you advocate their sexual rights, it is like another form of discrimination?”

Of course, he seemed to only be proving Hand Angels’ point; to suggest that advocating a disabled person’s sexual rights is a form of discrimination is, first, patronizing in itself, and secondly, just completely bizarre—how is consensually receiving a handjob in any way discriminatory?

Andy summed it up: “I didn’t feel I was the target of pity. The whole process was full of respect and equality. This might be deemed as controversial by society, but as long as you’re willing to look into it, what we desire is no different from others. Just ask yourself: do you need to consult your parents before having sex?”

Complete Article HERE!

My New Book

Dear friends and colleagues

I am pleased to announce the publication of my new book The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying: Enhancing The End Of Life.

(Click on the book art below for a synopsis and to purchase the book.)

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying is specifically designed for terminally ill, chronically ill, elder, and dying people from all walks of life. But concerned family and friends, healing and helping professionals, lawyers, clergy, teachers, students, and those grieving a death will also benefit from reading the book.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying is a workbook that offers readers a unique group/seminar format. Readers participate in a virtual on-the-page support group consisting of ten other participants. Together members of the group help each other liberate themselves from the emotional, cultural, and practical problems that accompany dying in our modern age.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying helps readers dispel the myth that they are incapable of taking charge during the final season of life. Readers face the prospect of life’s end within a framework of honesty, activity, alliance, support, and humor. And most importantly readers learn these lessons in the art of dying and living from the best possible teachers, other sick, elder, and dying people.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying engages readers with a multitude of life situations and moral dilemmas that arise as they and their group partners face their mortality head on.

The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying offers readers a way to share coping strategies, participate in meaningful dialogue, and take advantage of professional information tailored to their specific needs. Topics include spirituality, sexuality and intimacy, legal concerns, final stages, and assisted dying. The book does not take an advocacy position on any of these topics. It does, however, advocate for the holistic self-determination of sick, elder, and dying people, which can only be achieved when they have adequate information.

Facing your mortality with the kind of support The Amateur’s Guide To Death And Dying offers does not eliminate the pain and poignancy of separation. Rather it involves confidently facing these things and living through them to the end.

This innovative workbook on death and dying is now available on Amazon and in bookstores. I welcome your thoughts, comments, and reviews.

All the best,
Richard

Richard Wagner, Ph.D., ACS
richard@theamateursguide.com
Our website: The AmateursGuide.com
Join us on Facebook
Follow us on Twitter
Buy the book HERE!

the indomitable human spirit

Happy Solstice, sex fans!

I know I’m supposed to be on holiday, but I just couldn’t resist sharing with you this correspondence that typifies the season. It is a true celebration of the indomitable human spirit.

Name: Roman
Gender: Male
Age: 22
Location: Kansas
I’m a 22 and I have cerebral palsy. My girlfriend has CP too. You say you have experience working with people with disabilities. Do you know about how CP and how it affects our balance and muscle control? Me and my GF have difficulty having sex. Our bodies don’t move like other people. Most of the time we are in wheelchairs and, while sitting is ok, our stiff legs make conventional sex impossible. We have invented ways to get each other off, but when it comes to intercourse we are stumped. We’ve tried different things, but we can’t get the angle right. We’ve looked for ideas on the internet, but nothing.

Kudos to you Roman, and your plucky girlfriend. You kids sound like you’ve got it gonin’ on, I’m really impressed. You’re right, I have some experience with people with disabilities, particularly around the issue of sexuality. And I am familiar with the affects of cerebral palsy on one’s balance and muscle control. So I think I can help you. However, I want you to help me too. I think you could help me and my audience understand and appreciate your situation a bit better.

Here’s why I think this. It’s not often I hear from such an articulate fellow in your particular circumstance. So I want to ask you a few questions. (Any one else out there in my audience who wants to chime in on this, please do!) In the past, most of the people I’ve encountered who have disabling conditions, like CP have been at the mercy of those who care for them at home or in assisted living facilities. So would it be correct for me to guess that you and your girlfriend are living independently? It sounds that way to me. The reason I say that is, one of the most troubling problems folks, like ya’ll, have is finding private time and space for any intimacies of whatever kind. Families and assisted living facilities are notorious for not giving or respecting a client’s privacy.

If you are in an independent living situation and you have enough privacy to engage in intimacies that can get you off, short of intercourse. How do you do you get one another off? Is this done while you’re in your chairs? If you’re actually getting naked with each other, and I hope you are, do you need assistance from someone to achieve this?

Here’s why I’m asking you this. If you are having a person assist you as far as getting out of your cloths and into the sack with each other, would it be out of the question for either of you to ask this person to help you get into position for fucking? I ask this because on one very special occasion a couple I knew some years ago asked me to assist them in their love making. At first, I didn’t know if I was up to the task. Not because I would be freaked out gimps gettin their groove on — not at all. I was concerned that I wouldn’t know what to do, or how to do it. My friends, the couple, told me not to worry, that they would direct me if I helped them manage their limbs and coordinate their movements. I was honored by their request, so I accepted their invitation.

We were all really nervous, me especially. They asked if I would be comfortable being naked with them. This put me on the spot, for sure. It’s not that I was uncomfortable being naked, that’s rarely an issue. But I was strangely uncomfortable being naked with them. Was it professional pride? Did I feel more secure being clothed, less vulnerable that way? Hell, I don’t know. They explained that they didn’t want this to be some kind of clinical thing where I was being a therapist, albeit an unconventional therapist.

In the end I relented. And after a few minutes of feeling really awkward, we lost our inhibitions and got down to business. Just so you know, my friends were right. Had I kept my cloths on, the experience wouldn’t have been the same. While I tried to be as unobtrusive as possible, I was remarkably able to experience, in a most intimate way, what it must be like to live in a body that doesn’t respond like my body does. I felt like my friends’ bodies were extensions of my body. And they said they felt the same way; that my body was an extension of their bodies. It was a communion like no other.

My friends kept cracking jokes. Every time I’d topple over trying to get the two lovebirds into position they’d say something like: “is that what it’s like having an able body?” BITCHES! No doubt, the humor and giggling help take the edge off for us all. I know it helped me overcome being so self-conscious. I confess I was a bit embarrassed to be the only able body person present.

What struck me most in all of this was the determination of my friends. I’ve never met anyone more dogged and tenacious…and all to get a little nookie. God bless ‘em!

We tried several positions. Luckily, my friends had upped the dose of their muscle relaxant medications so they were a bit more pliable. One position that seemed to work particularly well was having my friends lying on their sides facing each other. I helped the woman swing one of her legs over her guy. I was then able to scoot their pelvises together and guide his dick into her pussy. Then all I needed to do is bounce them a little. It was brilliant, even though it was the hardest I ever worked for a fuck — and it wasn’t even me who was doing the fucking.

We were all completely exhausted by the experience. My friends were enormously grateful and I was blissed out. It took them days to recover, but at least they achieved what they so desperately wanted. Did they ever attempt intercourse again? I don’t know. They may have discovered that fucking, especially if it takes that much concentration and energy may not be worth it. Maybe they realized that full-on fucking is not necessarily for full-on sexual enjoyment. I mean my friend was expert at eating out his girlfriend. All I had to do is help him in into position. And she got off on it big time…oh and so did he…the randy little bugger!

So, Roman, I didn’t mean to go on and on like that. Sorry if I got off topic. I just wanted to tell you that story because I thought it might suggest to you and your girlfriend the idea of having someone help you guys fuck. It’s worth a try, right?

Good luck

Sex Advice With An Edge — Podcast #33 — 10/01/07

[Look for the podcast play button below.]

Hey sex fans,

I have a really swell show for you today. We have several very interesting questions from the sexually worrisome. And I respond with an equal number of cheeky, fun and oh so informative responses! Hey, it’s what I do.

  • Jose wants to bag a stripper.
  • Cheryl & Vern only have time to fuss and fight.
  • Green Guy is on the pity pot, but not for long.
  • Roman and his GF have cerebral palsy. And they want to get it on!

BE THERE, OR BE SQUARE!

Check out The Lick-A-Dee-Split Connection. That’s dr dick’s toll free podcast voicemail. Don’t worry people; no one will personally answer the phone. Your message goes directly to voicemail.

Got a question? No time to write? Give dr dick a call at (866) 422-5680. Again, the TOLL FREE voicemail number is (866) 422-5680. DON’T BE SHY, LET IT FLY !

Look for my podcasts on iTunes. You’ll fine me in the health section under the subheading — Sexuality. Or just search for Dr Dick Sex Advice With An Edge. And don’t forget to subscribe. I don’t want you to miss even one episode.

Say, would you like to become a sponsor for one or more of my weekly sex advice podcasts? As you know, I plug a product or service at the beginning and end of each show. Each podcast has its own posting on my site along with the name of the podcast sponsor and a banner for the product or service.

The beauty part about this unique opportunity is that once a sponsor’s ad is included in a particular podcast that sponsor is embedded there forever.

Your sponsorship also underscores your social conscience. Your marketing dollars will not only got to promote your product, but you will be doing so while helping to disseminate badly needed sex education and sexual enrichment messages. Simply put, ya just can’t get a better bang for your advertising buck!

For further information, contact me at: dr_dick@drdicksexadvice.com

Today’s podcast is once again bought to you by: DR DICK’S HOW TO VIDEO LIBRARY.

q.jpg