She misses romance and sex. Is her disability getting in the way?

Hello, lovely,

I hope you are well! It sure is tricky to bundle all your backstory into a few brief sentences, isn’t it? Here we go. I’m single, and not unhappy, but I miss romantic touch and sex. I’d adore having my own (or heck, multiple!) lover/s. Even a full-on Relationship, if I found the right man.

I’m disabled, with a chronic (and invisible) illness that leaves me mostly housebound and affects my mobility, stamina, etc. Going out and meeting people — which I enjoy, and make friends doing — is very difficult for me.

Dating apps have been eh. While I appreciated the ego-stroking provided by people finding me attractive on superficial criteria (especially since I’m 40 and have more fat than society deems acceptable), most of the matches have been with men I’m not actually that interested in.

This might be due to the challenges of writing a bio. I either omit even a single hint of my disability (and then am forced to have That Conversation over, and over, and over) or I mention it and watch helplessly as my bio becomes a long-form apology for… well, me. I vacillate between deciding I ought to settle for anyone who is interested in me, and defiantly declaring I will never settle for anyone who doesn’t deserve my attention. Because I am splendid, damn it!

Being in a fifteen-year-long relationship with someone who didn’t know he was asexual is Not Helping, unsurprisingly. I’ve been single since that relationship ended and oh, I miss being desired. There’s a twirly knot of fear that I won’t ever have that feeling again. I don’t know what I need from you, lovely. Perhaps a mantra I can salve over my bruised sense of self and march (with a cane) back into the dance. (Yes, I nearly said “fray”.) (Sigh.)

With warm regards,

The Valid Invalid (she/her)

Dear TVI,

As I searched creative commons, seeking an image for this post (send them some money if you have it!), I came across the strangest thing.

Most of my searches result in page after page of people. After all, we are people. We like to take photos of people.

The search for ‘disability?’

An entire page of objects. Symbols. Parking spaces. (So many parking spaces! Yes, we get better parking, ableds — try to keep body and soul together in the face of this grave injustice). Equipment. Signs.

Finally, I got down to some people. One of the first: a man in a transport wheelchair, his head in his hands.

SO many people think of disability as a concept, as a designation, as a living misery — that they can’t see the disabled people. For whatever reason, ‘disabled and dating’ turned out a bunch of ‘inspirational’ amputees competing in olympic sports. I dunno. I guess we can be people if we are superhuman. “Romance and disability,” “kissing and wheelchair,” etc. came up either blank or just really, really off-topic.

This is how the world sees us: nonsexual, alien, Not To Be Spoken of Or Seen. Invisible.

So of course we sometimes see ourselves that way. Internalized disablism is a real thing, and it sucks.

Throw in an asexual partner for 15 years whom you didn’t know was asexual (“oh, I miss being desired. There’s a twirly knot of fear that I won’t ever have that feeling again” just get me in the gut), and . . . Christ.

If one doesn’t kill your sexuality, the other one will.

So the fact that you’ve been putting yourself out there despite enormous societal and personal pressures is itself an enormous victory.

Celebrate that, sister. Seriously. You are, indeed, splendid!

I can answer your question straightforwardly: no, you do not have to settle. You are not ‘damaged goods,’ disabled or no, and you need to kick to the curb any other ideas about that. I already know a few sexAY things about you: you’re an excellent, wry, and evocative writer; you are pretty (sorry, folks, only I get to see the thumbnail); you are over 40 and therefore probably darn good in bed.

And I have practical advice for dating apps.

But first . . . you say you have a chronic condition and going out is very difficult for you, and then you mention a cane.

Just a cane.

Is there a reason you didn’t mention any other mobility equipment?

Because a chair or a scooter or even crutches or a walker with a seat on it could be a game-changer.

A lot of us with pain or fatigue issues (you said disabled with a chronic invisible condition, so I’m going to assume it’s pain, fatigue, or some other exhausting issue) could really use some goddamned physical support. If you really enjoy going out and meeting people, and a chair or scooter could help, please figure out how to get one. I’m serious. I know it makes us look more crippy, but who cares when you’re having a great time?

Being out in a wheelchair or with my crutches in social situations is a gift. Truly. It’s an Asshole Eliminator.

One look at someone and their expression when they see you can save you countless hours of texting. And people who have that vague ‘invisible but only a symbol’ vision of disability will see a real, live, obviously disabled person who is splendid and worth getting to know.

Seriously. If money is an issue and you don’t have good insurance, stalk craigslist or FB Marketplace for used scooters. Rent them at tourist places and museums. DO NOT BE AFRAID.

Did you know that cripples give each other a little nod when we see each other in public? A solidarity nod. I fucking LOVE that nod. LOVE IT. We are in this together, we are saying. Read up on disability history. There have been a lot of badass and mad sexy cripples fighting for our rights, and seeing yourself a part of that proud history takes some of the sting of public disability away. It instills disability pride, which banishes disability shame.

Now — if all of that is just crap (and even if it isn’t), here is some very practical advice when using dating apps (which you really have to do; statistics show this is where most people are meeting sex and romance partners.)

Although my aim is not men, I discovered that putting my disability front and center attracted a lot of beautiful, bright, and interesting women on apps. (Especially okcupid for whatever reason.) And it weeded out those who are dipshits about disability. (For the record, I am also over 40 and fat.)

You don’t have to mention it in your bio at all, except perhaps in the ‘things I could never live without’ section: “My super sweet cane that takes me everywhere I go,” perhaps.

Make sure your photo, after the first closeup of your face, features your cane in some way. Pose with it. Lean your chin on it pensively. Strut with it.

This is how you unapologetically bring up the subject of disability; show them. Here you are, a perfect dandy, with your cane. Here you are, leaning on it with a smoky expression. Here you are, disabled and a stone cold fox.

Then, you talk about everything else in your bio (except for that one reference to a cane, perhaps, in a very positive light). People who look at your first photo or two will see that you use a cane. They don’t need any details up front. Truly they don’t. Any more than they need to know about your childhood, happy or miserable or both, your secret fears and desires, your entire health history. They just need to see that yes, you are disabled.

Then you only go out with guys you think you’d like. That’s it. Do not settle. No no no no no.

Look at the image I finally found for this letter. This lady is fat and disabled. And she is in the arms of a man and they are watching the sun set over the water at Prince Edward Island and it is ROMANTIC AF and I’ll bet afterward they schtüpped like bunnies.

You can have that, too. You can you can you can.

Can I still make a woman orgasm?

Dear Gentle Butch,

I’m a fairly well adjusted single lesbian. I’ve had female lovers since I was a teenager, and have had a fairly fun and active sex life.

However.

My last two major relationships were with women who could not orgasm. So, it’s literally been more than 8 years since I’ve gotten a woman off.

And now I’m nervous.  What if I’ve forgotten how?

Signed,
Stone Butch’s Bottom Blues

 

Dear SBBB,

The wonderful thing about sex is that every woman’s orgasm is different. I’m not going to say that’s also the awful thing about sex, because if we were all just coded creatures that all orgasmed the same way, would sitting around pushing each other’s buttons be as fun? (I said AS fun.)

So the thing is this: you DON’T know how to make ‘a woman’ orgasm. You know how to make the women you have slept with orgasm, except for the two who don’t. And neither does anyone else.

There. All better, now?

No, really.

One of the many terrific things about sex is that you are getting to know how someone’s body not only looks, feels, tastes, and smells — but how their body (and their sexy sexy brain) works. One of the specific joys of sleeping with someone you don’t already know how to get off is the journey getting there!

It’s unlikely you’re going to just quickly get each other off in a rote fashion. You have to pay attention. You have to explore.

No. You GET to pay attention. You GET to explore. And you get to listen.

One of the things I’ve heard a lot of women say is that sex between women has fewer expectations than sex between a man and a woman. There isn’t a generally-accepted definition even of what sex IS.

How freeing, right? To have no expectations? No definitions?

And how terrifying.

If you lean into that fear and let it make your pulse race, if you let feeling a bit out of your element add excitement instead of panic, you’re going to at the very least have a great time.

And if she’s good at knowing what she wants and using her words? All the better.

You can’t forget what you don’t already know. So go get ’em. Get yourself some knowledge, and take your time learning it.