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Kinky Sex ≠ Rape. Resistance Play ≠ Rape.

But it’s still a delicate line to navigate.

oliverhyde:

… I’m beginning to think that you’re all secretly kinky.

So while we’re at it, could we also talk about how rape culture still exists within kinky culture?

I have a delightfully high sex drive.  High enough—and vigorous enough—I keep exhausting my partners, and my current partner is the closest I’ve come yet to meeting someone who can keep up with me.  (By “high sex drive”, I mean in a perfect world, I’d be having partnered sex multiple times per day.  Solo orgasms, too, because each is unique and wonderful, and I want as many of them as possible.)

When my partner and I first got together, it was a dream come true.  He actually wore me out, and I’ve never experienced that before.  Sadly, I haven’t experienced it since either, because promptly afterward, he went on antidepressants, which decimated his sex drive.  Both of us have been frustrated by that fact.

Tonight, he floated the suggestion that we play with the edges of resistance during sex.  See, he wants to have sex, but when (ahem) push comes to thrust, he gets this curious aversion to the messy aspect of it.  He hates it when that happens.  It means we’re having incredibly passionate sex…about once a week, and kvetching that we can’t the rest of the time.  He asked that when we want to have sex, unless he says “red”, I keep going, to help him past that aversion.  For lack of a better terminology, it’s aversion therapy.

A few years ago, in my previous relationship, I had a horrible conversation with my then-partner, where he told me he felt like I’d been raping him for the duration of our relationship.  He told me that other than a few times, it had always been coercive—including the very first time we had sex.  Hearing him tell me that was agonizing.  It couldn’t have been easy on him, either.  

My initial reaction was to deny, deny, deny.  Obfuscate, deny, excuse, deflect, deny.  Some days, that’s still my reaction, and believe me when I say, I feel and think about that conversation every single day.  I cannot enjoy a sexual encounter without thinking about it.  I cannot initiate sex without fearing that I’ll be raping my partner all over again.  I want to say, “No!  I am not a rapist!  I did not do this thing!”  And from my perspective, I didn’t.  I haven’t.  And I never will.  But my perspective doesn’t matter.  Rape is in the eye, body, and soul of the survivor.  Abuse and assault of any kind can only be determined by the survivor.  I do not have any right to say his experience is invalid.  No one does.

So when my current partner asks me to push him further than his initial resistance will allow, I think and I struggle.  I’m thrown right back into that accusatory conversation, and I relive it.  I talked to my current partner about it, too, and we’re good.  He’s helping me through it.  We have terrific communication, and sometimes that communication is best when we fail at it.  This is a tricky thing we’re negotiating here, to make sure it’s never rape.  We also enjoy rough sex, and you know, that’s never been rape, either.

Kinky sex is not rape.  Rape can look like rough sex.  Rape can look like the sweetest, most delicate, fragile, romantic lovemaking Hollywood could ever imagine.  You know what makes rape?  Lack of enthusiastic consent.  If you’re not sure if your partner’s into what you’re doing together, just stop.  It’s not hard to ask, and it’s not hard to respect the answer.  When Ben and I bruise, cut, scratch, claw, bite, shove each other into walls, throw each other down onto mattresses and carpets, grab handfuls of hair and pull until strands come out in our hands, we’re both saying “YES!” at the top of our lungs.  That, right there, makes our kinky sex NOT RAPE.  I cannot emphasize this enough: KINKY SEX ≠ RAPE.

When Ben and start to play, and we start to struggle against each other, even if we’re saying no in that moment, we stop and we check.  Until he says the word “red”—or I do—it’s go time.  He knows he can trust me to STOP when he says no.  And I know I can trust him to say it.  That promise to each other, that trust in each other, makes what we do NOT RAPE.  I can’t emphasize this enough, either: RESISTANCE PLAY ≠ RAPE.

Just like I do not have the right to tell my former partner I did not rape him, you do not have the right to tell anyone they are being raped.  Rape is strictly something determined by the survivor.  You can help someone get there, but the moment you try to force your worldview, your opinion, on them, try to convince them they’ve been raped, YOU’RE RAPING.  So stop it!  Put away your prejudice.  Listen to what they have to say, and respect it.  

By the way, this technique will serve you well when talking to pretty much everyone in the world.  Only one person has the right to determine a person’s experiences, and that’s the person who experienced them.

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9 notes

via oliver hyde
  1. livingrosencrantz said: bahhh you’re really awesome. *helpful contribution is helpful*
  2. gnomees reblogged this from oliverhyde and added:
    But it’s still a delicate line to navigate. I have a delightfully high sex drive. High enough—and vigorous enough—I keep...
  3. trashyfiction answered: oh my fucking god, I’m so glad you brought this up. I was just raging about this the other day.
  4. oliverhyde posted this
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