As I am
lying there naked in bed, my mind has drifted off elsewhere. I am dreaming of beaches, boys and bodies –
anything to take my mind off of what is actually happening. As they touch me, I am forced to
disconnect. I have no other option but
to mentally remove myself. These moments
are weird and awkward to say the least.
All I want to do is scream, “PLEASE DON’T TOUCH ME RIGHT NOW!” but, if I
want to get out of my bed, I had best quiet that voice in my head. Resistance is futile.
Touch is,
without question, the most intimate and personal act that we can bestow on
another person. It connects us to those
that we love, to those who we care for; it reminds us that we are part of the
human experience. We like to think that
the concept of touch is wholly ours. We
decide whom we touch and who touches us, right?
In your
life as a sexy but seated individual, who needs help with all the little
things, the idea of someone else touching you in these moments, at first
becomes like second nature to you. You
simply understand and accept that you require assistance, and that’s all this
is – nothing more. Typically, as a young
child with a disability, the first person to touch you in this way is a
parent. This makes the entire act of
“touch” safe, comfortable, and okay.
There is an inherent understanding that they are helping you because
they care about you and your well-being.
As you get
older though, and move through systems filled with different attendants and
care providers, the idea of touch can take a different form altogether. Sooner than you realize, the concept of touch
has become transactional. There is no
longer a sense of care in these actions – you are simply a job to be
completed. Imagine it: your most
intimate parts of yourself being touched each and everyday, without true
feeling or compassion. I should preface
this by saying that, I understand the attendant is only doing their job, and
while that is okay, the way we are touched as People with Disabilities affects
how we see, feel and interact with the world around us, and I want to highlight
some of these feelings if I may.
Transactional
touching has greatly impacted how I understand the world around me. Whenever I see couples hugging or sharing an
intimate moment of affection with one another, I often wonder what that feels
like. I am curious what the sensation of
touch feels like when it is not required or demanded of in the moment to get
something done. “What do you mean, you
want to touch me just because… WHAT?!”
Mind. Blown.
If I am
being perfectly honest, transactional touch has made me think of my body
differently. You begin to see yourself
as an object, and it can be difficult to even touch yourself in a way that
conveys affection and intimacy. There
have been many moments where I asked myself, “Why am I doing this? What’s the point? Why is this sensation
important? Does it even matter?” Condoms
catheters and consumer care plans take precedence over caresses.
Moreover,
transactional touch has scared me to really touch others. I remember a couple times recently wherein I
have wanted to show affection to someone with a pat on the back or a quick hug,
and I thought about the perfunctory purpose, rather than simply doing it
because that is what I felt at the time.
Transactional
touch has also played a great part in my physical intimacy with others. In fact, I would say that there is one
undeniable upside to be touched in this way as a Person with a Disability: It has made me one of the most attentive
lovers ever. I understand the
importance of touch more than anyone, and the experience of disability has
helped me to hone that. Think about the
last time you hooked up with someone.
Surely you touched them… but did you truly touch them? Did you
understand what the touch meant rather than just focusing on the end goal? Did your touch cause a twinge in the far
reaches of their soul, because you understand the anguish and fear of not
knowing if you’d ever really feel that?
Transactional
touch has frustrated and infuriated me.
It has made me feel downplayed as a dude. It has terrified me into believing that this
is all I am worth. Nothing more. Even so, as a PwD, it has taught me to take
in every opportunity to hold and be held; it has shown me that it’s not
necessarily about how we finish – but what we are feeling along the way. Touch has transformed me into who I am. All
that poking, prodding and pushing into my personhood has given me the capacity
to connect like no other. So go ahead,
tease, tickle and touch me – for when I reciprocate the transaction, you’ll get
a really big return that will have you questioning every caress that came
before.