Never Been Missed: Looking for a First Second Date!

In life, we experience a number of very specific and character building ‘firsts’: first word, first day of school, first failure, first job, first date, etc.     Each of these ‘firsts’ are seen as a rite of passage that each of us go through.  They give us the tools and the experience we need to become the people we want to be.   It is expected that these ‘firsts’ will quickly become seconds, thirds and fourths as we navigate the world around us.    I’d like to focus in on the first date, and discuss why I feel it has been a particularly pivotal post for me as a PwD.

The first date is a trope that we have become all too familiar with.   Movies and media have highlighted that one’s first date can have two very distinct outcomes: it can go amazingly and you can meet someone with whom you connect on all the levels; you know that whole “sparks fly” thing occurs, and the fires of passion begin a-burning.     On the other hand, first dates can lead to you making up stories to run out of there with your dignity intact.  C’mon, we’ve all been there: you’re looking across the table and thinking, “I should totally be binging Netflix right now”, wondering why you left your apartment for this sorry attempt at social interaction.   

Even with the risk of romantic ruin always on the horizon, we trudge forward, slogging through bad date after slightly better-but still-pretty-bad date, knowing that eventually, 1 will lead to 2 will lead to standing in the sun in Vermont.  We just have to keep putting ourselves out there, and we will click with someone, right?

Imagine though, that the cringe-inducing first date that is chock-full of awkward silences, uncertainty and a slew of poorly placed puns, was the only kind of date that you had ever been on.   That you don’t know what it feels like to actually connect with someone, because after drinks and dinner, as you wheel out from behind the table in your wheelchair, they don’t call you.  They say all the things that they have been conditioned to say, in an attempt to spare your feelings, and for two seconds you think maybe you’ll see them again. You don’t.

Seriously, at times it can be like living in a bad Adam Sandler/Katherine Heigl date film without the happy ending.   I am not sure how many times I have explained my disability to someone, being sure to insert a pun, waiting for the look of terror to twist into, at the very least an uncomfortable smile. How many times I have had text conversations that very quickly became one-sided and eventually ended by telling me they “just couldn’t do it” or some variation of this.     

These are things that could happen to anyone, I know, so it doesn’t necessarily mean that they are directly correlated to disability, but I will say that when you have never had anything other than a first date, each one marked by a series of nervous queries, made either to question or quiet the disability, these thoughts start to creep in.

To paraphrase a line from any number of romantic comedies from the late 80s to mid 90s, while I have been kissed MANY TIMES (I am indeed that amaze balls), I often feel that I will never be missed.  Will anybody ever want to see me again?    

I’ll never get to experience that which comes after the first drink or dinner, and bad movie we both watched together. I’ll never get to really understand what it means to be wanted My dating history will be filled by awkward half-hugs and nothing more.   I worry that every time I go on a date, you’ll only see a part of me, and never get the chance to experience the All-Encompassing Awesomeness that is Andrew.    I think I know why, too:  Agreeing to go on a second or third date with me, means that not only will you be getting to know me, you’ll be getting to know my disability as well.   The novelty of going on one date with that disabled dude will wear off, and all you’ll be left with is my crippledness in context.   

Many well-intentioned guys can’t handle that reality, and to them I say, “That’s okay, but you don’t know who you’re missing out on.”    The scariest part of that last statement is that, if they don’t come back for more, I’ll never know who it is they’re missing out on either.

If this world is all about our ‘firsts’, I think I may just be ready for my first second date.          

Accessing Your Ableism: The Fascinating Way in which Ableism Affects Our Perceptions of Sex and Disability.

Ableism is a tricky bugger, if I ever saw one.  Those of us in social justice/activist/advocacy/disability awareness (crip) circles use the term frequently to describe the actions of those who have blatantly ignored the experience of living a Deliciously Disabled lifestyle.   In our heads, we tend to think of it as an overt, blatant display of inappropriate behaviour towards a Person with a Disability: calling them a derogatory term, refusing to help them with something they need, ignoring them or talking down to them.    I always assumed that this was ableism—that to be an “ableist” individual meant that you were also an asshole of a special breed.     I couldn’t have been more wrong, and I am compelled to highlight why in this blog today.

The other night, I went to a book reading and signing by one of my amazing friends who works in the field of Sex and Disability, Kaleigh Trace.  She was talking about how we, whether we want to believe so or not, all harbour the capacity to access our own brand of ableism; that it was a part of each of us.  I would very quickly learn how right she was.

After the event was done, one of the participants who was heading to the subway offered me a hand in getting there (this was great, if not solely for the fact that I am directionally challenged in all the ways, but also because I thought he was quite the charmer).   We made our way out, and started making small talk about the kinds of stuff we liked to do, etc.   Then he asked me, “what I was into?”   In gay hook up terminology, this is undoubtedly an invitation to turn on the sexiness.  I asked him what he meant, just to ensure that I didn’t step over any bounds (I have a tendency to do so if a cute boy/possibility arises).  He sweetly said, he was just being polite, but he would be happy to discuss my sexual interests.   I was giddy with anticipation: What?! The guy who I think is really cute actually WANTS to explore this avenue with me?  Mind. Blown.  As we continued to chat, we were about halfway to the subway, when I mustered up some courage and asked him to hang out a bit longer (true fact: I NEVER DO THIS.  I get scared that the other person couldn’t possibly want to, and simply don’t ask).   He agreed, and we dipped into a coffee shop and chatted more.

What I found most interesting about our discussion was his curiosities and fears around sex and disability.   He told me that to learn about his sexuality, he had accessed conventional pornography (e.g. white, gay, muscular, homo-normative males), and that he had always wanted to sexualize a PwD, but didn’t know how.  Sidebar: I am sure that any of you who know me, understand the wide-eyed grin that crept over my face at that exact moment.  It was on, I had my chance and I was going to take it.  I made a few passing remarks about how sex and disability is the best thing ever, and should he want to sample it, here I am.

Throughout the evening, as we stumbled around the city, I watched him watching me.  I could see his wheels turning at the idea that this individual, a member of a group that he was taught never to eroticize, was sitting across from him provocatively putting a grape leaf in his mouth (in truth, I was shoving it in so that it didn’t fall—nothing sexy about that). I could see that he wanted to discover the deliciousness of disability, but all that he thought he knew was holding him back (that, and he had never met anyone as ballsy as I am).  Every few minutes, he seemed to relax, and then every so often the fear of the unknown crept beneath his smile.   It was so strange and beautiful all at once.  He had a plethora of curious queries, and after each one, he would smile and say, “Sorry,” as if his wonderings had opened a wound I had long since tried to close.  We talked about ableism a lot that night. 

I am a proponent of people being given the space to access their fears and discomfort around disability.  I think those are valid emotions that must be openly operationalized.  Truthfully though, I never thought I would see it happen in front of my eyes, as it was happening.   I watched this person confront his own ableism, and openly admit to me that the idea of sexuality and disability, both titillated and terrified him.  The difference here was, that it was not an overt, aggressive act designed to oppress me.  He wasn’t trying to hurt me or deny me; rather he simply wanted an understanding of something he had never been asked to truly consider before this very moment.  

What I learned from him is that ableism seen in the small gestures, the little moments, and the things that we are too afraid to access within ourselves, but that we’re dying to know the answers to.  It is there always, lying dormant beneath surface.    What I learned from him (and for this I am ever grateful) is that it takes someone with a strong voice, a cheeky smile, and an understanding of the opportunity that lives within oppression, to wake it, while simultaneously shaking up everything you thought you knew.

Get involved with the #DeliciouslyDisabled message and movement here and follow me on Twitter. 

Doing it Deliciously Disabled Style: That Time I had Sex with Another Queer Cripple

He was my first.  I have never been more excited or more utterly terrified of anything in my whole life.   The thought of us being together made my heart race, and other parts of me stand at attention.   It started out like any other hook up; we met online, discussed our likes and dislikes.  I remember that his pictures didn’t immediately signify he was disabled…

“So, before we go any further… I should tell you, I am in a wheelchair,” he said.  I know what he was probably feeling; the potential fear of rejection the sits in the pit of your stomach, and battles with the feeling that “you might actually get some” every time this opportunity presents itself as a PwD.    Also at this moment, two very distinct happenings took place for me.   

The first was an extreme sense of relief and happiness.   Finally, I might get to spend time with someone who actually understands all of the stuff that comes along with trying to access your sexuality when living with a disability.  I could take off my Professor Disability cap with this one, and let my dark, delectable and delicious side come out to play.   I was excited by the prospect of being free in the moment – not actually having to worry if he was apprehensive or scared of all that my disability would bring into the boudoir.   I might actually be able to let my guard down, and let Apprehensive Andrew have a rest.    

At the same time, I kept running through the logistics in my head.  Sitting in my 300 lbs. chair, I worried how we would be able to help me out and how this would actually happen.    Would he be able to lift me into bed?  Would I have to call someone to help us (truthfully, the idea of having a third party in the bedroom is super hot, but not when they are not directly involved in the taste test that may be occurring)?   In that moment, I understood what all the guys who I had hooked up with must have felt on some level (isn’t it cute how I said “all the guys”, like it’s happening on the regular? Le sigh).   You see, whether we want to admit it to ourselves or not, each of us has a schematic of how sex, including the preamble, should look.   

Typically, my preamble would involve my able-bodied partner carrying me over the threshold, and placing me in bed, while some 80s ballad plays in the background and we fall into the fantasy of it all.    (Note: in reality, my part-time lovers try really hard to understand my disability and what I’ll need, but it usually starts with me asking if they are okay 700 million times prior to any playfulness.)   This wouldn’t be the case here.   I had never had a fantasy involving another PwD, so I had no clue how to process the possibilities.

The day finally came.  I remember that he had come up to my place, and I was so happy at that moment that I had an accessible apartment.   I remember that when he entered my space, I was unable to stop grinning, because for the first time ever, my lover was on my level – and there was something altogether comforting about that fact.    Somehow, he managed to get me out of my big chair, and we stumbled and practically fell in the bed.   His body writhed a top mine, and we negotiated the removal of clothes.   Usually, when I am with non-disabled individuals, there is an element of care that comes into this routine.  Not here.   For once, the stumbling felt natural, sexy.  It wasn’t precipitated by fear that if you touch me, you’ll break me.      It was rushed out of desire not deterrence.  Hawt sawce.

During the rendezvous, when we were finally settled, I looked across the room and saw our two wheelchairs sitting aside one another.   I kept grinning at this reality… two cripples copulating, being together in that moment.  Our bodies not broken, but bonded by the oppressions and obstacles we had faced.    We were on equal footing (phrasing? LOL), which only made our connection that much more intense.

When all was said and done, I remember saying goodbye to him at the door.  As I watched him wheel away, I was elated and excited by what had just happened.  This was so much better than anything I had ever experienced – it felt like I, in a way, had lost my virginity again.

I called him a few days later, excited to see him and see where things might lead.  In my feverish frenzy to relish in the moment, I asked him to hang out again.   He paused.  It was the pause we all know.  The one where they’re about to reveal to you something you knew deep, deep inside.   After his pause, which felt like an eternity, he said that we couldn’t see each other again because… I was “too disabled” and “too much work.”   I was absolutely floored by what I was hearing.   I couldn’t believe that someone who most likely had experienced all the same stumbles as I had was being so very ableist. What. Was. Happening?  I think I actually thought, “He isn’t allowed to say that, is he?”   It was some of the worst rejection that I have ever experienced, because it came from one of my own.

What this experience highlights for me is that the effects of ableism and the scripts that we have been indoctrinated with when it comes to sex and sexuality do not discriminate.   Anybody is susceptible to these fears and prejudices, disability notwithstanding.   

All that being said, if you are wheeled and want to have your way with me, I am ready, charged and waiting….

Tick, Tock: Cripples and the Clock - Persons with Disabilities and the Timeline

The other day, I was sitting in a meeting with some colleagues for a project that I am a part of around Queer Seniors and their stories.   One piece of this project was to construct a timeline of all the Queer things that had happened throughout their life time.  It was fascinating to hear them talk about living through the criminalization of homosexuality, and then attempting to find themselves once it had been de-criminalized, realizing that the stigmas still lingered.   Ultimately, the timelines attempted to highlight the progress that we have made in the Queer Community.

When it came time for me to apply Queers with Disabilities, and my lived experience to this timeline, I realized that the timeline was just beginning for us.  In many ways, our stories have yet to be told, have yet to shared with anyone.   We are only just starting to be seen and heard as sexual beings AND as Deliciously Disabled.   

Truthfully, in looking at the idea of time as a Deliciously Disabled dude-lover, it scares me a lot.  When I was a teenager (around 13 or 14), aside from secretly hoping that I would run off into the sunset with any of the sports stars at my high school, or that the fantasy I had of making out with them in the locker room would come true, I would tell myself at night that by the time I turned 18, 19 (insert supposed milestone years here), that I would have some semblance of normalcy. I was that kid that wanted it to be tomorrow or the next day, so that something "real" might happen.  I hoped as hard as I could that I would reach those markers like all of my peers, and that my time would come.   I dreamt that I would have my first boyfriend, my first real shot at someone who wanted to be there.  I would give myself these arbitrary timelines in the hopes that fate might step in.  

If I am honest with all of you, as my early 30s (31 to be exact) starts in just under 2 months, I still feel the need to think about that timeline.   Every so often, I worry that I haven't really grown into myself as a man, because I've never had a boyfriend, never gone on a real date, and never felt like someone wanted to stay.   As time ticks on, those wants grow ever stronger.

Time for those of us who identify as Deliciously Disabled, can also often feel like it isn't truly ours.  We are constantly negotiating bookings for personal care, buses and other things related to our disabilities.   Everything is regimented, planned and decided in advance.  For myself, spontaneity is one of the sexiest things in the whole world.   It allows me to stop worrying, and counting every single minute of my day in relationship to my care plan.   One of my biggest wants is to go on a road trip with a bunch of people, and not ever have to worry about when my attendant is coming, or wake up on a rainy Sunday morning next to a good looking man, and do the crossword naked (ummmm, is this what happens when you get older?  Your fantasies are less about locker rooms and more about longevity?).  

There is a statistic floating about that keeps my awake at night worrying about my timeline:

It makes me worry that these things I long for will not come, in time.   That said, I also see the liberation in the fact that I have never adhered to anyone's clock.   I can create my own chronology, and tell my own story as it happens.  Instead of laying in bed waiting for the clock to strike 12, worried that you will never reach that milestone due to the barriers of disability, take time to remember that your disability will help you create moments and memories that no one else will understand, that are unique to your experience as a PwD. Don't wait for a moment like this, create a moment for the crips. 

Thanks for reading!  Find out more about Deliciously Disabled, and hire me on as a Disability Awareness Consultant, by heading over to www.andrewmorrisongurza.com    

Deliciously Disabled Dalliances: How to become a Fully Functional Flirt!

I think we can all agree that flirting is one of those things that can come easy to us, or it can be like pulling teeth.   If I am being honest with you all, I would say that I am one  of the most flirtatious people out there (this truly is a juxtaposition of sorts, because when I actually get the opportunity to stand next to the objects of my affections, of which there are plenty, words seem to be lost on me, and all I can actually do is stutter, stammer and fail to remain calm.  You can picture butterflies, alarm bells and any other metaphor for excitement here).    
I love the idea that I can use my words to make someone blush, smile and do a double take when they realize that, yes, this disabled guy sitting in front of them fancies them and is flirting.    

My flirtatious nature is directly related to my disability (or so I believe), and I would like to unpack and explore why that is.  The first thing that comes to mind when I consider the correlation, is the fact that I use my sexuality as a way to prove my worth.    Let me be clear, I understand that I am the sexiest PwD out there, but I continuously feel as though I have to show this to others.    There are so many deceptions when it comes to our understanding of (in my case) the "Palsy and the Peen" that I always want to show my viability in this respect. My thought process is: "if I can show you that I'm sexy, everything else will follow". This usually presents itself by way of a cheesy one liner.  While not particular tasteful, it does the job of disarming my potential playmate.  Disability and sexuality are still so taboo, that I think there is something subconsciously sexy when a PwD puts that out there, and partners can pick up on that.  

The language that the routine of disability employs is one of necessity.  PwD are often talking to Occupational Therapists, Attendant Care Workers, Transit Operators who leave you on hold for 45 minutes while you wait to book an accessible ride 7 days in advance of the actual event.  You end up talking in quazi-professional, curt sentences that have been carefully constructed to convey precisely what you need or want.  They lack flare, flavour or freedom.   So, when those strictures are loosened, and you have the opportunity to say what you want to really, really say, it feels great and the floodgates will open to a stream of sensuality the likes of which many have never seen!


I also think that I am fantastically flirty as a result of shame around my disability.     I am not too scared or proud to admit that I carry a lot of fear around what my disability means for me.   I am constantly cooking up new ways to find the tidbits that make disability delectable on a personal level.   That is one of the reasons that I started Deliciously Disabled, but it also acts as a form of "self-care".   There is a magical power in knowing that even though there are a myriad of barriers that often keep the boys at bay, I can still find the sexiness while being seated.

If you're wondering just how I do it, while I can't give away all the ingredients that make up this cool cripple concoction, I will share with you some suggestions that you make your seat the hottest place around:

Use what you've got:   If you use a mobility device like a wheelchair or a cane, you have all that you need to make disability flirty and flavourful.  Let's review:

• "Man, it's a super good thing I have my chair with me.  You're so cute, I got weak in the knees and fainted."  

• "Wanna play with my joystick? / Wanna feel my cane?" 

It's so rare that we have fun with these devices that are at our disposal.  They are so often just the things that assist us to get from A to B.  They have become medicalized and sterilized, much like our bodies.  They are simply pieces of equipment.    Let's break it down for just a sec, my chair is an extension of myself, so why wouldn't I use it to get mine?  It's time to get delicious and devious with our devices. 

I am also somebody with spasms.   This means at the slightest sound I don't expect, I will jump in the air like a gun was just shot above my head (seriously, a pin drops, and I am spazzing).   This can be really useful if you and a partner, are getting to know one another and you want to be playful.   Ensuring that the touch is wanted and consensual, you could always have a spasm that just happens to graze their knee.   

When it comes to disability, one of the buzzwords that the medical community loves to use is function.  When I was little, they would always say things like, "Andrew will never have full function..."  OR "Let's get you functional with that stretch."     Utilizing your disability in social situations wherein there may or may not be romantic potential, means that you are on your way to become a fully functional flirt, because you understand that as much as there are added obstacles when you are trying to "get them to go gimp" (trying that one out.  Thoughts?), you also see the wealth of opportunity as well, and there's nothing sexier than that! 

To find out more about my work as a Disability Awareness Consultant and the #DeliciiouslyDisabled campaign, head on over to www.andrewmorrisongurza.com, and let's find a way to make disability delicious for you! 

     

      

Opening the Door to the Deliciously Disabled: The Importance of Having Accessibility in Sexual Spaces

   Over the past few weeks, I have been invited to a few sexy dance parties in the Queer community.   My Facebook has been blowing up with invites to underwear parties, backroom boogies, and tasty two steps.   Each time I receive these invites, my heart swells at the thought of them. I get a huge shit-eating grin on my face at the thought of even being in the presence of these beautiful men.   Just as quickly as the pitter patter of possibility pulls my strings, and I am whisked away to my fantasy (which may involve a lot of mood lighting, beards, and leather, by the way), I am abruptly halted and handicapped by my reality: many of these spaces are inaccessible to the Deliciously Disabled, and that is problematic.  

I want to explore what it feels like not to be able to directly access these spaces as a Person with a Disability.  How does it feel on an emotional level?  I also want to examine what it would mean if these spaces considered accessibility, and what exactly that would mean for the community as a whole.  

Lack of access for Persons with Disabilities is a constant fight.   This is nothing new to any of us, nor is it something that we will ever stop advocating for.    There have been many moments where I have had to decline a dance party because the venue can’t hold all my amazingness.  I just tell myself that they’re not ready for all my jelly and move on.  But then I go home and imagine all that I might be missing.  I turn on the music, attempting to drown it out by dancing.  No luck.  The thoughts linger, hang and gnaw at me.   If I am being honest, I am mourning the maleness, accessing my masculinity, and the memories I wanted to make.      

The deeper issue for me lies in the fact, that by not having access to these spaces I am denied the opportunity to safely show off my sexuality.   I am denied the chance to be anonymous.   I am denied the possibility of the prowl, the chase, and rolling up in my chair to go in for the kill.   I don’t get to look in your eyes with a half smile and wheel away, waiting for you to follow me to the backroom.   A lack of access leaves embers of lust, a quenching desire that is never quite satiated.   These are the outlets where sex and sexuality is free and fun.    For me, it is all forbidden.   Stairways that lead to smoke-filled rooms are just reminders that I am removed.

When I think of accessible sex spaces and why they are critically important, I think of the young queer cripple who lives at home with their parents, and who can’t get out to be who they are.   Having accessible space to engage in sexuality would mean that if I chose to, I wouldn’t have to host you; if I don’t feel like explaining every piece of my Palsy to you, I don’t have to.    It would mean that I don’t have to attach a false sense of permanence to our play; there would be no misinterpretations to be had. 

Considering accessibility in these spaces would strengthen the bond within the queer community.   Providing access to these sexual sanctuaries would show the community all it is that they are missing.  Disability and difference would soon be in demand. Instead of racing up the stairs holding hands on your way to the backroom with that beautiful boy, you could have your hands on the back of my chair, watching each revolution of my wheels up the ramp, reveling in what might come.    

Accessibility in these spaces would remind me that the community considers disability a dish not to merely to be tasted, but to be devoured.      Opening the door to disability in sexual spaces allows for everyone to bask in the warm, red glow of desire (for some reason, I assume that all sexy spaces are lit in this way). Failing to do so leaves the cute cripple crankily craving, but most unfortunately, it leaves the Queer community out in the cold on all that could be when it comes to disability.