Consent is sexy
I had planned to go to sleep early this Friday night. But he had clear green eyes and he made me laugh so much I did not see the time passing by. The party was crowded but we’ve been talking only the two of us for a good two hours, sharing a mix of gin and tonic in a plastic bottle. We had just met and were pretending to be spies on a special mission, making up stories about life undercover. A bit later, I told him I would reveal my real job if he would kiss me. He did, but I did not reveal my job because our lips could not unseal. His hands were quickly slipping underneath my favorite black velvet crop-top. His face was so close to mine I could not distinguish his two different eyes and they became one huge bug eye. I kissed his neck and discovered he had three adorable moles lining up. Since my first kiss at the bus stop in Junior High School, I have loved kissing men’s necks, where it all so soft and so warm, the skin so fine. He smelled like cigarette and soft bear lotion or perfume and I loved that.
“Are you ok with this”, he said in my ear. He got his hands away from my skin to put them back on my top, his body slightly less close to mine, as I haven’t reacted straight away. “Please tell me if I’m too…”, he pursued. “I’m much more than OK”, I replied, smiling, kissing his ear, putting my hands underneath his sweater too. He laughed and hold me closer, tighter, stronger. His hands were back on my skin as he softly and firmly pushed me back against the wall behind me. “I’m ok, but maybe not here,” I added, and we laughed, because we just could not stop laughing, and decided we would share a cab to his place because mine was such a mess.
Does this story seem like the death of romance to you ? The end of hot passionate sex ? The domination of a crazy feminist totalitarism ? The slow death of femininity and flirting, the assassination of Eros ? Does this story of a man asking for my consent before putting his hands underneath my clothes seem “ridiculous”, as some women in my country seem to be thinking ?
Because myself, I found super hot being asked for my explicit consent. And I would never pretend to speak in the name of every women but I am pretty sure I am not the only one. Moving from Paris to Berlin, I discovered a city where it seems obvious to most people that asking for consent is sexy. Of course, the city is not perfect and crime, rapes and sexual assault sadly occur too. But here, I discovered a town in which women are not afraid to dress as they like, to hit on men, to dance by themselves for hours without anyone bothering them. In Paris my friends and I would mostly go to gay parties to experience this safe space.Sometimes women here even dance topless in crazy places and nobody would annoy them. Unless they make you understand you could make a move, you know, by looking directly into your eyes, smiling at you, or insane thing, coming to talk to the person they fancy.
Here we go back home at whichever time of the night we decided to, because we wanted to. We don’t plan to end our night earlier, take a pair of jeans to wear on our way back or miss out on parties. My new girlfriends here looked weirdly at me when I would say at the end at a party “send me a text saying you’re safe home”. I was considered somehow intrusive — “Why would I tell you where I am ?” Because in Paris going home late means the possibility of having a stranger rubbing its hard dick against your ass in public transport (of course it happened to me, to all of my friends, more than once). Only to be publicly told later in a newspaper that we should not feel offended, scared, angry about it, we should feel more free in our inner selves and let it go when we are touched, grabbed by whoever would like to for the sake of sexual freedom. Whose sexual freedom are we threatening exactly ? To all of those so free in their inner selves, I say, please, come share a sleepless night of topless dancing in one dark Berlin techno club. You will see.
Nothing like feeling free in your inner and safe and wild in your outer self. Nothing like being willing instead of being disturbed.
I am a French free-lance journalist living in Berlin. When I don’t post angry blog posts I write real articles, more informations here.
