Laid.

WARNING: NOT SAFE FOR WORK (unless, you like, work alone in your office after hours, or can close a door, or you know, no one else is around...)

It's not terribly often you'll hear The Offbeat Drummer talk frankly about S-E-X. Why not?

Old story. What, 4 years ago? I ended an abusive relationship in which a large part of it was me being forcibly sexually assaulted, for the greater part of 3 years. "NO's" were not adhered, ghastly crap went down, and it is safe to say it damaged my psyche pretty badly, emotional, physical and verbal abuse too. Through a lot of therapy and gentle friends (male and female), though, I am in a much better place about intimacy now than I was then. I was literally so scared that there were only a handful of men whom I'd allow near me, much less NEAR me. In the interim time from then until now, I had one sexual encounter with one man in the course of one morning, he knows who he is, and it was everything it should've been and was entirely cool and a long time coming (no pun intended).

Read: Ready to green light more than a little slithering (damnit, cues I missed to get closer, damn damn damn!) and butterfly kisses (I should've just gone for it). I have been for a while, I'm just only vocal about it with certain trusted friends (and now, the universe). Why so timid? Lots of reasons: Fear of rejection, Self-esteem crises, lack of opportunity, reciprocated crushes that cowered distantly, logistics, and new crushes I can't figure out of which their orientations or availability might sway, and a general lack of man-to-woman social interaction.

Celibacy is beginning to suck royally and not literally.

It didn't help that I had my annual (er, semi-annual, with my history, my bad) checkup with the gynecologist this morning. I haven't been back since the surgical re-check on my hysterectomy 2 years ago, though with my penchant for growing budding cancer in that "area," I was supposed to go every 3 months (which should clue you in on the value upon which I place my life!), and had all the standard chick stuff done, including a pap smear. (Guys, man up.) The nurse, during her inquisition, asked me if I'm sexually active and I actually sort of rattled off a pissed off "NO! BUT THANKS FOR THE REMINDER, TWATWAFFLE!" In any event, I told the doctor I hate her today a) because not only does she call me 3 days after every exam I have to tell me there's something drastically wrong with me I need to "come in and talk to her about," but also that she knocked me out and removed all my piercings. (Still not over that.) Otherwise, everything superficially seems normal, except for the fact that I should probably do more Kegel exercises, though, like, for what?

Then I got home and my friend had posted this video that Upworthy also found prudent enough to post, about the notion of "consent" in a physical/romantic or sexual relationship or encounter. Apparently, according to my friend, it's popular on the West coast, but it hasn't made it as far east as Chicago. "Can I/May I hug you?" "Can I/May I kiss you?" Much of it I can understand as a survivor of sexual abuse, but my golly goodness, is it taken to the extreme. OK, you have to stomach this video clip for it to be in context before I continue my rant. Trust me, by the end, you'll want to wire this Trixie girl's jaw shut forever as much as I do. Take it away, Laci Underalls!

:37 seconds in: She implies that if a man with whom I'm being romantic leans over for a gentle kiss, he's committing sexual assault and violating a "mandatory" consent on my part. 

FAIL!

I've been raped, Laci Underalls. Trust me, sweetums, it ain't the same thing.

But go on...

1:01: "Sexual coercion is often seen as acceptable." 

BRING IT ON! I'VE BEEN WAITING!

But you were saying...

1:22: Suggestions on asking for consent, with Laci Underalls camera-positioned on top of her supposed partner, asking him (her?) SIX THOUSAND QUESTIONS about the experience in the moment.

AT WHICH POINT, YOUR PARTNER GRABS A HANDY CAN OF PEANUT BRITTLE STRATEGICALLY PLANTED ON THE NIGHTSTAND AND SAYS, "HONEY, WILL YOU CHEW ON THIS? I'D *REALLY* LIKE THAT BECAUSE THE INCESSANT JIBBA JABBA OF YOUR INTERROGATION IS DRIVING ME APESHIT CRAZY AND I'D LIKE IT VERY MUCH, IT'D TURN ME WAY ON IF YOU'D SHUT THE FUCK UP, CHEW LOUDLY AND DROWN YOURSELF OUT BECAUSE I'M ALREADY LOSING IT!"

FAIL.

2:42: "Consent is a clear 'Yes!' 'Enthusiastic!' Out loud!'"

RAH, RAH, SISS BOOM BAH! HIT HIM IN THE HEAD WITH A KIELBASA! I DIDN'T REALIZE WE WERE AUDITIONING FOR A SPOT ON THE CHEERLEADING SQUAD.

FAIL.

3:10: I will agree with her that overt utterances of "Stop," "No," "I don't like this," "You're hurting me," etc are all appropriate and necessary ways to halt an otherwise uncomfortable romantic or sexual situation. 

***

The next blah-blah couple of minutes: How you should iterate that no means no, and she gets all pouty and nauseating. She also rattles off a list of people you shouldn't have sex with and why. I agree with some and disagree with some. Except doctors and rock stars. You should always sleep with doctors and rock stars.

**

5:26: "Consent Culture"

My guess this is in response to what is being purported as "rape culture," as a counterpoint. Dandy.  But it's a bit over the top, and in my opinion, takes a hell of a lot of romance out of romance. Passion out of passion. Lust and love out of lust and love. Expression out of expression. Affection out of affection. And straight up, what kind of flat, operational, contractual, "sign-here-and-let's-get-down" bullshit is THAT? If, in the remote impossibility I was finally, by a miracle of God, in a situation with any one of the people to whom I'm attracted enough to want to at least kiss at a relatively moderate level, I'd be bonkers in the back of my mind wondering if ALL OF THIS is ALRIGHT WITH HIM. (Yes, have a scotch! Jesus!) 

Now that you've seen Laci Underalls and listened to her consent diatribble (she speaks at colleges? Don't people throw watermelons at her like Gallagher? I would...), can you see why this whole thing peeves me?

I'm not saying just shut up, lie there and get it over with as soon as possible. That's no fun. That's what you do when you're married and the passion is gone. And, as Chekhov said, "If you are afraid of loneliness, do not marry." (Married people, believe it or not, masturbate far more frequently than single people do. Why? You have to bloody ask?)

There are hundreds of ways and sounds and caresses and means by which you can show your partner you are or aren't enjoying your romantic or sexual encounter without reciting the Stations of the Cross, your SAT scores or an extensive explanation of how you organize your shoes in your closet. You don't need to enter into an intercourse discourse about changing positions. Just fucking do your fucking (or making love, depending on what your thing is with your person). Save the conversation for dinner, foreplay or pillow talk. 

My suggestion, in fact, Laci Underalls, is that if you're going to have one of these obligation questionnaires, VOICE them before ("Would you like?") or after ("Did you like?") but for crissakes, not during. Enjoy the experience for what it is. Or don't enjoy it for what it isn't and put an end to it. Bang.

For me, personally, I love a learned man. An educated man. A well-read man. A smart man who makes me laugh at silly, stupid things, listens to music, can exchange intellectually, is a good listener, has a compassionate heart, is friendly, has facial hair, a nice smile, doesn't live with his mom, is passionate and likes to kiss and hug, knows philosophy, and will treat me with respect and be communicative. There, I've just described not one, but all the men to whom I'm currently attracted. So there, Guy(s). You're all as sexy as hell.