I want you to know that it is not always easy to love me. That sometimes my chest is a field full of land mines, and where you went last night, you can’t go tomorrow. There is no manual, there is no road map, no help line you can call; my body does not come with instructions, and sometimes even I don’t know what to do with it. This cannot be easy. But still, you touch me anyway.
This quote resonated very strongly with me and it got me thinking about my relationships and sex life. I have never been a person for whom sex was easy and I have never dated anyone for whom it was easy.
When we are broken, dysphoric, fluid, figuring ourselves out, the fact that we will at some point not know our own limits, the fact that we will at some point unintentionally cross each others boundaries and end up in situations where consent got fucked up, is almost inevitable.
In most of my relationships that was sort of quietly understood and we both grokked the difference between fucking up together, and expoitation. But getting there meant embracing out imperfection and the fact that we would fuck up. That isn’t something I see a lot in conversations about consent, which seem to be interested only in “was there consent?” as a state of purity. I never grokked purity, or stable unchanging boundaries, or relationships without boundaries crossed. But I always felt the difference between lifes’ mess and violation. The feeling couldn’t be more different.
(via rolequeer)
Fuck ups that don’t feel like violations, another part of Consent as a felt sense.
QueerAnarchism 