One man has asked for my consent before touching me. One. Out of every man I’ve ever slept with. I don’t know that number—I’ve never counted because keeping score is for amateurs. Real players play for the game. Anyway, it’s just one out of enough that the number who have asked should be much more than one.
Not asking is the norm. His hands move, her body responds, and that response is the yes. That’s the system. It works, mostly, but you’re guessing. You know that, right? Every time, you’re making your best read, going for it, and hoping the sound she just made was a good one. Many of you are good at this. Some of you are so good at it I’d let you guess forever. I’ve never asked either. Not once. I’ve repositioned. Redirected. Made sounds that loosely translated to “more of this, less of that.” I’ve used my body as a suggestion box my entire sexual life, so I’m not standing over you on this. I’m next to you, just as guilty, just figuring this out.
But this one guy didn’t guess.
“Can I touch you?”
I felt as though he’d said something in a language I technically knew but had never heard in bed — that question had never existed in that space before. For all the talk about consent and all the fear about these questions ruining the moment, I have a counterpoint:
It was hot. Three words and I was wet. I’m telling you this as a fact because men love facts.
Because of the question, the sex was different. Not gentle. Not careful. He wasn’t handling me like something breakable. When he wanted to escalate he asked and every time he asked my body answered before my mouth did. The asking didn’t slow anything down. It turned every next thing into something I was already desperate for by the time it happened.
He decides when to ask. I decide what to answer.
The magic of this consent conversation is that it basically amounted to dirty talk. Unfortunately, some of you have never been comfortable with dirty talk. Some of you have things in your head you clearly want to say, but the gap between thinking it and saying it out loud feels like pushing the gas pedal to the floor and driving into the ocean. Asking can probably be considered entry dirty talk with training wheels.
“Can I kiss your neck?” is where you start.
“Can I pull your hair while I kiss your nipples?”
“Can I flip you over?” Now you’re talking.
“Can I spit in your asshole?” The question is the foreplay. The filthier the question, the better the foreplay. You’ve been sitting on a goldmine of dirty talk and didn’t know it because someone told you asking wasn’t masculine.
Asking is the most masculine thing you can do in bed because it means you’re not afraid to say what you want out loud. And most of you are terrified to say what you want out loud.
Now, I want him to ask me everything. I want a man narrating his intentions like he’s submitting a formal request to my body and I want my body to approve it in real time like a fucking permit office that’s open for business.
“Can I…”
That pause.
That’s it.
That’s the whole kink.
Some partners will start with a “can I see if you are wet.” Others with “Would it be okay to kiss you now.” Do whatever makes sense in the moment, you’re both playing boss now.