Good Vibrations Magazine

My friend Jen is a very attractive woman in her 20s. She’s a Ph.D. candidate and a model — very vibrant and smart. She’s also very sexually attractive. And she uses a wheelchair because of a spinal cord injury.

For most people, this inspires mixed feelings. To them, her disability seems to be in blatant contradiction with her sexual radiance. Their hormonal response says one thing, while social mores say something entirely different. But consider this: someone with a disability could be just as likely as anyone else to be a satisfying lover.

This is not a notion easily grasped in an age of intensely idealized commercial images. These images don’t portray real personal connection — much less authentic sensuality. Everyone is a victim of this, but someone using a wheelchair doesn’t stand a chance of fitting the image — even someone as attractive as Jen.

In truth, the best sex is about chemistry between people, about being open to passion, being tuned to sensuality. It’s about real trust and vulnerability and caring. When these elements come together, wonderful things await. People who want to please each other find a way. Disability is no obstacle to these experiences. Plenty of people have proven it beyond doubt — people who come nowhere near the image of what these cultural images suggest is sexy.

We’re talking about a growing population of vibrant and sexually active people with disabilities. Nowadays, more and more people survive injury and illness thanks to medical advances. Dramatic developments in wheelchair design extend mobility. The fight for access to work and housing and the public milieu has made strides. Disability is far less “un-abling” than ever.

But our culture has yet to catch up with this truth. “The disabled” are still seen as either tragic or heroic, and always chaste. But they’re not looking for either pity or admiration. They’re just adapting and insisting on living their lives. That means work and play and family and art and community and spirit — and getting it on.

Last October, the Paralympic Games were held in Sydney following the Olympics. 4,000 world-class disabled athletes from 122 countries participated, competing in front of over a million fans. At the Paralympic Village where they stayed, the welcome packages included half a dozen condoms. They were soon demanding more. These folks were definitely getting it on.

These issues need to be made really clear. While there are people who face deep struggles with their health and their psyche, most people with disabilities do not see themselves as tragic, or sexless. They do not identify themselves totally by their disability, no matter how unfortunate the initial circumstances. Anyone with a disability should be approached on these terms — no matter how significant (the PC term, rather than “profound” or “severe”) their disability.

The inevitable question, of course, is “Can they do it?” Plenty of people with disabilities are fully sexually functional. But this misses the point. The real question is, “should we be defining sex only in terms of genital intercourse?”

If one imagines that strenuous intercourse is the only means to a satisfying sex life, then they’re going to believe that their sex life is over once they can’t do that — a circumstance likely to occur in everyone’s lifetime. Disabled people who have addressed their sexuality know that this ain’t so. There are lots of ways to enjoy yourself — and please someone else — without being a sexual athlete.

Of course it’s a different kind of sex. Of course there are options that fall off the list, depending on the disability. Of course there is grief to face after an acquired disability (a non-issue for people disabled since childhood). But however traumatic it might be to lose sensation or “normal” genital function (normal, of course, being a relative term), the impulse to express our sexuality is quite unquenchable. People transcend their grief, because they discover that they still have a sexual nature, and want to express it.

Some who lose sexual function repress their grief, are afraid of trying, or are attached to needing sex to be “the way it was.” Some are influenced by issues that predate their disability, or by any of the many issues — social and psychological — that might lead someone to suppress their sexual impulses. In other words, being disconnected from your sexuality often has little to do with the disability itself. Plenty of people with a disability are fantastic in bed. Plenty of so-called able-bodied people are duds.

Assuming someone wants to be sexual — and most of us do — it follows that they’re going to explore whatever is possible. Especially if they’ve lost some capacity. Every possible sensation counts, and the desire to discover them leads you to a more creative style of lovemaking, one that favors slowness and subtlety. It makes you want to know every little corner of your body. If there are things you can’t feel, then the things you can feel become that much more precious.

It makes you want to find every little corner of your partner’s body (the widely underrated tongue-on-the-inside-of-the-elbow is one of my personal favorites). If there are things you can’t do for your partner, then the things you can do become that much more gratifying.

Many people with disabilities report that they become more focused on pleasing their partners. If your orgasmic response is reduced, then you may want to get your partner off so you can go along for the ride, so to speak. Able-bodied partners of disabled lovers often feel guilty because believe they experience a level of intensity not available to their partner, and hold back. But once they realize that the disabled partner really wants them to go for it and have the fullest, most selfish erotic experience they can, that’s when the good stuff starts to flow. Isn’t that the mark of any good lover?

But take care not to assume that disabled lovers forget about their own gratification, or that they are not capable of it. Their focus on pleasing their partners is not about compensation for loss, it’s what feels natural and balanced in the context of disability. You better believe they want — and are able — to be satisfied in kind.

But intercourse is almost always still possible. Folks who wish to penetrate can use a dildo, strap-on, or fingers (some males use Viagra or an injectable drug to help achieve or maintain erection), and the receptive partners might want to supplement with store-bought lubricant in lieu of natural juices — which goes for both the disabled and not. If there is loss of sensation, then things like genital intercourse just fall down the priority list. When it doesn’t get you off, you become more interested in other options. Dwelling on wanting to feel what you can’t feel just draws your attention away from other enjoyable options.

Even with reduced sensation, intercourse can be a very intimate act, and a lot of fun to watch. And it usually lasts longer, too. Fucking may have fallen down the list, but it hasn’t necessarily dropped off.

Many women have told me that in their experience most men are interested, mainly, in getting to insertion, and when they’re done, then sex is over. That gives paraplegic men a definite advantage. Since intercourse is not their first interest, they are more than happy to indulge in plenty of kissing, licking, and touching. In other words, the very style of sexuality that many women prefer. (I hope here to achieve a repeat of the brief period of increased sexual opportunity for paraplegic men that occurred after Jon Voight went down on Jane Fonda in Coming Home.)

Ultimately, sex in the context of disability leads you to choose partners that you truly care about, with real intimacy, friendship, and trust. (There are “devotees” who are turned on by disability, but I’ll save that topic for the next article.) Folks on the more shallow side are a lot less likely to consider someone with a disability as a life partner — much less as a lover. So disability turns out to be a bit of an advantage — a sort of filtering device. Those who are able to see beyond the social stereotypes of disability are more likely to see the whole person, and so be interested in whole relationships.

The “lick, suck, fuck, and come” model of porno video sex can get old in due time. The exploratory, intimate, mutual-desire-to-please quality of sex that many find in the context of disability can be a lot longer lasting and satisfying.

Not that it’s easy to find a partner. The widespread experience of people with disabilities is that they are simply set aside from the get-go as potential partners, immediately disqualified by cultural assumptions of their incapacity — to have sex, to partner, to parent. These cultural assumptions are simply wrong.

For my attractive friend, Jen, men fall into one of four camps: “Some probably see only the wheelchair and look no further; these I ignore. Some are confused; for the most part I don’t have time to educate them. Some are intrigued, and think of me as either great because I’ve ‘overcome’ something, or as an interesting novelty to explore; these I might date. And to some, the wheelchair is completely irrelevant; these often become my boyfriends.”

What a shame for the first three groups. They’re really missing out.

So the next time you meet someone with a disability, and you find yourself attracted, making a real personal connection, feeling that quality of karmic chemistry, don’t jump to conclusions about what’s possible. If the person appears interested, they probably have a pretty good sense of their sexual identity. And if they’re letting you know they’re attracted, then chances are they have a few ideas about what to do about it. And would be more than pleased to demonstrate.