2024-01-07 17:42:48
I still remember years ago talking to a friend about how weird I found it to be asked if I wanted to kiss. I’m a child of the 80s, and for James Bond and co. the big finale was to press their lips onto the somewhat pretentious woman’s face. In my mind there was something romantic about it. The prince who takes me by storm and makes it very clear: “I want you!” I still remember how horrified my girlfriend was by my idea. For her – she was very active in the left-wing alternative scene, and women’s rights were still defended vigorously and without social media back then – it was self-evident that her verbal consent was necessary at every step.
No matter how hard she tried to get me to agree, or “consent” as it is called in the scene, I somehow found it difficult. Where is the flow, where is the trust, the surprise of the next touch? Admittedly, during this time the surprises were often not as pleasant as hoped, but at the time I thought that was part of it: the sweet pain of disappointment. I wish the new generation that this strange belief dies out very soon. And not just for women. I also sympathize with the men who grew up with these images. How difficult it must be to do justice to this role and not be invasive. I learned about a good example of this at a fun get-together.
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We get along well and he tells me about his house, which he is renovating himself using alternative building materials. I’m interested in that and we arrange to meet for coffee and a little sightseeing tour. The house is beautiful and the afternoon is filled with interesting conversations in a relaxed atmosphere. He asks me about my life in Berlin and we get to the topic of sexuality relatively quickly. I talk about sex-positive festivals, he looks more and more interested, and the distance between us decreases little by little.
I notice that he is trying to get in touch, but instead of creating clarity by comparing my perceptions and then formulating a simple “No, thank you,” I say goodbye. He walks me to the door. Wouldn’t I like to stay? No, I don’t want to – but thank you, that was a nice afternoon. The goodbye hug lasts longer than necessary, and before he releases me, his lips find mine.
Consent in Hollywood
Ah – stop! I push him away from me. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but I really don’t want to kiss you.” – “Yes, but I thought it wasn’t a big deal for you and we get along well.” Well, how do I explain that although I’m in rooms where there’s group cuddling and kisses are sometimes freely given away, these things are still a “big deal” for me. And how do I explain that “getting along well” doesn’t necessarily mean a free pass for smooching? We can resolve the situation well and, fortunately, there is no bad feeling between us. On the contrary. He has my respect and also my compassion. How brave to simply take the first step and show your desires. And how sad that he never learned to just ask. I then imagine the scene like this: James Bond is standing close to Honey, pining over her and saying in a rough voice: “I really want to kiss you. Can I?” She looks at him and says: “Absolutely not, but I would really like a hug.” And then there is an intimate hugging scene. Consent quickly found its home in Hollywood. But back to my story.
About ten years after the conversation with said friend, I find myself in a scene where “consent” is one of the bingo words and I myself offer workshops on the topic. In the scene in question I meet a woman who makes me melt. On our first date I realize: She is the queen of consent. No touch that wasn’t requested beforehand, no coincidence, everything wanted – by both of them. “May I?” she asks as she sits on the sofa next to me and indicates that she would like to put her arm around me. Yes gladly. “Is it okay if I caress you?” she breathes, and for the first time I realize how arousing this questioning can be. “I would love to taste your lips, may I?” Oh yes, yes yes yes yes!
It continues like this and I feel valuable, appreciated and wanted. “Show me how you like it” is suddenly no longer a porn saying, but a serious request to make it as nice as possible for both of us. No more unpleasant surprises because I don’t dare say what I like. Because I am explicitly invited to do so. Because I’m being asked. Our game is slowed down by the queries and thereby gains intensity and awareness. There’s something playful about it, and putting my wishes into words really challenges me. Ultimately, like with everything, it’s a matter of practice. And hearing in words what the other person would like to do to me is hot and makes me blush more than once. Who would have thought that consent talk could turn into dirty talk.
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