Consent for Sexting and Why We Need It
Never put anyone in a sexual scenario they didn’t agree to be in—even online and in writing
Sexual consent should be simple and straightforward: You either have it, or you don’t. According to FRIES, an acronym coined by Planned Parenthood to provide an easy to remember definition states that it is: Freely given, Reversible, Informed, Enthusiastic, and Specific.
Rape, on the far end of consent violation, is committed at shocking rates all over the world. Still, the distinction between it and consensual sex appears to be mostly clear—at least to the majority. So, while that cringe-worthy last sentence underlines just how important of a topic that is too, it’s not what I wish to speak about here (not now at least…).
The vague area of sexual boundary violations, beyond rape
In between rape and any kind of enthusiastically consented-to sexual activity, is a vague and nuanced area; one where acting without consent wouldn’t be categorized as rape, but are boundary violations nonetheless. This vast grey area, in which we find anything from harassment and manipulative behavior to toxicity and minor oversteps, seems hard to navigate for many. On a frequent basis, I witness (seemingly well-meaning) individuals struggling to tread this fine, and apparently obscure, line.
On the one hand, I do understand why the confusion happens, especially in places where people are sex-positive and otherwise expressive about their sexualities. Regardless, and perhaps because of that, I believe this to be an issue in dire need of addressing.
What does sex-positivity really mean?
Before we discuss this, it’s important that we understand what sex positivity is. According to Pandia Health, it’s most commonly defined as “having positive attitudes about sex and feeling comfortable with one’s own sexual identity and with the sexual behaviors of others.”
On the contrary—and where many seem to get it twisted—sex-positivity does not mean being positive to all, or any, sexual advances from anyone and at any given time. It also doesn’t mean having, or wanting to have (or talk about) sex all the time—or at all. Yes, it’s even possible to be sex-positive and asexual.
Further, you’ll likely find those who fall into the category of sex-positive—especially those working in or spending significant time in these communities—to be incredibly apt at firm boundary setting. Their assertiveness-muscles are well exercised and they’re often the first to say no or call you out—if and when you overstep.
I learned a ton about the nuances of consent when I first started going to sex clubs and other kink related events. Before that, my understanding of it had to do with whether or not I, and a potential partner, wanted to have sex or not. Period.
I quickly understood that the concept goes much deeper.
Consent in sex-centered spaces
One of my first times at such a party, I was playing with two guys when someone from the outside slid up next to me and started stroking my feet. I didn’t know what to do about it, so I did nothing.
—Are you ok with that? One of the guys I was with pointed at the foot stroker and gave me a concerned look. —Well, I didn’t approve, but I guess it’s not a big deal… it’s ‘just’ my feet and we’re in a sex club, right?
I was unfamiliar with the etiquette, and while I was not comfortable with what this stranger was doing to me, I figured I’d be a prude if I chased him away. After all, he wasn’t touching me anywhere obviously sexual, and I was on display, in a public place. I was kinda asking for it, right?
Wrong!
My friend taught me an important lesson that night; no one touches or participates in anything without approval, regardless of circumstances, and, I should never be shy to say no if anyone crosses that boundary—ever!
He promptly chased the foot worshipper back into the shadows.
Wow, that was easy. Lesson learned.
After this, knowing that it wasn’t just my right, but encouraged to put my foot down, made me feel empowered and a lot safer in this environment. I began to speak up with confidence. The next time I was out and an onlooker started touching my friend’s thigh, I raised my voice:
—Did she invite you to do that? I asked firmly. —No, but we’re in a sex club, this is what happens here… —No, not without asking first, please back off!
It worked!
Now that we’ve established what sex positivity means, and that we never touch anyone without asking, we can (hopefully) agree that types of clothes or lack thereof, level of intoxication, or anyone’s degree of sex-positivity does not equate consent.
Only a clear, spoken yes is a yes!
Consent in virtual spaces
Let’s venture to an even more vague place: The internet. How do we deal with consent in the virtual world where physical touch is (literally) out of reach? Should we, for example, say, write, or send whatever we want to someone without asking first?
The short answer is no.
Also here, the same rules apply. Revisiting the FRIES acronym, no one should pull anyone else into any kind of sexual scenario, whether physical or virtual, that they weren’t informed of, didn’t freely, enthusiastically, and specifically agree to, and without the option of backing out at any time.
This goes for the sharing of any type of visual or aural media, and for writing as well; for texting, commenting, messaging, emailing — all of it!
A sex-writer and BDSM enthusiast in an open relationship, I find myself in a handful of virtual roams, from social media to dating platforms, and the kinky social network Fetlife—as well as here on Medium. In these places, I’m physically removed, yet reachable by a few keystrokes.
Just like in the sex club, you can easily stretch your arm out to touch or flash me unsuspectingly. That still doesn’t mean you should!
Many, like the guy who started touching my feet or the one who stroked my friend’s thigh without asking, seem to be confused here: You’re scantily clad and you look like you’re into sex / You talk about sex all the time and you just shared a story about blowjobs. I thought you asked for it?
No, I didn’t!
In the BDSM community and on Fetlife, people tend to be above average consent aware, as it’s the absolute requirement for safe play. Still, there are the newbies who come wandering in from the streets to think they’ve found the Shangri-la of dating platforms.
You can always spot the inexperienced kinkster or wannabe dominant when they slide into your inbox and write out an explicit fantasy that you happen to star in, signed YOUR MASTER! (In all caps). This, for me, warrants an instant-block.
A welcome and appropriate message, on the other hand, offers a polite introduction, a reason why they chose to message me specifically, followed by a question of whether or not I’d like to continue the conversation. If they wish to share a fantasy that involves me, this must be clarified first.
I always like to have a say in whether or not someone cums all over my face–even if it’s just in writing.
This is because, also in writing, these acts have a level of realness to them and come to life in our imaginations. That’s why we like to read in the first place. Assuming someone into your scenario, having them touch you or touching them, showing them parts of yourself that they didn’t agree to see is therefore also a breach of consent—even when the scene is an imagined one.
Consent on Medium and beyond
We’ve come to the innermost cranny of vague areas: we’re right here on Medium where handfuls (maybe hundreds) write regularly about sex; many of whom are professionals, working tirelessly to hone their craft as freelance writers.
We’re not on a kink network or dating app. We’re not even on social media, but on a professional platform that allows writers the wonderful opportunity to post their work and potentially earn money from it. No one here, that I’m aware of at least, has “hit me up if we’re into the same stuff and you’d like to bang” in their bios.
Instead, some writers who cover the topic of sexuality have had to add the opposite disclaimer, such as Elle Beau ❇︎ whose bio includes: “Not looking to hook up.”
This, like consent itself, should be simple and straightforward. It should be just as obvious as me not handing my gynecologist my digits and asking them out for a glass of wine because they just gazed into my privates. It’s also why you don’t hit on your therapist because you just told them your innermost secrets. We don’t do these things, because; boundaries.
I’m baffled, and sometimes shocked, by my own experiences—as well as the daily stories I hear from fellow sex writers (usually female) who have to fend off one boundary-bender after the other. The fact that the dilemma of “should I add my email to my bio” becomes an exercise in weighing “is the number of unsolicited sexual advances worth the potential career opportunities that may come my way by making myself available?” is enraging!
To make it clear, I don’t believe the majority of these advances to be made maliciously. I don’t think that those who approach sex writers this way are consciously attempting to assert dominance, manipulate or cause discomfort. Still, this is often the result.
I even think that many believe that their messages, comments, and scenarios are compliments and ways to show their sincere appreciation. Look, you inspired me so much I wrote a whole sexy essay of my own just for you—and you’re in it!
I’m also convinced that on top of the above-mentioned confusion around what it means to be sex-positive, many sex writers buy into the false idea that they somehow asked for it:
It’s just my feet and we’re in a sex club, right?/ It’s just a raunchy comment and I’m already talking about my kinks online, right? Nope, still not asking for it!
Reading public post versus responding privately
The difference between reading a published story versus responding with your own story (or another explicit message) in private, also has to do with consent. The story you just read was out in the open, and by clicking it you made an informed decision to read.
When sending a private, sexually loaded message, without asking first, you’re entering someone’s personal space, demanding their attention and eyes on something they didn’t ask to see. By putting someone in a sexual scenario they didn’t agree to, whether in public or private, you’re taking away their agency to say yes or no first.
As writers, we do invite you into our worlds, on our terms. Here, we open our hearts to bare our minds and souls. It’s a fragile and vulnerable place to be; I personally feel more naked here than anywhere else—and often, it’s the place where I’m left feeling the most ravaged at the end of the day.
To the guy in the sex club, I can yell “fuck off!” without thinking twice. With readers—who likely mean well, but step out of bounds, partially from oblivion, and perhaps from the urge to connect with someone who makes them feel seen and understood—I’m far more cautious with my admonition. I tend to swallow a lot more (…) than I’d otherwise like to, in order not to stir the pot. I know far too well that I’m not the only one doing this.
In order to avoid having these regular confrontations—as they’re not only tiring, and cause hours of stress and anxiety, but make many writers ignore comments entirely and others to unplug from all social media and emails, or even leave for good—I’m suggesting a few simple guidelines:
- An appropriate response to the statement “I like sex” would be “great, I like sex too”, not “I’d like sex with you!”
- Never send a private, explicit response to a public post. Not via any channel, in writing, or any other media—especially not without asking permission first.
- Never write a scenario, in comments or anywhere else, where you insert the author, or anyone, without their consent.
- If you wish to share your own related sex story with a writer, you can send a polite message, asking if they’d like to receive it. Be prepared to politely accept a no. Consider publishing your own sexy stories and if you want to share it with the artist who inspired you, you can gently notify them with a link to your work. This way they have a choice to opt-in or not.
- Compliments are great, but in a professional space, most of us like to be complimented on our brains over any other body part. If someone posts a photo of themselves, it could warrant a compliment related to physical appearance, but keep it to the point: “Beautiful lips!”—Yes. “I have an idea where I’d like those lips to be…”—Absolutely not!
- Read the room! Be aware of the purpose of the space you’re visiting and why people are there in the first place. Medium, for example, is not a dating app. Neither is Twitter, Facebook, and LinkedIn (for god’s sake!). Those of us looking to hook up will usually do that in places specifically for this purpose. I’m not saying that romances never emerge outside, but approach with extreme caution and be prepared to get shut down.
- Always accept and respect a no. This is true everywhere; don’t get upset, mad, sulk, or try different strategies. Just accept and walk away.
- Supporting an artist you admire financially doesn’t mean they owe you anything. Just like how buying someone a drink at the bar doesn’t mean they owe you sex, supporting your favorite creative online should only mean that you appreciate their work. Period.
I could keep adding, but I believe this sums it up for now.
In the end, sex (related) work is work
Writing about sex isn’t necessarily categorized as sex work, still, anyone whose jobs relate to sex in any way, shape, or form deal with stigmas and scrutiny. Beyond being perceived as walking sex-pots who are perpetually turned on, many believe our boundaries to be low and that we’re always up for sharing and talking about our jobs.
We have to treat people who work with sex as we treat any other professional. This means that we don’t ask the lawyer we ran into at the supermarket to help us solve the legal quarrels with our neighbor. The doctor attending our dinner party shouldn’t be expected to give private check-ups in the bedroom after dessert. Our friend who’s a stripper shouldn’t be asked to provide free entertainment at the cocktail party, and your friendly sex writer next door (or on Medium) is not your personal provider of sex tips.
Consent literally means to permit, approve, or agree and it’s a prerequisite for any social activity or arrangement we take part in. Even when no sex is involved, it’s only fun to do anything with anyone when they’re doing it with you because they really want to.
In the end, these are matters of respect, sensitivity, and empathy, which not only the webosphere, but the world as a whole could need more of. When we know and understand what’s expected and acceptable in the places we frequent, they only become safer and better for everyone in them.
