A week ago, I went through minor oral surgery; a root canal and attachment of a non-permanent crown. As anyone who’s gone through a root canal knows, there is a lot of pressure put on the gum. The process is basically vacuuming out the nerve, and they have to press fairly hard to make sure everything is removed, and to tamp in the plastic that keeps blood from entering the root.
Because of this, I was put on Vicodin, since the gum remains sore from the pressure, and biting down on it, particularly in the first for days, hurts like hell. ‘1-2 Tablets By Mouth Every 6 Hours As Needed For Pain’. Thanks to my low tolerance, 1 tablet every 8 or 12 hours has been more then enough, often making me incredibly high, particularly if I haven’t eaten recently.
This has all had an interesting effect on my relationship. My boyfriend was diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder* a little over a year ago, and has been taking steadily increasing dosages of Fluoxetine for almost a year. You may not know this, but serotonin, the neurotransmitter that the drug affects, is heavily linked to mood, and to sexual drive. He has spent his time on this drug going through the sexual stage he should have gone through at seventeen, but couldn’t because of low chemical levels.
What does all this mean? He’s horny. A lot. When he first started, he described it as a ‘boner mine field’. He still gets aroused at the drop of a hat, and our relationship is flirting and touching heavy, and prone to spontaneous sex.
All of this is back story for something he said today. We were laying down on our bed, and I began to touch him. He smiled and leaned into it for a few seconds, then pulled back and looked at me very seriously.
“I’ve been trying not to flirt with you as much since you’re on those pills.”
I was stunned, and for a few seconds I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, because it hadn’t even occurred to me that I might not be able to consent. And looking back, I realized he was right. The flirting over the past week had noticeably diminished, and when he knew I had taken a pill in the past few hours, he wouldn’t touch me intimately at all, instead sticking to playing with my hair and kissing my forehead. “I..I’m glad. You’re right. I can’t really consent, especially because I feel great and on top of it, and then look back on it and realize I was totally stoned.”
He nodded seriously and squeezed my hand, and that was the end of the discussion, but it was enough. It made me feel safe, and fortunate. I’ve found a partner that respects my ability to consent to the extent that he thinks about it even when I don’t, or can’t. Someone who actually listens and takes discussions about things like rape culture to heart. But I’m bothered by my reaction too. I shouldn’t be stunned that my partner considers my state of mind before engaging in sex. Not just because he’s a great guy and being surprised is an insult to him, but because that should be the norm.
It also points out to me once again how disgustingly weak minded rapists must be if they ‘just can’t control themselves’. My boyfriend was able to turn down multiple sexual advances, some of them very aggressive and from a mostly naked girlfriend, while on a drug that enhances his libido an astounding amount, because he wasn’t sure if I was completely aware and capable at that time.
And frankly, none of that should be an incredible achievement that boggles my mind and makes me overwhelmingly grateful. That should be the expectation, and the norm.
*I have his permission to discuss this on here
