Photo by Jahid Ah-Keen
“People ask me, how do I have sex? What’s different for me now is, it’s more spiritual, more mental, more emotional. I don’t feel a physical body, so in order to feel my mate, I must feel her with my heart, with my soul, with my mind. That’s how I have sex. That’s how I make love. And it’s beautiful.”
— Professir X
He lies in bed, bare-chested, quad belly and thin, paralyzed arms on full display. She straddles him, clad in a silk nightgown, face hidden, curvaceous body moving for both of them. There’s no makeup, no camera trickery, just lips brushing breasts, fingers caressing soft amber skin, his gaze intertwined with hers in tenderness and passion.
It’s very romantic and very real — but also very jarring. You feel like a voyeur, watching this; it’s too unfiltered, too true-to-life. And such a frank presentation of disabled sexuality makes part of you uncomfortable. You may know — both intellectually and from experience — that people with disabilities aren’t asexual, you may have spent your entire adult life rebelling against the notion that sex is only for the physically perfect, but still, that programming runs deep.