May 22nd, 2025
I’ve had hands on my body that I didn’t ask for. Fingers slipping beneath fabric while I was asleep. Kisses that arrived without warning. Pressure that mounted while I froze. I’ve been told I was “leading someone on” just by being friendly. Just by existing. Just by being in the room.
For so long, my body didn’t feel like it belonged to me—it felt like something people believed they were entitled to. That’s why that moment on the beach meant so much. Because consent isn’t just a formality—it’s an acknowledgment of my humanity. It’s someone saying: You matter. Your boundaries matter. Your voice matters.
The first time I was ever asked for consent, I was on a date with a woman. We were walking along the beach when she paused, looked into my eyes, and gently asked if she could kiss me. As things progressed, she continued to check in: Does this feel good? Are you comfortable? No man had ever asked me that before.
For the first time, I realized how foreign it felt to be given a choice about my own body. Up until that night, consent had always been implied, assumed, ignored, or manipulated. I had become so used to going along with what someone else wanted that I didn’t even realize how much I had been missing — until someone finally gave me the choice.
What Consent Actually Is
We need to start with the foundation — because clearly, many people still don’t understand what consent really means. Even people who call themselves kind. Even people who think they’re the “good ones.”
Consent isn’t vague. It’s not a mystery. It’s not hidden between the lines. There’s a widely recognized framework known as FRIES, popularized by Planned Parenthood, that defines consent as:
- Freely Given: Without pressure, manipulation, guilt, or fear.
- Reversible: You can say yes and then change your mind — at any time.
- Informed: You know exactly what you’re agreeing to.
- Enthusiastic: You want it. Really want it.
- Specific: Saying yes to one thing doesn’t mean saying yes to everything.
Consent is a conversation, not a contract. It doesn’t transfer over from last night, last week, or last month. Just because someone touched you once doesn’t mean they get to touch you again.
And yes, even if you’re in a relationship.
Even if you’ve had sex a hundred times.
Even if you said yes and then said no.
Even “Good” Men Get It Wrong
I’ve been with men I loved. Men who supported my dreams, made me laugh until I cried — and still, I had to explain consent to them mid-kiss, mid-touch, mid-moment.
I remember once pausing and saying, “I’m allowed to change my mind.” His eyes narrowed, hurt. “But you were into it before.”
Yes. I was. And now I’m not.
He wasn’t trying to hurt me. But like many, he’d been taught that “not resisting” means “it’s fine.” That going along quietly meant I was okay.
But compliance is not consent.
Stillness is not consent.
Fear is not consent.
Trying to avoid a fight is not consent.
Even “good guys” can cause harm if they don’t actively learn and listen. Intent doesn’t erase impact. And misunderstanding doesn’t erase trauma.
Who Can Consent?
Not everyone can legally or ethically consent. That matters too.
A person cannot give consent if:
- They are under the legal age of consent (varies by state/country).
- They are asleep or unconscious.
- They are intoxicated or impaired by drugs or alcohol.
- They are being pressured, threatened, or manipulated.
- They are in a situation with imbalanced power (e.g., teacher/student, boss/employee, therapist/client).
Consent must be given by someone with the capacity and freedom to say no. Otherwise, it’s not consent. It’s coercion or assault.
Kindness Isn’t Currency
I’ve had men act like being nice to me earned them access to my body. Like compliments, dinners, or holding space for my stories meant I owed them sex.
One actually said, “After everything I did for you, I thought we were past this.”
Past what? My ability to say no?
Kindness with strings is manipulation.
Support with expectations is control.
Love that demands your body isn’t love — it’s entitlement.
Your time, your generosity, your care — those are gifts. But they don’t buy anything in return. Especially not me.
Being Alone With You Is Not Consent
I’ve heard:
- “Why did you come over if you didn’t want anything to happen?”
- “You cuddled with me. You knew what that meant.”
- “You got in bed with me… come on.”
No.
I expected to be treated like a human — not a contract.
I can share a bed without sharing my body.
I can fall asleep next to you and still expect to be safe.
I can enjoy your company, your conversation, your warmth — and still not want sex.
Being alone together isn’t a green light. It’s just geography. Proximity isn’t permission.
Consent Is Sexy
Here’s the truth:
Consent doesn’t ruin the moment — it creates it.
It builds trust. It opens space for vulnerability. It shows maturity and emotional intelligence.
When someone asks:
- “Do you want this?”
- “Is this okay?”
- “Can I…?”
It doesn’t feel awkward. It feels respectful. Safe. Real.
That’s when desire flows freely — because it’s grounded in mutual want, not assumption. Consent is not only necessary — it’s deeply attractive.
If You’ve Been Violated
If someone touched you without permission, even if you didn’t scream, even if you didn’t fight — it was still a violation. Freezing is a trauma response. Silence is survival. Not fighting back doesn’t make it your fault. If you’ve ever gone along with something just to avoid danger, or get it over with — that wasn’t consent. That was self-preservation. If you’re still carrying shame, confusion, or buried memories — you’re not alone.
You are not broken.
You are not to blame.
You are not what someone did to you.
Final Truth: I Decide
You don’t get to twist my past into permission.
You don’t get to label yourself “safe” if you ignore my no.
You don’t get to wear the mask of “good guy” while quietly violating my boundaries.
You are not entitled to my body.
Not today.
Not ever.
And if you’re still confused? Don’t guess.
Ask. Listen. Learn.
Because if you don’t understand consent — if you don’t honor it —
you don’t deserve access to any part of me.