No. It was like coming home. Back to the place where I'm desirable, desiring, fuckable, fucking. Back to where pleasure matters. Back to where bodies are wonderful beautiful things for joy and exploration. Back to being a person.
People- and by people, I mean doctors, friends, loved ones, lovers- get really freaked out by the concept of disabled/chronically ill people as sexual beings. Being disabled makes one, in the mind of others, occupy the same mental space as the elderly and children- sexless beings, or at least beings that damn well ought to be sexless, and if you're not, get on it, because nobody wants to think about amputees getting it on, okay? Yeesh.
Except that disabled =/= sexless. Assumed sexlessness is one of the worst things about disability. And orgasms are better for pain than dilaudid, and that stuff is like being hugged by the almighty, let me tell you.
I am not sexless. I have no desire to be sexless. I like sex. I like desiring and being desired. It's more difficult these days, and sex requires a bit more being careful of aching joints than I'd like, but that doesn't make me sexless. But try having a conversation with a doctor about sex and making sure I can keep having it. They act like I'm requesting they fix my ability to bungee jump or something equally outlandish and unnecessary. How sick are you, really, if you still want to get naked and crazy? seems to be the general implication, along with a hint of I can't believe you made me think about that. Ew.
So, anyway, for today, if you see someone disabled or old or whatever, force yourself to consider that that is a sexual being, too. That is an entire person who has all the same desires and desirings of the able and young and beautiful. Extra credit if you picture it and don't gag.