Disability and sexuality exploring the intimacy option
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Disability and sexuality exploring the intimacy option
Disability and sexuality exploring the intimacy option is a true story about the right to sexual expression for disabled people with developmental disorders and the reaction of their legal guardians.
The thick aroma of chili meandered through the house, as the remaining portion simmered on low. To the side of the stove, little barrels of spice sat corralled in a wooden rack with bulky loomed potholders dangling on hooks below. A colossal oak table in the dining room added to the communal atmosphere, as ten of us sat elbow to elbow eating dinner. The comfortable home, with two full bathrooms, ran under the private ownership of the adultsβ aging parents.
βOh no. Iβm spilling.β Walking from the sink, Katherineβs eyes widened as her grip tightened on the cup.
βYouβre good,β I said. βThree more steps and you can put it down.β
Placing her feet on beige tiles, she teetered along on the checker-board pattern, water splashing over the rim. Her troubled gaze swung between Clifford and me as her glass touched down on the table.
βI need more water. Itβs not full.β
Having worked at the group home as an aide for six months, Clifford had earned his place as part of the family. Working weekends together, I appreciated his humor and even keel.
His hand reached across the table. βGive it here. Iβve got you.β
Katherine glanced at me. βCliffordβs my friend.β
βYes, he is.β Before cleaning up, I made one final call. βDoes anyone want more chili?β
βYeah me.β Max scooped up the last bit on his plate.
βNo, Maxwell. Youβre fat.β Joyce pointed a condemning finger. βNo more for Max.β
βHe puts in a hard day at the workshop,β I said. βMax comes home hungry. He needs a good meal.β
Joyceβs mouth twisted as lumps of meat and beans dropped onto his plate.
βYeah.β Maxβs face lit up. βI push the dolly to the dock. The truck needs the boxes.β
Switching off the flame, I set the pot to cool on the porcelain and redirected my attention at Joyce. I waited until her eyes found mine. βYou know what, Joyce? We can call Max stocky. It means heβs big and has muscles.β
βYeah. Iβm Superman.β Max thumped his chest with his fist.
βNo youβre not. Stop lying.β Joyceβs hands flailed like she was shaking them dry.
βI pretend.β Max loaded his mouth up chewing loudly. βYum.β
His appreciation cut across the table, making Joyce scowl.
βComβon, give Max a break. A man gotta eat.β Clifford reached sideways, offering Joyce a reassuring pat on the back.
βOkay.β She studied her plate, then reciprocated by patting Cliffordβs elbow.
Clearing the empty salad bowl from the table, Clifford popped it in the sink and glanced at the memo board screwed to the wall.
βHey, check the shower schedule everyone. Barbara and Joyce, I think youβre up first tonight.β
Scrubbing a stubborn spot on the pot, I looked over my shoulder. βFolks, put your dishes in the sink and wipe down the placemats before you leave.β
Plates and silverware clattered, and floating sponges were whisked from a soapy bin set on the table.
βComβon,β Clifford waved a hand towards the living-room. βBewitched is on. Thatβs the show about Samantha and Darrin.β
The cleaning efforts of the stragglers quickened.
βMax.β Clifford beckoned with his hand. βWe can finish our checker game. There are two other boards out in case anyone else wants to play.β
People sauntered to the living room, but Clifford paused and back-tracked into the kitchen.
βComβon Gary. You like Bewitched. Itβs the lady who wiggles her nose. Come sit by me while I play checkers.β
I listened for the scrape of a chair behind me.
βGary, put your hand down.β Cliffordβs voice was calm but firm.
βThereβs a pack of gum in here.β I opened the top cabinet with my soapy hand. βIt stops him from chewing on his fingers.β
βNo, heβs playing with himself.β
Twisting around, I observed Gary rubbing the heel of his palm over the zipper of his pants. I shut the faucets and did a half turn.
βHeβs only been here for two months. Maybe heβs getting comfortable enough to reveal more of himself.β
Cliffordβs brows rose like check-marks. βThis mess here, he should keep to himself.β
Clifford extended an open palm. βHey pal, give me your hand.β
Gary put his hand out looking confused. Clifford loosely clasped Garyβs wrist lifting it in front of his chin.
βHere you go. You want your fingers instead?β
Accepting the bait, Gary reverted to sucking the first two fingers of his right hand.
βGood. You chew on those for a while buddy.β Clifford rested his hand on Garyβs shoulder. βYou wanna go inside with the others now?β
Gary sprang to his feet and darted into the living- room.
βWas that the lesser of two evils method?β My head tipped to the side.
βYou know it. Last night when you were at the A&P with Nick and Barbara, he played with himself for over an hour while we were making the mosaic trays. I donβt see the others doing it.β
βMaybe they do, but they have a better sense of whatβs public and private.β
I flopped into a dinning-room chair. βRemember, Garyβs thirty-eight, and he was locked up in a state hospital for fifteen years.β
βYeah, I saw that in his file. It must have messed him up.β
βIβm just tossing out a possibility here, but what if all his rubbing is because he canβt get the job done? Itβs like being perpetually horny with no chance of relief.β
βLuce, you know youβre being the nasty one now, plus these guys donβt know about sex stuff.β
Cliffordβs back slumped against the kitchen threshold. βYeah, they look like adults, but most of them think like kids. Iβm not downing them, theyβre good people, but theyβre not exactly on the ball.β
βI donβt think sex drive runs on a sliding scale according to your IQ. Itβs one of those hardwired things, like running from a mangy dog charging at you. Your instincts kicks in.β
Max entered the room with his hands on his hips, eyes anchored to Clifford.
βWhy you in here talking?β
βSorry, Max. Iβll be with you by the next commercial. Just give me a minute.β
βHmm.β Max twitched his mouth and did a half turn.
βSo from now on, jerking offβs gonna be Garyβs thing?β Cliffordβs hands rose and fell to his sides. βThatβs not cool when we go out in the community or when heβs at the workshop.β
βYeah, thereβs jerking happening, but I was serious before about the getting off part.β
Cliffordβs eyes settled on me, with inquiring eyes.
βThink about it this way,β I said. βHeβs trying to reach the ending, and heβs left searching for the answer to the mystery, or maybe somethingβs getting in the way of him finishing up. Disability and sexuality exploring the intimacy option is a real concern.β
βMan, this sounds wack. Where do you get this stuff from?β
βWait, Clifford. Just hear me out. Maybe he canβt visualize what turns him on, or the meds are throwing his body off. I donβt want to go all doctor on you, but maybe some signals are crossing in his brain, and look at his fingers. Theyβre slightly constricted, maybe he canβt find the right grip or speed.β
βI know youβre serious, but this is one crazy conversation.β Cliffordβs head wavered.
βThink of sex like a chart with hand-holding on the bottom and screwing someone on top.β I shifted, straightening up. βClients lock in at different places based on their understanding of their bodies and social relationships. For Gary, masturbation is the high point, but unfortunately, itβs like foreplay that never ends. He should be able to do it to his satisfaction, to completion.β
βI get what you mean. Itβs like he keeps trying.β Clifford paused. βFinishing up would be like him having sex for the first time.β
βExactly.β My palm tapped the table. βIt sucks that his motherβs his legal guardian. She treats him like heβs her little boy. He needs a human sexuality coach, or Planned Parenthood nurse.β
βYouβre over the edge now, and good luck finding a new job.β Clifford snorted.
The Oscar Meyer jingle free-wheeled into the kitchen.
Clifford nodded towards the living-room.βI better get inside.β

Susan Dashiell
Susan Dashiell is a middle school teacher in Bloomfield, NJ who enjoys the quirks of adolescence.
Caption:
Think of sex like a chart with hand-holding on the bottom and screwing someone on top. People lock in at different places based on their understanding of their bodies and social relationships.