Sex as a Man Post-Roe

During the height of pandemic isolation, the year between the arrival of Covid-19 and getting vaccinated, I wondered, as I spent day after day and night after night alone, without seeing anyone, without touching anyone, what first-time post-pandemic sex would be like.

How it would feel to be in the same bed with someone, much less the same room. To touch someone’s skin. To be naked and vulnerable, to kiss, to share my body with someone else, to experience pleasure with someone else through our bodies.

Turns out it was pretty great.

Now I wonder what it will be like to have sex for the first time after the Supreme Court stripped away the constitutional right to reproductive choice, especially in a state where abortion became illegal last night.

I’ll cut directly to the chase: I think of the moment of no return, when orgasm for me becomes inevitable and beyond my control. And instead of soaking in the experience and pleasure, instead I’ll think, am I about to change my partner’s life and body forever—in a way she doesn’t want?

There are safeguards against this, of course. Most of my partners have been on the pill or had an IUD, although this kind of contraception is no longer guaranteed, since the elimination of the right to privacy guaranteed by Roe v. Wade may be used to dismantle the right to contraception. As if the government should be dictating whether or not me and my partner can access contraception, and if so, what kind. Someone please tell me, what kind of freedom that is?

And there are condoms, of course. They are usually safe and reliable, just as other forms of contraception are, even if they diminish the physical pleasure of sex.

But none of them are 100%. There’s always that chance, however small. And while I can’t speak for my past partners, I’ve been soothed and comforted by the fact that in the event an unplanned pregnancy did occur (and there have been some close calls) there was a way to safely, reliably control and decide for ourselves how we wanted to proceed.

That control, that ultimate freedom to manage our bodies and our futures, is now gone. It makes me feel sick, and it doesn’t even impact my body.

It makes me feel the weight and consequence of sex. This is, I suppose, part of the plan and goal of religious fundamentalists: to rid the world of sex for the sake of pleasure, and to leave behind solely sex for procreation.

What a miserable existence that is.

I’ve considered a vasectomy before, but now it’s on my mind more than ever. At my age, it’s unlikely I’ll ever have or want kids of my own.

It seems like it’s time for me, as a man and just as a person, to take ownership and responsibility of my own reproductive body. I know, at least locally, that I am not alone.

These days the process is reversible, so if I were to ever change my mind, that would be an option. It seems like a no-brainer, really. Perhaps it would allow me to reclaim the ability to have sex purely for pleasure and connection.

This is yet another wake-up call for men (and for me) in a long-lasting, ever-present ringing of alarms to hear women’s generational plea for bodily autonomy.

To be able to experience the freedom of opportunity and control that men have for so long taken for granted. To rob women of that control is immoral, wrong and selfish. But that’s a different fight, one that is already underway and won’t stop, ever, even if the right to abortion is codified into law.

Just like when the #MeToo movement began, I realize, yet again, how much I’ve taken for granted.

As we listen to women’s stories, and the hurt, anger and rage stemming from the Roe decision, I think about what it must feel like for half of our population to feel this country views them as nothing else than a vessel for recreation. That our society views women’s value not for what they themselves bring to the world, but by being able to bring someone else into the world. (And does our society support women during that process? Of course not.)

Our most basic right to privacy has been shredded.

The rage makes the idea of sex right now seem anything but sexy. I hope, for us all, we can reclaim for everyone the freedoms and access to pleasure and joy we’ve lost.

In the interim, the task is to find solutions to manage as best we can. For me, that likely means a relatively easy, not too expensive medical procedure.

For others, it means so much more. People’s lives are at stake.

Welcome to the post-Roe world.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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