I was in bed with James, a man I really liked. No, not liked: was falling in love with. And I was falling hard. He seemed to like me a lot too but wouldn’t use the “L” word. “Saying it too early is a red flag,” he’d told me once, about a month earlier when I told him I loved him. It was during sex, and it just came out without me thinking. That’s when I feel the closest to James. Our breath heavy and in sync, skin touching skin and kissing passionately as he slides inside me. And stays there, even after he’s cum, for the best cuddles.
It was in this position on a cold June night in 2024 that I asked him how long it would be before he used the “L” word. Silence followed my question. I waited. After what felt like ages, he answered.
“I love you.”
Those three little words. I wasn’t sure if I’d actually heard right. It was barely a whisper in the dark between the two of us. But I hadn’t imagined it. I hugged him tighter than ever and told him, with a shaky voice and tears in my eyes, that I loved him too.
At 44 years old, no man had ever told me that before. Except my dad and grandfathers, but they don’t count. James is my first boyfriend.
As a woman with a physical disability who relies on support for all aspects of personal care, I hadn’t had any luck with men. In fact, relationships were never spoken about. My sex life was non-existent and the only sex education I’d had was at high school. Two of my three younger brothers were married, and the other was engaged. But no one asked if I was interested in settling down with someone special, and what help I may need to do so.
I got on with life: studied Japanese, got a job editing videos and took up writing in my spare time. I even got an assistance dog in the hope that it could provide practical support as well as the companionship I craved. But Upton didn’t want to share my bed, preferring the couch instead. I was waiting for Mr Right to walk through my door one day and sweep me off my feet. That’s how it happens in the movies, right?
Tracy, one of my support workers, was giving me a bath in December 2022. I had Covid-19 (the spicy flu) for the first time. She was washing my hair when there were too many bubbles and she offered to give my neck and shoulders a massage with the excess. Her hands rubbed me with such tenderness I hadn’t felt before. I wondered how a man’s touch would feel over my naked body. If Covid didn’t kill me, then I might have to do something about my spinsterhood. I didn’t want to die a virgin.
That night, as she got me comfortable in bed, I told her how she made me feel.
“Have you ever considered hiring a disability sex worker?” she asked.
I was shocked. “A what? Is it even legal to pay for sexual services in Perth?” I thought I’d have to travel to Kalgoorlie or somewhere that has legalised that. “And how do you know about this?” I asked.
“I used to be one,” she replied.
I was speechless. This opened a rabbit hole that I wasn’t prepared to go down.
The next day I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Once I finished working from home I started googling. I took notes. My eyes widened, until I finally landed on a webpage of male escorts in Perth.
I read all the profiles. Many didn’t show their faces, so one in particular took my fancy. He had a gorgeous smile, a hot body and listed disability as one of his services. His escort name was Chayse.
A few days later I searched for his contact details. I drafted an email that was short and to the point, saying who I was and that I thought it was about time I found out what sexy was. My head was saying: What on Earth are you doing? Don’t send it! While my heart said: Go for it. What have you got to lose? Pre-Covid me would never have done such a daring thing.
I hit send, and about ten minutes later my phone rang. It couldn’t be Chayse. Not this quickly. I answered the phone, and a deep, sexy voice greeted me.
It was Chayse. Not knowing where to start, he suggested I have an erotic massage at his place. I had a hundred questions that he patiently answered. Things like: is there wheelchair access? Can you do the massage in my wheelchair? Where on the woman do you start the massage? Do I need to be naked? Can my support worker bring me?
I told him I’d think about it and hung up. That night I sent him a text requesting a booking. I was so excited that I changed it to two weeks earlier than planned.
I arranged for Tracy to take me, but did not want her to watch or hear anything. This was something personal that I had to do for myself. Chayse and I had spoken and messaged each other in the fortnight prior, to settle my nerves and allay my fears. And to answer more questions.
It didn’t stop me being nervous on the day though. This was the first time I’d be naked in front of a man outside of a hospital. The first time I’d be touched intimately and receive sexual pleasure.
I won’t give you all the details, but the massage went well. I felt very comfortable in Chayse’s hands. We joked, and he respected my wishes and what I asked of him. By paying for the service, I felt in control. This was important for me. Once I’m out of my wheelchair, I can’t move. It’s not like I can get up and walk away if something goes wrong. It was in Chayse’s best interests for the session to go well, so there’d be subsequent bookings. There was much for me to learn from Chayse, but I could teach him a lot about disability.
As I left that day, I thought about all the things I wanted to know and experience. I’d never been kissed by a man, used sex toys, or touched myself. I didn’t even know that women masturbated! It was only something men did, I thought. Chayse was an expert (a ‘sexpert’, actually) and I could write a fantasy list and tick things off. Due to Covid, I hadn’t travelled anywhere so I had savings in my bank for something special. Why not have Chayse take me to exotic places I never imagined, right here in his or my home?
During the following four months I had seven more bookings with Chayse. My fantasy list included:
Have a bath together;
Kissing (now my favourite thing) and cuddling;
Slow dancing;
Cuddle on the couch; and
Spooning.
The more often I saw Chayse the more we did together. The more we did, the more I wanted and the more he challenged me to try new things. Like oral sex. A friend suggested I let Chayse go down on me. At first, I was disgusted by the thought. Why would anyone want to do that? Are men crazy? But then he did it to me, and it completely changed my mind. It felt nice, and a real introduction to what pleasure feels like.
It was only fair that I returned the favour to him. But why would anyone want to put a penis in their mouth? That’s gross! Chayse’s advice was just do what felt right.
So, I tried it.
And.
Wow.
Oh boy it sure did feel right! Never in my wildest dreams did I think my disabled body could arouse a man, but Chayse taught me otherwise. He saw me as a woman first, with the same wants, needs and desires as any other woman. He taught me what my body can and can’t do. And he gave me confidence and a belief that disabled women can be sexy, enjoy fun times in the bedroom, and be worthy of a man’s love.
I have always been a proud disabled woman. But without representation by other women with disabilities in mainstream media, I never challenged my internal ableism. I never dreamed I could have sex or fall in love. It’s easy to forget, as Hannah Diviney writes in her book I’ll Let Myself In, that “People with disabilities want the same things as anyone else. To be seen and heard. To be valued and appreciated. To have friends and fall in love. To have relationships. We are not aliens to the human condition.”
Apparently I wasn’t alone in losing my virginity in my 40s. According to Touching Base Inc, a referral agency for people with disabilities and sex workers, “…many clients wanting to access our referral list of sex workers are losing their virginity at a much later age than the average Australian.” I was proof that “…having a disability can be a barrier that can significantly delay opportunities for some people to explore and express their sexuality with another person.”
There’s no way I could afford to keep going with Chayse, and it would never be anything more than a professional relationship. After eight sessions and countless hours together, I felt like I was ready to navigate dating sites on my own.
It took the best part of a year to meet James, with many flings in between. But right now, I couldn’t be happier. James is my first boyfriend (and hopefully my last). I’ve never felt this way about anyone else before. The feelings of loving another and being loved makes my heart burst with joy.
James loves me for who I am. Like Chayse, he doesn’t see me as a disabled person, with limits on our relationship. Yes, we have to do things differently. But we are working it out as we go along. James is autistic, so he is teaching me about his disability while learning about mine.
It’s the little things James does that makes my heart sing.
Like rub my hair and shoulders regularly.
James cooks breakfast every morning he stays over.
He wraps his arms and legs around me in a beautiful embrace until I fall asleep.
It’s been three months since he told me he loves me. James just came home and gave me a big kiss. Before we knew it, we were both topless, his hands running up and down my back while kissing passionately. Panting, I told him I had to finish editing, and to save it for the bedroom tonight.
While he wouldn’t say the “L” word early in our relationship, his actions said it loud and clear. And every time I hear those three little words, I’ve had shivers down my spine and a flutter in my heart. We tell each other at least once daily. I’m so grateful to have James in my life. While I can’t control what happens in the future, the love we have for each other seems to grow stronger every single day. When I wake up next to James, I feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world. He lights up a spark in me and lets me glow. I didn’t know what I was missing until that chance conversation with Tracy, which led me to Chayse. And now James. I finally found the spice I craved in my life.
Feature image: Melanie Hawkes.