<p>In order to officially kick off our Sex and The Crescent City series, I couldn’t think of a better place to start than with a concept that is (almost) too simple, yet consistently abused, manipulated, and in some instances, ignored altogether.</p>
<p>Say it with me now: C-O-N-S-E-N-T!!!!!!!!!!</p>
<p>At age 14, I had my first French kiss with a boy who is still my friend today. In proper eighth grade fashion, my girlfriends set up the whole thing, so I knew what was going to happen well before he even approached me. When he did, he said a bunch of things that I would be too nervous to recall later, and then finally<em>, </em>he <em>asked </em>if he could kiss me.</p>
<p>I accepted, locked lips with him for what was probably fifteen seconds, and ran back to my friends, giddy and somehow transformed. He ran back to his and told them that I had no idea what I was doing; that I had just started hooking up and was already bad at it (in hindsight, I can’t figure out why he thought that <em>he </em>was the expert). When this gossip got back to me, I was crushed. I thought that my first &#8220;real&#8221; kiss was ruined, and that his unkind words would be the only thing that I’d remember from the experience.</p>
<p>He apologized, I got better at kissing, and now we both chuckle whenever we think back on that night. I thought that his rumor would haunt me forever, but at 21, It’s his asking to kiss me that still touches my cold heart.</p>
<p>My hookups at Tulane have been slightly different from that night in eighth grade, though a similar form of pettiness upholds. There have been numerous occasions where a guy has leaned in without asking if I wanted it. On some of those occasions, I <em>did </em>want it, and his silent smoothness came off as sexy. On other occasions, I cringed and wondered why he thought I needed to see his whiteheads up close. This is known as the grey zone: a space in which sexual encounters are not clearly invited or rejected; where those involved may feel uncomfortable or violated but something else pushes them forward (guilt, feeling as though it’s too late to stop, shame, intoxication, the list goes on.)</p>
<p>Allowing someone to buy me a drink or dance with me is not the same as consent. But all too often, I hear friends talk about how agreeing to a date party means agreeing to hook up. I could be wrong (which I’m not), but I believe that those are two completely different questions.</p>
<p>The bottom line is: consent is sexy. I simply cannot think of a time when a guy asked for my permission before advancing and it wasn’t an immediate turn-on.</p>
<p>“Can I kiss you?”</p>
<p>“Do you like this?”</p>
<p>And a personal favorite: “What do you want?”</p>
<p>Taking a step back to pose these questions is never going to kill the mood. Crossing a line, especially one that you didn’t bother to ask was there, definitely will.</p>
<p>COVER PHOTO: Justin Haber</p>
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Sex and The Crescent City: Consent is Sexy
