Nadia Bokody: ‘If this makes you awkward, you’re bad at sex’

It’s an act often labelled as “unnecessary”, but if you’re not doing it, then chances are you’re not as good in the bedroom as you think.

I’ve made a huge mistake.

I remember having this thought over and over again, as I sat frozen on my couch, a foreign hand navigating its way up my leg.

It was my first jaunt on Tinder, fresh from a seven-year marriage that predated dating apps. My friends had encouraged me, “Put yourself back out there!” while helping set up my profile. It all felt a bit strange, swiping through catalogues of men as though I were picking out a new bathroom tile design, but I leaned into it and eventually had a match.

Sam sent me a message cracking a joke about using the dog in his pictures to garner my attention, immediately putting my nerves at ease. Then we bonded over the fact we were both Definitely Not Cat People, jesting about how rude cats are.

Feeling emboldened by the effortless flow of our conversation, I asked him if he’d like to come over for drinks the following night.

Sex writer and news.com.au columnist Nadia Bokody recounts a Tinder date situation that’s sadly familiar to a lot of women. Picture: Instagram

As soon as he arrived, it was evident his profile pictures had been taken several years ago. The suave persona I’d met online also appeared to have been replaced with a more awkward, clammy version. Still, I’d committed to the date, and if nothing else, I thought, I might make a new friend.

I sat on the opposite end of the couch to make it clear I wasn’t interested in anything beyond a platonic connection, but as the night wore on, Sam seemed to be positioned increasingly close to me.

“I think you’re great, but I have to be honest, I don’t feel a spark,” I told him, his knees now grazing mine.

“Maybe this will help,” he replied, smoothing a moist hand across my thigh until it disappeared beneath my skirt.

I quickly brushed it away.

“No, I’m sorry. Really, I’d be happy to be friends though,” I smiled, not wanting to shake his ego.

But a few moments later, the hand was back.

The idea that men aren’t responsible for how they behave around women they like is still sadly common. Picture: iStock.

The next hour would be a tense to and fro of him revisiting my upper thigh and me carefully prying him away; a slick of sweat left behind where his hand had lingered.

It was during that hour I had the realisation most women have at some point in our lives when we’ve allowed ourselves to be alone with a man we don’t know: “I’ve made a huge mistake. What if he does something to me?”

This is, after all, the narrative we’re taught. Men aren’t responsible for the way they behave around women they’re sexually attracted to. Women should be more careful, because we all know what guys are capable of. It’s up to women, not men themselves, to moderate men’s behaviour or else risk paying the price of leading him on: “You invited him back to your house/drank alcohol/wore a short skirt/flirted with him – what did you expect?”

And because I know someone is going to protest, “Why are you demonising men?! Women can be creeps, too!” it should be noted I’m not suggesting otherwise. However, it would be folly to treat these as comparable issues.

Current data from the Australian Bureau of Statistics shows the overwhelming majority of sexual assault and violence is carried out by men. Shifting the dialogue away from men with the “BUT WOMEN DO BAD THINGS ALSO!” argument isn’t just unproductive; it perpetuates the minimisation and dismissal of women’s safety and body autonomy.

What we really need men to start doing, is talking about consent. More specifically, to dismantle the outdated belief it’s something that’s implied, not discussed.

That asking for consent is awkward and unnecessary when it can simply be assumed via the act of being invited back to a woman’s place, exchanging flirtation, and perhaps even in the bashful dodging of an intimate touch; because pop culture teaches us “no” is impetus to keep going, and that the romantic hero doesn’t give up just because his female love interest wants to stay friends – he pursues her relentlessly until she’s his!

Men need to start talking about consent, especially where it counts: in the bedroom. Picture: iStock.

This framework gives way to ambiguity and confusion around gauging women’s interest. Men are left to unscientifically attempt to ascertain if her “no” really is a “no”, or if she’s just prescribing to the script (don’t be too easy! Let him chase you! Men need to feel like they’ve “won” you, make him work for it!).

And it doesn’t factor in the very real fear most women have felt when alone with a man we don’t know well – a fear that’s taught us to smile and be coy while brushing an overzealous hand away, because we live in a world where one in three women will be sexually or physically assaulted in our lifetime (according to current data from the World Health Organisation).

If this still all seems a bit much, like wokeness gone too far; perhaps it makes you concerned men will be too afraid to even be around women anymore (WON’T SOMEBODY PLEASE THINK OF THE MEN), it’s worth asking yourself why.

The idea that asking for consent ruins passionate moments is wrong, says Bokody. Picture: Instagram

Why are you afraid of a world in which men don’t assume access to women’s bodies? What is it about asking for consent that makes you uncomfortable?

Because I’m here to tell you if you think it’s going to ruin sex or romance, it won’t.

As a woman who exclusively dates other women these days, asking a date if I can touch her has never killed a genuinely passionate moment. And there’s nothing sexy about ignoring someone else’s right to basic body autonomy.

If seeking consent ruins the mood, it’s not because you paused to get a verbal green light, it’s because she wasn’t actually as into you as the aloof girls in rom-coms led you to believe.

Shortly after Sam left my house, he sent me another message, it read “I can see you like playing hard to get”, punctuated by a wink-face emoji.

Thankfully, after I unmatched him on Tinder and blocked his number, I never saw him again.

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