Deaf Sex*

*This is my translation of the following Arabic article

Deaf Sex

Zzzzt is the noisy beep that comes out from my hearing aids. It interrupts our communication and companionship every time, that it has become impossible to enjoy silence. This sound may remind you of when, at the theater, technicians try out the sound settings; "One, two, three". It's not a joke and I'm not trying to make you laugh by talking about this. It's just that a friend asked me to write about my hearing impairment.

What should I write about this? How deeply do I want to talk about it? These questions confuse me.

I'm a twenty-eight year old woman. I lost 80% of my hearing when I was thirteen. I was smart, curious, active and my hearing was superb. I was practicing piano weekly in an institute of music. I used to sing whenever I had a chance; in the shower, with friends, in family parties, on my way to school. My mum didn't accept my impairment which prevented me from continuing the music lessons. Until today, even after having been to many famous doctors with different specialties, she considers what happened to me the result of a curse or of black magic. She wept every time we went to a doctor. I decided to enroll in a college far from home to put an end to her weeping and irrational fears.

Zzzt is the sound of my aids. They usually don't beep at the same time. My aids beep whenever someone's lips touch my earlobe, or when a person's hands pass through the hair on the side of my head. These romantic actions don't suit me. They might express genuine emotions or strong desires but, for me, they create awkward and uncomfortable moments. People consider me a weird, hyperactive person who doesn't like quietness, however; this is not true. I acquired these attributes due to my hearing impairment. I lose concentration quickly in a crowd. I talk a lot and interrupt people's conversations. I get exhausted if I'm with people whose voices or way of talking I'm not used to. Most of my first dates didn't work either because I cut out the conversation when I couldn't focus or because I talked a lot. Let's say my best dates, or to be specific, the most comfortable, were when I drank a lot. Alcohol is a fast and brief way to end up in bed.

"I hope this sound didn't annoy you", I say with a surprised look.

"Try not to touch my ears all the time to avoid this beep", I reply with a sorry face.

"This sound warns of a grave danger", I say with an evil laugh to get over the embarrassing situation.

This doesn't mean that I didn't meet with guys who understood my condition but it isn't about understanding, kindness or sympathy. I didn't think there would be anyone who could understand me and decipher the codes of my movement. All I try to do here is to narrate my own reflections about the effects of aids' beep during the most intimate moments at night. It's me who has lived with this impairment for years. My aids accompany all my memories. They witnessed my whines, screams, the bed's creaks, PMS groans, orgasm moans and my repeated disappointments.

Some friends told me that during one of my TV interviews, I moved my hands a lot. I didn't tell them that I move them a lot even in bed. Don't be surprised but I believe hands have their own language. I care about the way my partner uses his hands to express what he wants. In bed, I put my right cheek on his left arm. In this way, I stop him from moving it and I take over. I let my fingers caress his face in circles. I gently touch his eyebrows, nose and then I get close to his lips. I stop for a while and later I raise my hand to say what my tongue is unable to say. I don't say that this way is restricted to people with disabilities. What I say is that those with disabilities develop special ways of communication; exclusive and sensitive ways, at least that is what I think.

I remember all the embarrassing situations I have faced. The recent one was a few months ago when my mother called me at 5 a.m. She couldn't fall asleep due to her routine panic and paranoid ideas, therefore she called me. I don't hear the phone's ring without my aids. It was my partner who woke me up. As soon as I answered the phone, my Mum asked me; "How did you manage to hear the phone at this late hour? Who is with you?" This incident, though its silliness, revealed all my secrets. I always wonder about the child I might have one day, how would I hear their cries when they get hungry late at night.

"Are you alright?" I ask this question every time my partner reaches orgasm. Hearing his answer clearly reassures me. I can't have sex without my aids because I like to control everything. I need to hear his body's sound when it gets in contact with mine, his gradual breaths, the sound that results from passing my hand through his hair while the other hand grabs the back of his shoulder. I listen for the creak of bed, not wanting to disturb others and the phone's vibrations that inform me of Facebook notifications, even the sound of the tap dripping in the bathroom.

The only time I got rid of my aids was with my love. Yes, with my love I experienced freedom with my feelings. One time, for no reason, I decided to take them off and to stop being obsessed about controlling everything. It was an amazing feeling. The noisy sounds didn't overwhelm me. The bed's creak didn't affect my concentration. I didn't comment on every additional move. I entirely surrendered to the silence from which I normally deprive myself. It's like gaining freedom from the control of sounds and like an eternal cuddle with silence.