Chaucer’s take is a little different.

In Troilus and Criseyde Troilus is, in fact, rather passive in his actions. True, the drama of his feeling almost overwhelms the poetry of Book I, but he actually does very little. Meanwhile, Criseyde is continually resistant to any mention of his affection (and even when she gives into it, she is adamant that she wants to keep the independence she has as a widow).

But, of course, a passive hero and a resistant heroine are never going to come together of their own free will, and so Chaucer creates the character of Pandarus. Friend to Troilus, and uncle to Criseyde, Pandarus is a bizarre creature, who initially seems to genuinely care for both of the lovers, and even speaks some sensible words to Troilus. But as the narrative goes on, he becomes more and more manipulative, putting into action the things Troilus lacks the will to do.

By lying to her, Pandarus in fact takes over almost complete management of Criseyde’s physical being.

In Book III, for example, he uses lies to persuade Criseyde to come to his house, and then to stay the night, and then to take a room in a quieter, more intimate part of the house, and then to allow Troilus to visit her in her bedroom that night, and so on and so forth. Almost always, his final argument is that if she won’t do as he says, Troilus will surely die of heartache (and Pandarus will die from sorrow over the death of his friend).

Reading this, as the lies build and Pandarus becomes ever more manipulative, you can’t help but question Criseyde’s consent. At one point Pandarus practically strips Troilus and forces him into Criseyde’s bed. Criseyde often says no to things initially, but Pandarus always gets her consent in the end. However, the way he gets her consent is by lying to her, and whilst, to my mind, there is no question as to whether or not Criseyde is being coerced – she is! – this dynamic has brought to mind an entirely different question.

Can anyone give their consent if they are being lied to about their situation?

In the past I have been on all three sides of cheating; I have been cheated on, I have cheated on people, and I have slept with people who were cheating on their partners. I won’t ever deny this, and I still strive to withhold from judging those who do cheat – after all, every situation is unique – but I made a decision never to participate in cheating again. I wish I could say this was for moral reasons, but whilst I may have taken on some sense of morality, the main reasons I made this definitive decision were selfish: cheating made me feel bad, and I realised that I deserved more than half a partner.

Having given up the need to defend my own actions, I now have a different view of cheating, and, perhaps because I no longer have to deny it to myself, something about it really bothers me. Reading Troilus and Criseyde over the past five weeks, I have finally figured out what it is about cheating that makes me feel so uncomfortable, and it is this question of consent.

Let me give you an example:

John and Jane are married. Unbeknownst to Jane, John has been sleeping with somebody else. If Jane knew that he was cheating on her, she might withdraw her consent to sleep with John. But she doesn’t know, and so when they have sex, she is giving her consent based on the incorrect belief that John is being faithful.

Therefore, is there not a question as to the validity of Jane’s consent?

On the one hand, we as human beings have to take into account that at any given moment, we may be lied to. By being part of society, we accept that we may not always get the truth. Therefore, when anyone gives their consent to sleep with someone, they accept that there is a chance that the other person is lying to them, and that has to be taken into account as part of their decision.

But we all know how important trust is in relationships. There comes a point when consent may not be based on the individual’s own instinct, but on how much the individual trusts his/her partner. Therefore, if his/her partner is lying to the individual, the conditions of their consent may be undermined.

Really, what I wish to do here is to present uninformed consent as the grey area between informed consent, and non-consent.

There is no final answer to this problem: people cheat for a variety of reasons, and I have even come across cases – mostly where children are involved – in which cheating seemed to be the lesser of two evils. But still, this question of consent bothers me.

We can rarely be 100% sure that the conditions of our consent are being met, but there is most definitely a difference between the kind of knowledge we need in the early stages of dating, and the kind of trust we rely on in long term relationships in order to make an informed decision.

The only kind of conclusion I can come to is this: perhaps when we, as human beings, make the decision to sleep with someone, we ought to also take into account how that decision may affect the consent of the other people in our lives. Because in this world of sexual freedom, and BDSM, and polyamory, the importance of consent seems to be the one thing we all agree on. But are we really defining it honestly?

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A couple of things in particular have occurred to me on this topic, things which I have not seen discussed in any great detail. When drop is written about it is mostly generically or personally, and predominantly by people who identify as kinky. Although I have my own personal experiences, the two things that have been on my mind are 1) that the severity of drop is relative to the type of person experiencing it, and 2) that people with no kinks to speak of also experience drop; in fact, it can be experienced in a non-sexual setting as well. The most severe drop I ever experience comes after I have been in a theatrical production; come rain or come shine everyone in the company can agree that the days after a final performance are hellish and leave us feeling utterly lost.

Speaking of the severity of drop in relation to the person experiencing it, what I mean is that a particularly emotionally strong person might not experience it with much severity, even if they have engaged in a very intense, (for lack of a better word) hardcore play, whereas someone of a sensitive disposition might experience drop in the wake of simply kissing someone and then being left bereft of their presence. In fact, I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to say that many people experience drop after experimenting as teenagers and/or loss of virginity, without identifying it. That cold, aloneness of the morning after is something I remember as very emotionally unsettling. Reading this piece by Jillian Boyd brought my thoughts to a head. In the piece she describes playing with someone in a way which may seem casual, but was very intense for her – and I believe would be very intense for many, – and having to stop due to an overwhelming sense of emotional disarray. This sparked another thought; it is possible to experience drop mid-play. The emotion involved in many focused exploits is enough to tip some of us over the edge.

Of course, I think experience plays a large part in the way we handle drop; as we grow more experienced and learn more about ourselves we also handle emotion better. I certainly don’t experience drop anywhere near as seriously as I did a couple of years ago.

Personally, I feel I have come across far too many people who engage in intense play and know almost nothing of drop. It is important to be able to identify it in order to ask that your needs be met. This was something I learnt long after I started experiencing drop; luckily, when I was finally able to name the feeling, I was simultaneously introduced to the concept of aftercare. Aftercare is the antidote; it is whatever we need in order to deal with the drop. For most it means comfort, care and cuddling. It is slightly different for everyone, but in general it seems most agree that a sense of being looked after is key. I believe it gets more complicated when both partners require aftercare, but I will leave that discussion for another time; I have personally never been with someone who needed aftercare, although I always make sure I check in with my partner to ensure they are doing okay.

However, with the advent of the internet, aftercare has become problematic. Now that we are able to connect with people who are not in our immediate vicinity, we are also able to play with them. But we are not able to get the physical aftercare we may require. Although there is a good case for the argument that you can’t build up the same intensity online as you can in person and therefore you don’t require the same level of aftercare, I believe there is still an imbalance. It would seem that online play can become more intense than online aftercare is equipped to deal with. Another problem – and I am loathe to bring this up because I have no desire to discuss the ethics of cheating on this blog post, but I think it’s important to add to the discussion – is that many people in relationships now have easier access to sex outside those relationships. What this means is that people may be able to go and play during the day, but more likely than not they will then have to go home to their partner afterwards, leaving the other person alone to deal with the drop.

I’m aware that there are people who would argue, then, that this is just another reason not to cheat, but I don’t like to pass judgement in such a general way; people cheat for all kinds of reasons and it is not my place to say they should not. Besides which, I have slept with married people; but that is my own business. The only part of that which I wish to discuss is this:

Harper Eliot’s Guide to Surviving Drop Alone. (Yes, the preceding 1000 words have all been leading up to this.) Since reading Jilly’s piece and generally contemplating how I take care of myself after playing with someone, I’ve been considering what tips I would give to someone experiencing drop on their own. And with all the pain and sadness I see on twitter every day, it seemed like something I should share. Of course, the following is very personal and can only be taken as advice and maybe a starting point; it is not law. It is also very simple; almost common sense really. The other thing which occurs to me when considering what follows is that if you’re female a lot of this may be very close to the kind of care you might require during menstruation. Whatever you do to take care of yourself at that time might be worth replicating during drop.

1. Communication with your partner. Even if he/she is not physically in the room, communication is important. Text, phonecalls, email, instant messaging, social networking… these are all tools you can use during drop. Talk. Demand the care you need. Conversely, if you don’t get it, you should not be playing with this person.

2. Communication with your friends. You don’t have to tell them what’s bothering you if you don’t want to, but speaking to a friendly voice is often very helpful.

3. Tears. You are allowed to cry. In fact, if you feel even the slightest need to, I openly encourage it. Crying can be an incredible release. It is therapeutic. It allows you to let out a huge amount of whatever negativity you are feeling. Make your pillow wet.

4. Cleanliness. Bathe, shower, BRUSH YOUR TEETH. Feeling the dirt of the day is just another burden to your body. You need to take care of yourself and feel comfortable and cosy in your skin. Not to mention the relaxing bliss that is a hot bath.

5. Clothes. Personally I feel a hoodie or a jumper can go a long way in helping you feel calm, relaxed and comforted. Keeping your body warm helps a lot. And the comfort of well-known everyday clothes helps as well. I would not, however, advise keeping items of clothing specifically for drop. The clothes need to aid you in coming back to everyday life so it is better if they are things you wear at other times too. Pajamas are good.

6. Food. Feel free to indulge in something not-so-healthy – like chocolate or chips – but don’t make this your entire diet. I cannot say enough good things about eating a substantial, healthy meal post-play. Not only does it help you recover, replenishing your body with what it needs, it also helps you psychologically if you know you are eating something that’s good for you.

7. Sleep. Make sure you get a good night’s sleep. Your body needs it. Your head needs it. You need it. You will feel better in the morning.

8. Busyness. Once you have a good night’s sleep under your belt I would advise that you get back to being busy with everyday life. Work is so good for this. As is housework, although try to get out of the house as well. Fresh air is your friend.

9. Music. Listen to something soothing, happy and warming. Something you love. Perhaps something that reminds you of good nights out with friends. (And if you’re kinky there are plenty of kinky podcasts to remind you that you’re not alone; although discussion is better than smut.)

10. Entertainment. Whether it be a book or television or magazines or the internet or an actual human being, find yourself something that truly makes you laugh. And laugh. As they say, it is the best medicine.

And there you have it. Ten steps to being a happy, healthy, (often kinky) person. You are entitled to your low feelings and you are owed your happiness.

Edit: there are lots of good comments and further advice below but I would particularly like to direct you to Abel’s comment; he talks about a side which I completely neglected.

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