Musing on the subject of dubious consent in fiction

Dubious consent is one of those popular check-box tags you see all over romantic/erotic fiction.

And when its done well those stories can be really engaging. But when its done poorly, they are appalling. I recently subjected myself to a skin-crawling abuse of the genre, which got me thinking about why they work, when they work, and what to look out for when tackling them.

So we should start with what consent means.

I have literally heard older people grumble how nobody asked permission when they were young and it was no big deal. Which was an infuriating misunderstanding of the debate. Because consent is less about asking permission than it’s about empowering participants to say no. Its about recognising that there is a massive grey area between yes and no. And that people don’t always know what they want or don’t want. That their desires can change with time, partner or daily circumstance. And all of that is normal and okay.

So what then is dubious consent? It’s deep emotional conflict – that is what makes it such good reading. A conflict where the character simultaneously wants and doesn’t want, is afraid of, the intimacy. At their heart every enemies-to-lovers story is playing with similar conflicts, but the difference is whether they are carried into the bedroom or not.

NOTE: this discussion applies only to literature, and works on the assumption that there is an underlying attraction. I’m am not going to get into discussions on the supposed morality of reading and enjoying these kinds of stories. Merely considering the application of them from a writing craft perspective.

Some Good Examples

In The Bayou by Arden Powell our protagonist (Eugene) is powerfully attracted to Johnny, while at the same time being deeply scared of getting involved with him. Because of the type of person Johnny is (a criminal), because of societal pressures (homophobia), because of the strange paranormal things happening around them. But at the same time Johnny’s criminality, his disregard for and position outside society, his comfort with the supernatural, are all also part of the attraction. This story does a marvellous job of capturing the helpless feeling of being trapped between such strong conflicts, of not knowing what he wants or where he needs to draw the line.

It’s slow building sexual tension, one step forward and two back, a slow slide, resistance crumbling.

It’s Johnny persistence, recognising that each no is only temporary. It’s his kindness, giving Eugene space to learn to trust; in Johnny, and in his own decisions. It’s about Johnny challenging him to step out of the confines of his life, whether that is fucking in the church pulpit or walking away from his normal.

But the most important part for this story is that Johnny never forces the issue. The first time he asks for sex and Eugene refuses, he backs off. You can argue he knows it’s temporary, but he respects that no. And when they do move forward he always starts by saying tell me no. Always making sure Eugene knows that refusal is still an option. I will grant you it’s debatable whether that statement is a this is your last chance to turn around or a promise that he will stop at any time, but it’s more than he needed to.

It’s more than most of us get in real life.

Johnny may be holding the power, but he never wields it over Eugene. It is never a matter of force.

I love this book – for me this set the benchmark for Southern Gothic. I find the author’s work a bit hit-or-miss, but this and The Faerie Hounds of York are marvellously atmospheric.

Another place where dubious consent is commonly present is in BDSM sex. One of my favourite books in this style is KJ Charles’ A Seditious Affair.

In this book Dom(inic) is turned on by, and gets gratification, from feeling helpless and humiliated. And yet, it is one of the most romantic stories I have ever enjoyed, because the roots of their relationship are about seeing each other, taking the time to understand each other and to learn how to make the other happy.

From Silas’ perspective we learn how he has slowly built a picture of what Dom likes and wants, he has made a slow study of his lover, explicitly because Dom couldn’t tell him.

And any time he changes up their games he always builds in unspoken ways for Dom to say no. Hold the rail. Dont let go… [unless you want me to stop]. It’s repeatedly stated that Dom does not want a way out. But Silas always build one into the game, because he needs it.

These check-ins are key to maintaining safety, trust, respect. To keep a healthy balance of power between them. Dom can revel in the helplessness, specifically because he is not actually helpless.

Messing it Up

So, what brought on my thinking about this topic was reading a book that made a pretty appalling mess of dubious consent. I’m not going to name names, or vent on the many ways this story was poorly executed, you just need to know that magic was a big element, and that I had to go wash the yuck off by the time I finished it.

The first problem with the story is the lack of character depth or development. Our protagonist spends the whole book hating on the apparent love interest. But the author fails to give that character any redeeming features. Further the author fails to establish an emotional turnaround in the protagonist. I cannot tell you any point at which they started to maybe not hate the love interest.

At some point in any enemies-to-lovers or dubious consent story the protagonist’s thinking has to shift from I hate you, to actually your are not so bad or even actually I kinda like hating you. This book gets stuck like a record player.

Now imagine the awkwardness of the sex scene, because the protagonist is not into it. I think the author is trying to go for that I cant bring myself to stop this ‘cos I secretly want it feel of things – which is its own kind of problematic. But she fails to convey the attraction or secret enjoyment. At the end of the day in a dubious consent your character needs to want and enjoy the sex.

Worse the love interest is obnoxiously uninterested in the protagonist’s desires or opinions of the proceedings. I think that was the clincher for me. This character does not feel like he would respect a no. He does not feel like he is interested in the protagonist’s feelings at all. It read like a bully lording it over their victim. And it’s made worse because, for magical reasons, the protagonist has no power to escape or make him stop. It made my skin crawl. All it needed was a tell me no, or a pause to look into the protagonist’s eyes. I mean some character development would have sold it better, but this is the bare minimum. Something to show concern.

But, the book gets even worse. And yes I read this dreadful thing to the end, and yes I regretted it like I would a massive greasy meal that makes you feel sick afterwards. Because for magic reasons the tables get turned and the protagonist gets all the power. And how does he respond? By subjugating and punishing the love interest – with sex.

In the final chapter of the book, we discover he has been keeping the love interest chained to the bed – for days. The love interest is complaining and threatening. But kinda seems to be interested in it – in the sense of bodily reactions and a lack of protest for the sex. This would have been more believable had there had been any development in this character to suggest he might be into something like this.

In engaging in sex now the protagonist indulges in activities like chocking his partner, mostly it seems, to get back at him for similar behaviour. But what bothered me was the complete lack of interest or care being applied. He doesn’t watch his partner, or check if he’s hurting him. Just callous disregard. It was immensely off-putting.

I guess what I am trying to say here is that a dubious consent story needs to have caring, for it to work. The author needs to show an understanding of the emotional weight of the protagonist’s internal conflict. And needs to show their characters understanding and respecting boundaries, otherwise you are trying to eroticise sexual assault. And I cant get behind that.