Deepening connection: Rethinking desire and the traditional sexual script theory

Desire is about embodiment, not performance like we are led to believe. When we perform, we are disconnected from our bodies and therefore our relationship to sex. The sexual self is less about how we look, or embodying the perfect sexual experience, and rather understanding our bodies and what feels good.

It’s about understanding the nuances of connection and pleasure, but also that sex looks different for different people and doesn’t follow the traditional sexual script that society has developed over time. “Scripts are a metaphor for concept- ualizing the production of behaviour within social life” (Simon, w and Gagnon, J). The traditional sexual script is a theory that has been developed to answer the questions surrounding sexual desire that produce the expectations we have for sexual connection. “Cultural scenarios are the instructional guides that exist at the level of collective life” (Simon, w and Gagnon, J). These cultural scenarios can also extend to our connections and relationships, including how we perceive sex. This is known as the sexual script theory.

According to Wikipedia; “Sexual script theory is a sociological theory that states that sexual behavior is socially scripted, meaning that individuals follow social norms that inform their actions and perceptions. Under sexual script theory, different individuals, such as men and women, are assumed to have different expected roles in sexual situations, and to act in alignment with their expected roles.” (Wikipedia, 2026).

This details; “every person's sexual relationships follow a type of script which has been 'written' for them by multiple external influences, such as media, movies, culture, politics and language. These broadly fall into the categories of cultural scripts, interpersonal scripts, and the intrapsychic script”. The power that the media carries, whether through television, film, pornography or other mediums, enables us to create idealistic images of what sex should be. In an age where sites such as OnlyFans exists to promote sexual empowerment, there is still this innate view of such expectations and the narrative around sex is still a taboo topic to talk about if it doesn’t fit in with idealistic views.

The ideal view of sex is what is known as the traditional sexual script. It highlights heteronormative, cisgendered sexual activity and often prioritises male pleasure. Sexual content in media is often portrayed through the male gaze for gratification and pleasure and therefore when topics arise such as queer sex, inter-abled sex or something as simple as female pleasure, it is often censored or the discussion isn’t a mainstream topic to be covered. This highlights the dangers of censorship.

In Foucault’s book, The History of Sexuality, he discusses “Without even having to pronounce the word, modern prudishness was able to ensure that one did not speak of sex, merely through the interplay of prohibitions that referred back to one another: instances of muteness which, by dint of saying nothing, imposed silence. Censorship.” (Foucault, 1976) and this censorship is for those who don’t fit the sexual script. Whilst Foucault’s book was from the 70s, this quote is still relevant in some circumstances. Oftentimes, this is when a deviation from the sexual script theory occurs.

Disability and human connection

A recent study I carried out showed the lack of involvement from disabled people in conversations surrounding sexual wellness and pleasure. When I searched for sources, I found very few from mainstream media and instead, I had to seek out social media influence to learn and understand what it means to be disabled and have relationships because oftentimes, the discourse in mainstream media is that disability is often synonymous to asexuality, like academic Xanthe Hunt has depicted in her work.

In the essay I wrote, I found that disabled people would turn to sex work as a means for empowerment and the embodiment that able-bodied people are given, “considerations of sexual pleasures and sexual desire in the lives of people with disabilities play very little part in the public discourse” (Loeser et al, 2017). This is due to the lack of disabled voices within mainstream mediums such as erotic fiction.

When people think of erotic fiction, they still think of something seedy or sordid. The taboo coming to life, masked as intellect. However, the inclusion of minority groups takes it far beyond “smut” and embodies something that discounts toxic ideology that we grow accustomed to. It fights back against censorship in a way that silences voices that desperately need to be heard and empowers the embodied self for those who haven’t yet been given power.

In this sense, we are fighting back against heteronormative, patriarchal, able-bodied narratives and this traditional script that was once believed to be true.

In the research, I looked at personal essays, podcasts, and a story. All from the perspectives of disabled people that had been treated as fragile or broken. The medical model of disability studies carried the fundamental idea that there is something ‘wrong’ with a person who has a disability that facilitates a need to be fixed or cured and is often utilised within institutions, enabling this mindset to be circled back to preventing disabled people from integrating in this way.

Queer love, gender and bodily autonomy

Whilst this is an issue that needs to be addressed, disabled people are not the only people that are treated poorly from deviating from this traditional sex. It extends to LGBTQ+ individuals, who, despite events and protests such as pride, are treated with contempt by society, to the point it is unlawful to be homosexual and/or gender non-conforming (including transgender individuals) in large parts of the world. It is also the case for many women, who are often objectified but stripped of their autonomy and sexual freedom.

“Debates about the meaning of the category ‘lesbian’ within the UK lesbian community have fed into, and been fed by, wider concerns about identities. In the 1970s and 1980s, for example, concern within the community focused on competing understandings of lesbian authenticity: that is, of who counts as lesbian and why. These debates raised questions about the distinctiveness, or otherwise, of lesbian identities and sexual behaviour, particularly in relation to hetero-sexual practices” (Farquar, 2000).

This is not just a censorship issue but also an identity issue, questions surrounding what it means to be a lesbian prevents the autonomy or authenticity of queer women, which subsequently has a knock-on effect on the wellness of queer women. The erasure of queer sexual experiences becomes isolating and prevents queer people, particularly women, the benefits of healthy sexual experiences. The comparison to heterosexual gender roles has a negative impact on the education, health and wellness of queer women because they don’t have access to the same resources (for example sex education, sexual health advice and the ability to talk as openly about their experiences) and yet, these experiences are often objectified in pornography through the male gaze for gratification and pleasure.

Ultimately, censorship is having a knock-on effect on the health and wellbeing of those who don’t conform to tradition. If an experience isn’t censored, it is often utilised as a tool for gratification rather than treated as an authentic, lived experience, and I wonder, what would it take for an overhaul of the system of the traditional sexual script?