Your lips say no, no, no but your eyes say yes, yes, yes….
–Every douchebag Casanova wanna-be, including Pepe le Pew
Without belaboring the point, I will acknowledge that on occasion people do say no when they mean yes:
- No, I don’t want dessert…but I am planning on eating half of yours, because I really DO want it but don’t want to act like a desperate fat chick. (Note: not me. I really don’t care about dessert.)
- No, I don’t want anyone to make a fuss over my birthday, but I will be passive agressively pouty all day if you do not. (Note: not me. I admit unashamedly that I want everyone to make a fuss over me on my birthday because I am mentally about 8.)
- No, I don’t need any help with that project around the house…but I have no idea what I am doing so I really hope you insist. (Note: totally me. Asking for and accepting help is not a strong point.)
- No, I don’t want another drink…well, I do want one…but really shouldn’t…(Note: yes, me.)
So, yeah. Some times women do say no when they mean yes. It’s true. On the other hand, I think we can all acknowledge just as readily that none of those situations results in assault if someone reads a “yes” into the “no.” No one’s life will be ruined if someone gets dessert or a surprise party.
If we’re on a date and someone thinks I mean yes when I say no? It isn’t hard to understand how serious the consequences are if I really do mean no. It’s called rape. I think by now, we all get it.
You know what might surprise some people? Sometimes yes also means no.
I wonder how many women do it? Things get more sexual than you want. You say no. He keeps going. You say no again. He keeps going…and you give in. You don’t want to. But you also don’t want to find out what will happen if you keep saying no.
So..you technically consented, but if you hadn’t been worried that things might escalate to physical force, would you have said yes? Or if you just didn’t feel like dealing with the attitude?
At what point does talking someone into having sex when he knows she doesn’t really want to do become a sexual assault?
So this is the story of what really happened when I drove to Newport to meet the guy I wrote about the other day. I don’t like to talk about what happened. I am not sure I ever have. The basic story is the same as the one I told. A date that went pretty well. I agreed to spend the night in his guest room. That part is the same in the version of the story I usually tell. Where it differs is what followed. When we said goodnight at the door to the guest room, I gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed me and kissed me on the mouth. I tried to pull away and he grabbed me a little too hard and kissed me again. I said no. He kept kissing me as I struggled away and asked him to stop.
He kept kissing me and pulled me into his room, and eventually I stopped resisting and went along with what he wanted to do. I don’t think I was really afraid of him, but I didn’t want to find out if I should be. I let my mind go somewhere else, and I let him fuck me. Given how shitty he was to me in the morning, apparently he found my lack of responsiveness disappointing.
I was more angry with myself than I was with him. Even now I find it embarrassing that I put myself into a position where something like this happened. Would I call it rape? No. Yes. No. I don’t know. There is a line. I am not sure what side of it something like this falls on.
The rational side of my brain tells me that it didn’t happen because of me. It happened because of him. Just like it happens to millions of other girls and women on millions of dates with millions of boys and men who walk up to that imaginary line when the girl says no. They decide to cross it. To keep pushing. To keep talking. To make her give in. It happens in dorm rooms, and cars. It happens in bedrooms. On couches. Someone gets talked into sex because of the inherent threat of physical harm. It’s not even a stated threat. It doesn’t have to be.
He was wrong. I said no. He thought I meant yes, or decided he wanted the answer to be yes, and didn’t stop until it was. Maybe he thought he was being charming and swept me off my feet and that I was just terrible in bed. Maybe he was more sinister than that. I really don’t know.
There are a lot of people out there like him.
Sometimes I wonder if he ever had daughters. If he did, would he did tell them this story? I wonder if it would be different from the version he might tell his sons?
