This is a really strange post to start the year off with, but please, bear with me. I really struggled with whether or not to publish this. Even now, I'm not sure I'm making the right decision and I'm purposely publishing in the middle of the night in the hopes that by morning it will be buried under the weight of people's constantly updating social media feeds. But I've experience a confluence of events of sorts that has made this topic startlingly relevant in my life again, and even though I don't think I'm comfortable talking about this, I feel compelled to get the words down.
Last night I read a number of pieces on the topic of rape culture. On street harassment, the use of the word creepy to describe predatory men, and the "spidey-sense" that women have developed to detect them.
But before that, I had an old acquaintance (and intermittent hook-up) come over last week under the guise of "catching up", who then proceeded to flat out request a blow job. I turned him down.
"Was I sure I didn't even want to lick the tip? Not even a little?" he asked. I gave him a minor talking to about not being a call girl and joked that he couldn't afford me even if I were. Lightening the mood you see.
He asked my price.
I spent the rest of his visit visibly pissed; staunchly shrugging off his hugs and offers to massage me, hoping that he'd take the hint and leave. He did. And then I realized that this wasn't the first time he'd tried to coerce me into sexual activity.
But it was the first time I'd outright and unequivocally refused him.
And it was then I'd realized that even though I'd initially been upset with myself for "training him" to expect sex from me by hooking up with him sporadically in the past, it was he who had taught me to confuse his boundary pushing with flattery; his quick gropes and stolen kisses as compliments.
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