an emotional missive to men

You do not get to joke about rape to me. Not now. Not ever. I don't care the context, I don't care that you don't want to read a blog entry about rape that holds a particular slice of my heart. Fine. Don't read it. But don't come joking to me about how women look in all the wrong places for men. No, they don't. They look in all the right places. The problem is, the wrong kind of men are there.

Let me tell you something else: it's NOT a women's fault. Not here, not now, not ever. Not even if she's wearing a pretty dress, or plastered, or flirting with you. Know who's fault it is? The so-called man who decided he had a right to her body.

But do you know what? It might also be a little bit of your fault. For telling women it's their fault, for catcalling them, for making sex/rape jokes, for diminishing them based on their appearances, for not standing up to your friends, but especially for this- for continuing to propagate this cycle we have that seems to suggest that when a woman is raped or otherwise sexually assaulted, she must do everything she can to prove she wasn't somehow 'asking for it'.

Angry yet? Especially if you don't do any of those things? Good. You should be. I'm plenty angry. I practically have a checklist before I leave the house: things I mustn't dress, say, or do, lest I invite any sexual advances. Am I wearing proper clothing? (Remember, anything that might excite a boy, even the smallest bit, is not permissible, otherwise it's an invitation for sex.) Check. Am I not smiling at boys and holding conversation with them like I would to any other person? (Remember, inviting conversation is an invite for sex.) Check. Am I walking as unattractively as possible and not doing anything that might otherwise excite a boy? (Remember, even such an act as opening an umbrella can be seen as sexy, and thus as an invitation for sex.) Check. Am I not existing as a female? (Remember, even the very act of being female is an invitation for sex). Che- wait a minute. Damn. Still female. Can't go out today. Guess I'll go lock myself in my room. Maybe tomorrow I won't be female. Dammit! And I got everything else right too!

Though, this one time I did leave the house, checklist be dammed. I was 18 years old, and working at the main library of the college I was at. It was a fantastic job, on the top floor, and most of the people who wandered into my section were either there looking for a certain publication, or they were there to study (the lower levels were fantastic for socialising and group projects. My little corner of the library was wonderfully quiet- and had the added bonus of having decent chairs). For about two weeks I got to know a boy there who used my section to study. One night, at the end of my shift, when my section of the library was closing, he asked me what I was up to, and I told him I had to study back at the dorms. He asked me if I wanted to come back to his dorm and study, as there was no longer a decent quiet place to study in the library.

I'm going to stop there, but for all you men out there who think that women somehow are at fault here- where was the fault? Was it because I didn't know him? Because I only met him in the library? What if he'd been a classmate? What if we'd already lived in the same dorm and he was just down the hall? And oh goodness! I didn't even mention what I'd been wearing that night! What part of that, of that tiny sliver of that night, what part of that was my fault? Because if it had been you, none of that would be second-guessed would it? Because in the six years since that night, I've had many a person tell me exactly where I went 'wrong': didn't I realise that merely by talking to him I was giving him an invitation for sex? Didn't I realise that an offer to study was code for 'let's go fuck over at my place'? Didn't I realise that my shirt might have been a bit too short, or my pants a bit too tight? Didn't I realise I couldn't go off with any boy, none at all, no matter how much I thought I could trust them? Didn't I realise I must have been asking for it?

Man alive, all the things I didn't realise from that night, and we hadn't even left the library! Imagine all the things I didn't realise later. Imagine all the things I did. I didn't realise trying to remove myself from a dangerous situation meant I was playing hard to get. I didn't realise him wanting sex at any cost meant just that. I didn't realise saying-begging-pleading 'no' and 'stop' really meant yes. I didn't realise the loss of my virginity would come with so much force and pain and shame and self-doubt and loss of self-respect. How silly of me.

Now, some of you are reading this and thinking, 'No, no, not me. Not me at all. Would never.' You're one of the Nice Guys, right? And well, that was an easy situation up there, right? I mean, you ask a girl over to study after getting to know her, then you study? Easy, right? What if it's not studying? What if it's a party, or a date? And what if she's been having alcohol- lots and lots of alcohol? What if it's a party, and she's sober, but she looks smoking hot in that mini-dress and you've had a few beers so you start on making the lewd comments about how decent she'd be in bed? Even if you don't touch her, are you still the Nice Guy then?

Women get blamed a lot for being raped and assaulted while drunk. Women are also told to 'take it' from men (drunk or otherwise) who make sexual comments towards them. Most of the time those comments come when men have been consuming alcohol. From there things quickly deteriorate, and so much more often than I think men think to realise, misfortune befalls a woman. Coincidentally, it seems that men who have misfortunes befall them while drunk can blame everyone but themselves- 'Man, I went over to Kenny's party last night, had way too much to drink, and when I woke up this morning, someone stole my shoes!' And then everyone from Kenny to that kid you're not even sure was at the party is blamed. A woman is raped at Kenny's party and suddenly there's a litany of excuses for why it was her fault. 'She was dressing like a slut!' 'She knows what happens at party's like Kenny's!' 'She was drunk!' As if those are any justification for a man deciding what happens to her body when she lacks the ability to consent- or for that matter, not consent.

About two years ago, a man I'd met a year earlier was visiting some roommates of mine. He and I managed to hit it off, and I invited him over for a farmer's market dinner. Dinner went well, and we settled down to a dessert of cheesepuffs, chocolate ice cream, a bottle of vodka, and some films. I did five shots in under two minutes, and then proceeded to drink the rest of the bottle- he had a single shot. Look, I'm not proud of myself for it, not at all. We all do stupid things. Many of us have done stupid things while drunk (I've gotten enough of the calls and texts, and read enough Facebook status updates to know this very well). You tell me though- was my stupid choice a justification for what happened afterwards? If so, why? If not, why the bloody hell do so many of you go around and blame women for being drunk when they've been raped or assaulted? If all I'd done was drunk-dialed and posted sappy messages on Facebook, and he'd left me alone, we'd all have a nice laugh over how stupid I got while drunk. Suddenly rape is thrown into the mix, and it's all my fault. All of it. Didn't I realise I wasn't allowed to drink in the presence of a man? And alone at that? Well, shit, by the time I realised that, I lacked the capacity to make any decisions about what was happening to me. Did I deserve it, then? My own mother has told me that it's my fault for being drunk. Never mind him, over there, thinking that for some reason he's got some say over a drunk, incapacitated woman's body. Never mind him, thinking I was passed out and deciding that was the opportune time to have sex with me. But before I started drinking, didn't I realise what a bad man he was?

For both those times, wasn't I just looking in the wrong places? Can't look for men in libraries or your own home, it seems. But let me ask you this- if those are the 'wrong' places, what are the right ones? These incidents didn't happen in bars, and they didn't happen with strangers. One of them happened with someone I thought I could trust. Wasn't I wearing provocative clothing? Have I forgotten the checklist already? Dammit. Wasn't I just saying all the wrong things? What else was on that checklist? Oh, right. Shitfuckdamn, I existed. Wasn't that enough?

Absurd, yes?

Because it doesn't matter if I was looking in a 'wrong' place (still waiting to hear a right and wrong place are), or dressed 'provocatively' (I swear, I could wear sweatpants and a sweatshirt and still be provocative), or even if I said something, or did something to suggest, in any way, shape, or form that sex would be occurring that night. What matters is that I never consented. Ever. Sure, I'd consenting to kissing while drunk, but that doesn't matter either. Yes to one is not yes across the board. I never consented and two men decided that their wants overrode my desires not to be violated. That's all that matters. Period.

*

For those of you who think that you're that decent guy, that guy that would never do a terrible thing to a woman ever, ask yourselves- how many sex jokes have you made? How many women do you talk up their appearance to? How many women do you label based solely on the clothing they choose to wear? How many of your brothers have you listened to discuss in a vulger the antics of a night of sex and let it stand? How many of you have convinced or coaxed a woman to have sex after she's said no? Some of you have done none of this. Well, good on you, but don't come to me for any accolades. Someone, I'm not sure who, said it best when she said that "men don't deserve any praises for not-raping women: thanking them for that- for acting like how a decent human being should act- only increases they power they hold over women."

Some of you are decent men- not enough of you, but some of you. Now find a way to pass it on, yeah?