Read the title. Read it again, I’ll wait.
Not everyone will be irritated by this but a lot will. You may disagree with me. You may want to call me names or insult me or whatever. You may question my experience. Guess what? I’ve heard it all.
But I’m writing now because I just cannot remain silent any longer.
If you don’t want to read about politics or sexual harassment, sexual assault, domestic violence, etc, go away now. I don’t really blame you. Maybe it is a trigger. I get that. Maybe you are lucky and were born a cis white heterosexual male and insist that privilege isn’t there. Maybe it hurts to confront it. But maybe that hurt is exactly why you need to confront it. But I digress.
I do not now nor have I ever nor do I ever see myself supporting Donald Trump. The fact that anyone does is terrifying to me. But it doesn’t surprise me.
Donald is the face of so many men in my past.
He is the frat guy living across the street from me who called me a whore when I was 10. I was in a t shirt and jeans walking 3 houses down to the corner store for milk. No one said a thing. I walked faster and lingered in the store.
He is the other frat guy who tried to lure me into the frat house with beer when I was 12. No one said a thing. I went into my neighbor’s house and she let me stay for a while and glared at him.
He is my ex step father who was abusive. And what you are all wondering right now – why she stayed. Not why he hit her or me or the cat. Cause you all blame her and maybe me and maybe the cat. Heaven forbid you blame the man.
He is the group of guys who sexually harassed me for 4 years straight. He is the one who handed me green m+m’s over and over telling me to eat up because the thought was green grow boobs. He is the one simulating fellatio with a glue stick in my face. The one spreading rumors about me giving oral sex to everyone because I had a key chain with the cancer symbol on it. The administrator who forced me to get rid of the key chain because it could be interpreted that way. The administrator that never called a parent in or did a thing despite my constant reports. Not after they dry humped vending machines moaning my name. Not even after they tried to follow me home one day and jumped on my back trying to force me down (thankfully I retailiated with full force and got away). Not the day they tried to pin me in a corner of the bus. No adult cared. I was told they liked me.
He is my ex who was abusive. Who called me a prude for not taking my shirt off on our second date. Who called me a tease for not having sex with him on our third despite the fact I was 17. Who drove me in his truck to a secluded road and forced my hand onto his erect penis saying I caused it and needed to deal with it.
He is my ex from college who wouldn’t let me go running alone because it was dangerous. Who several years later would not listen to me telling him no and that I was uncomfortable and kept trying to kiss me. Who proposed to me 3 times since then once telling me I would never find anyone.
He is every guy I have ever kissed and had to keep moving their hands and saying no over and over because men are socialized to push and not stop. And we let it happen. Boys will be boys.
He is the mass of cat callers who sometimes follow me. Who leave me terrified.
He is the 2 men who jumped me in college and thankfully went away as people walked by before anything happened.
He is my ex and someone I loved who forced me to have sex before I was ready. Who took away my agency. Who insisted on a blow job every time. Who was too into himself or thought it was too difficult or who knows why but he insisted on me having an orgasm but doing it myself.
He is the guy who grabbed me and refused to let go insisting that I kiss him first as multiple friends did nothing. Cause he was their friend too.
He was the guy who constantly “accidentally” grazed mine and many other’s chests. Who pulled my hair and said “I know you like it like that.” I don’t. Who is still a part of the dance scene despite many other stories just like mine because people like him and he doesn’t know better/has been talked to.
He is the reason I look over my shoulder. The reason I don’t feel comfortable.
And yet it is just locker room talk. Just words. Just actions. Adding to rape culture. And I still are people not caring.
And the thing is, I feel like I haven’t had it that bad. I know so much worse. I’ve heard so much worse from friends. I had it easy.
This is just how men talk.
Ever stop to think that is the problem?