TW: Frankie Talbot shares a personal experience with Her Campus, opening a wider discussion about sexual consent in our society today.
“I know you want it, I can see it in your eyes.” The phrase sickens me more and more every time I think about it. I couldn’t believe that somebody would say this to me.
To noone’s surprise, I met this guy on Tinder. We had some mutual friends and had been chatting for a little while. I was going to a club that night and once there wasn’t really enjoying myself, so I took up his offer to meet and hang out at his place. Of course, I was nervous. I was terrified all the way there, but I was sober and in full control of myself, so I went.
We talked in his bedroom, watched a bit of TV, kissed. It was late at this point, maybe two or three a.m., so I asked if I could stay with him. At no point did I suggest or initiate sex, getting under the sheets fully clothed. I was attracted to this guy and I enjoyed kissing him, but I knew that I didn’t want to go further.
Then the pestering started. He insisted that I was “too hot” in my trousers and t-shirt, using an apparently well-practised tone of voice which I naively mistook for genuine concern. I half-heartedly removed my trousers. He spooned me, pressing his crotch against me, grinding on me. I asked him to stop. He persisted. I told him to stop, which he reluctantly did. You might be wondering why I didn’t leave at this point. I wonder that myself.
(Photo Credit: www.findmemes.com)
It was his phrase which cut me to the core. “I know you want it, I can see it in your eyes.” It was a horrible reminder of Robin Thicke’s ‘Blurred Lines’; its glorification of a man who thinks he knows what women want better than they do, of a man who thinks that she’s coy for saying no. In this instance, in every instance in which I refuse sex, I meant no. I made my feelings clear and he knew he’d screwed up, but still played it like it was a big misunderstanding, a slip of the tongue.
For reasons unknown even to me, I went back to this person once more. It was only in the coming weeks that I really considered what had happened with him. I think of myself as a consent activist, a woman who is confident enough to say “yes” and “no” when I mean it. But even I’m unsure exactly what happened that night. This is not an accusation of rape. This is not a case of ‘regret sex’. I’m just unhappy with what’s passed, and hopefully if I share this some of you will find the courage to question uncomfortable moments in your own sex lives.
I was told by a friend when I returned that he must have been expecting sex. A girl wouldn’t go to a boy’s flat in the middle of the night for any other reason. My friend said this matter of factly and I felt dumb, like I had brought this hurt on myself. You are not dumb. Make your own choices with your own bodies and be careful with the bodies of others. If my person is reading this, be considerate in the future.
Stop telling women what they want.