stop making fancy products meant to “prevent rape” and start beating rapists mercilessly with varying sizes of hammers
When I was seventeen and preparing to leave for university, my mother’s only brother saw fit to give me some advice.
“Just don’t be an idiot, kid,” he told me, “and don’t ever forget that boys and girls can never just be friends.”
I laughed and answered, “I’m not too worried. And I don’t really think all guys are like that.”
When I was eighteen and the third annual advent of the common cold was rolling through residence like a pestilent fog, a friend texted me asking if there was anything he could do to help.
I told him that if he could bring me up some vitamin water that would be great, if it wasn’t too much trouble.
That semester I learned that human skin cells replace themselves every three to five weeks. I hoped that in a month, maybe I’d stop feeling the echoes of his touch; maybe my new skin would feel cleaner.
It didn’t. But I stood by what I said. Not all guys are like that.
When I was nineteen and my roommate decided the only way to celebrate the end of midterms was to get wasted at a club, I humoured her.
Four drinks, countless leers and five hands up my skirt later, I informed her I was ready to leave.
“I get why you’re upset,” she told me on the walk home, “but you have to tolerate that sort of thing if you want to have any fun. And really, not all guys are like that.”
(Age nineteen also saw me propositioned for casual sex by no fewer than three different male friends, and while I still believe that guys and girls can indeed be just friends, I was beginning to see my uncle’s point.)
When I was twenty and a stranger that started chatting to me in my usual cafe asked if he could walk with me (since we were going the same way and all), I accepted.
Before we’d even made it three blocks he was pulling me into an alleyway and trying to put his hands up my shirt. “You were staring,” he laughed when I asked what the fuck he was doing (I wasn’t), “I’m just taking pity.”
But not all guys are like that.
I am twenty one and a few days ago a friend and I were walking down the street. A car drove by with the windows down, and a young man stuck his head out and whistled as they passed. I ignored it, carrying on with the conversation.
My friend did not. “Did you know those people?” He asked.
“Not at all,” I answered.
Later when we sat down to eat he got this thoughtful look on his face. When I asked what was wrong he said, “You know not all guys do that kind of thing, right? We’re not all like that.”
As if he were imparting some great profound truth I’d never realized before. My entire life has been turned around, because now I’ve been enlightened: not all guys are like that.
No. Not all guys are. But enough are. Enough that I am uncomfortable when a man sits next to me on the bus. Enough that I will cross to the other side of the street if I see a pack of guys coming my way. Enough that even fleeting eye contact with a male stranger makes my insides crawl with unease. Enough that I cannot feel safe alone in a room with some of my male friends, even ones I’ve known for years. Enough that when I go out past dark for chips or milk or toilet paper, I carry a knife, I wear a coat that obscures my figure, I mimic a man’s gait. Enough that three years later I keep the story of that day to myself, when the only thing that saved me from being raped was a right hook to the jaw and a threat to scream in a crowded dorm, because I know what the response will be.
I live my life with the everburning anxiety that someone is going to put their hands on me regardless of my feelings on the matter, and I’m not going to be able to stop them. I live with the knowledge that statistically one in three women have experienced a sexual assault, but even a number like that can’t be trusted when we are harassed into silence. I live with the learned instinct, the ingrained compulsion to keep my mouth shut to jeers and catcalls, to swallow my anger at lewd suggestions and crude gestures, to put up my walls against insults and threats. I live in an environment that necessitates armouring myself against it just to get through a day peacefully, and I now view that as normal. I have adapted to extreme circumstances and am told to treat it as baseline. I carry this fear close to my heart, rooted into my bones, and I do so to keep myself unharmed.
So you can tell me that not all guys are like that, and you’d even be right, but that isn’t the issue anymore. My problem is not that I’m unaware of the fact that some guys are perfectly civil, decent, kind—my problem is simply this:
In a world where this cynical overcaution is the only thing that ensures my safety, I’m no longer willing to take the risk.
Swear to god, some guys are terrified that girls are faking common interests to impress them and act really hostile towards anyone they even SUSPECT of doing such a thing
but then they turn around and fake a whole friendship in the hopes of getting sex out of girls, and get mad at them when it doesn’t work
and they super do not see the irony in that
I have never faked anything with a girl before. I’d like to be proud of that. But I can’t. The only thing I’ve gotten for being honest with girls is 17 and a half years of being single.
I’m not a jerk. I’m not fake. I genuinely care. But 17.5 years?
Maybe instead of blaming guys for being fake for sex, look at someone who has been single, BECAUSE he is honest.
Little tidbit for ya. I was born in ‘96. Do a little math. Junior year, and I never had even had a date. Not cause I don’t try, but instead girls don’t like guys who aren’t the perfect little boyfriend. The only perfect boys are faking. The honest ones have flaws. And girls don’t like flaws.
Listen, buddy, I’m going to try to not be too blunt here because it sounds like you’re having a tough time, but I’d like to warn you that my response is going to get a little bit real.
First of all, let me start by saying I’m a 22 year old man, because that’s somewhat pertinent. I also didn’t really have any luck with the ladies until I was 17.
Then I’m going to go on and point out that of course it’s going to look bleak if you’re counting your single days from birth. I’d be way more concerned if you had gotten an actual date anytime prior to 2008, because you would have just been a little kid.
That being and this is where I feel like I’m not going to be able to avoid bluntness, the fact that you’re honest with girls isn’t why you haven’t had a date. I don’t know you personally, so I can’t say for certain, but the fact that you’re talking about what “girls like” and what “girls don’t like” probably has a lot to do with it. “Girls” don’t like anything. There’s no “female operating system” that you can learn to maneuver.
One girl wants to date guys like this, the next girl wants to date guys like that, and a third girl wants to date a different guy. The reason you haven’t had a date is because you’ve yet to meet a girl who wants to date YOU. Now, it might take you a while to find that girl, but you can find her without faking.
Faking and deception aren’t effective dating strategies. Do you know what happens to the guy who does fake? Eventually, his façade crumbles and she sees him for who he really is, and the relationship falls apart because it was built on faulty foundations. Not to mention the fact that girls aren’t stupid, and most of the guys who do try to fake are really terrible at it, so it rarely even works in the first place.
And I have news for you, friend, and I apologize again for the realness here: Not all the dudes with girlfriends who seem great are faking it. Some of them are genuinely great. I know this seems harsh to say, but the real reason those girls want to date them and not you is because they just liked that guy more than you. Not to worry, though, I’m sure there are plenty of ladies who like you more than that guy.
Now, I have to wonder about a few things here. Isn’t it a bit presumptuous to act like women have all been fooled into believing in and expecting a perfect guy, but that you know he doesn’t exist?
Isn’t it also a bit illogical to assume that every girl has such high expectations that no real guy could ever fulfill them, and the only way to rise to them is through deception?
I want to take it back, though, here, because I’m not going to keep you forever and I want to leave you on a more uplifting note than “she’s just not that into you.”
The thing is, 17 isn’t really that old to still be single. It might seem that way, but it’s really not. You’re just barely scraping the lower boundary of adulthood here, and you’re several decades away from having missed your window. And this advice is something that should serve you, and really anyone reading this, for the rest of your life:
You deserve to be with someone you’re into, who’s also into you. If someone doesn’t fit both of those criteria, then they’re not good enough for you. If someone’s into you and you’re not into them, dating them wouldn’t be fair to either of you. On the other side of the coin, if you’re into someone and they don’t like you back, it sucks, but believe me, it’s for the best that you two didn’t end up together.
I just want to be touched. foot massage or cuddle or even just a hand on my calf. I’m craving human contact like crazy.
being a drunk extrovert is hard sometimes