I run this blog partly to provide some fun that encourages safe sex, and shows young lads that it's possible to get a lot more in life if you ask for it politely than if you rudely try to blag women into giving you pictures of their boobs for your phone. (See my review of Peter Morgan's work.) I also run it to encourage young women to have confidence. If we as women confidently say No more often, men may realise that No does mean No and f*ck off when we don't want them bothering us. Yes, men must do more to respect women's consensual rights. As women we can take courage and be more assertive.
|From Everyday Feminism: link to rest of comic below.|
Everyday Feminism have put together this cool comic that sets out things guys say about women who don't want to have sex with them as if they are other social scenarios, demonstrating vividly how absurd this reasoning is.
To illustrate, I'll tell a story from when I was young. Back in the day, when dinosaurs roamed the land (yeah, they were real old-fashioned sexists then), I was a very naive li'l kitten. I was poorly brought up to be polite at all times. In my mum's Japanese culture men were venerated. My dad would get the best cut of meat, then us kids got something nice, then my mum and grandmother got what was left. For these and other reasons, I was very bad at saying 'No' to men.(I said I was bad at it - I am a total expert at saying 'f*ck off' now, although if that's what turns you on you should click 'dirty talk' in the label cloud - wink.)
This time I'm telling you about, I was homeless in London. I had money but no idea how to find somewhere to live. After a short period at a friend's house, I was staying in a hotel having a final go at finding somewhere. I was very tired after a long fruitless day looking for places and I phoned room service for some food, but they said the kitchen was shut. I had to go out to eat.
Remember that I was very young (not yet twenty), had been brought up in the countryside in far too sheltered a family, and was exceptionally pretty.
While I was despondently eating my meal, a bloke at the next table struck up a conversation with me. He was a businessman who lived and worked mainly in Hong Kong. Well, he was a total stranger so I moaned to him about my situation.
"I own a flat," he said, "and am looking for a tenant."
He invited me back to his hotel for a drink. We went up to his room. He began to grope me and I put up with it for the sake of the flat. But after a while (he had his hands up my shirt and on my boobs by this time), I couldn't bear it and I said: "No, this is wrong! I can't do it."
That man stopped groping me. He walked me back to my hotel. He said I could come to meet him the next day and he would show me his flat. And he did show me the flat (although he said he was surprised I'd shown up the next morning, I was so naive I didn't really understand why - I mean, he had a f*cking flat! and I was desperate for a place to stay). He let me rent it from him for about eight months at what I now realise was a pretty low rate for a central London apartment.
I was clinically depressed at the time. I needed a safe place to stay so I could sort out some therapy, get my life together and go back to finish my degree. That guy gave me a total break and I thank him.
I shan't thank him for having the resolution to take his hands off my boobs and beautiful young body, when after going up to his room with him and consuming drinks he had bought me, I suddenly said: No, because, chaps and chapesses, that is normal.