I found a boy behind a dumpster. He was drunk, floppy and adorable. He looked like a stuffed animal sitting there alone. I went to him. I’d always wanted to know what it felt like to have a boy inside of me and thought that because we’d danced and kissed earlier, that maybe this was my chance. My mom said that most of the boys at school probably liked me but were too shy to say.
I hadn’t had much luck at the party, but had danced with him and kissed him. We had a connection, I knew it. One of my friends grabbed his butt while he danced and he laughed. I knew he liked that and this was my chance, away from her and the other annoying girls mugging on him.
After all, I just wanted some action. I was in college, a prized tennis star with Olympic hopes. I was hot – a lucky catch – with a promising future in front of me. College girls just wanna have fun, right?
I quieted my inner “Why don’t the boys like me,” remembering that this one had flirted with me earlier and now he was behind a dumpster alone. Obviously, a sign. He wanted me. Things were looking up.
I sat next to him, put my arm around him. “Hi,” I said, and licked his neck. He tipped over into my lap and I knew that meant that he wanted more and so I lay him down. “Shhhh, never mind the dirt, you’re okay. Let me take care of you,” I said.
His head lolled to the left. I looked around, drunk myself thanking my lucky stars for this incredible opportunity.
“You want me Baby?” I asked. He moaned in pleasure so I took his pants down, pulled his shirt up, ripped off his boxers the way they did in sexy movies and I rolled him onto his stomach.
I pushed on his backside, rubbing him up and down the way I’d seen people have sex in porno movies do. I mean, sure, he wasn’t in a bed or on a couch like they were but we had privacy and he liked it. He was moaning. I rubbed his penis and chest in the dirt so that he’d get excited and be ready for me.
I massaged his back and he moaned again. I guess he was ready.
I rolled him over to check, and he had an erection. I think he might have already come but he was still hard and into it.
Obviously, he wanted me. His penis was hard and he said yes with his arms. They reached up and so I lay down on him, making it easier for him to hold me. I held him back. He was drunk, and I was drunk. I’m sure he said yes.
Later, because he was a whiney dickhead who couldn’t keep our business to himself, we wound up in court with me answering ludicrous questions about that night. As if I could remember. I’d been playing tennis and going to class and whatever, it was just one drunken college night. No big deal. I didn’t even know his name.
“Did I ask?”
“Well of course I asked. I asked if I could turn him over and stimulate him with dirt and he said yes.”
“I’m not a monster,” I said. “I’m an Olympic Hopeful. Ask anybody about my tennis stats.” “Names weren’t exactly our priority,” I said. Chuckles from the jury and judge.
Girls will be girls, after all.
“Plus, we were dancing and kissing earlier in the evening. Ask anybody at the party. They saw us.”
The coach and my teachers confirmed that I was a good student, that I have huge promise. Students who had been at the party testified that they’d seen us dancing and kissing. My parents were involved in the school, it’s not like I was some loser scumbag. We’re a prominent family.
Also “look at how he was dressed,” my lawyer pointed out. The snickers in the courtroom were audible. He was dressed like a slut. Everybody knew he was asking for it.
“What’s the big deal, anyway?” I asked. “He was drunk, dressed way too cute to not mean business. I’m a tennis star. Don’t you know who I am? If he didn’t want some, he’d never have dressed that way, or danced with me or kissed me at the party. He was asking for it. Slut!”
They laughed, agreed that I was right, and my mom came to court to talk about how unfair it’d be if I were punished for “20 minutes of action” when I had such a bright future. I was an Olympic hopeful, after all and he was just some drunken frat boy with a guilty conscious.
Because people are paranoid and stupid, we did end up having to “talk about it further” because the boys in our society are stupid and dumbasses and they dress oh-so-cute and they flirt-oh-so-much. The boy came to court saying he didn’t consent, and I knew that he was embarrassed because I’d made the first move rather than him.
“Did you know his name?” they asked me. I laughed, because who cares? He didn’t know my name either and he obviously wanted it.
I told them I’m really having a hard time with all of this right now. It’s affected my tennis game so much I might have to quit and never go to the Olympics and I can’t sleep. I can’t believe what this boy is doing to my life. To my future and my family. He’s wrecking everything.
“Of course I wouldn’t have left you on the ground. We had something special. Quit being such a victim.” I said.
His dad came to court and talked about having to see photos of his son in a hospital gurney with his pants around his ankles and abrasions and dirt on his penis. My lawyer explained. “You can’t really pinpoint down the timing, the photos are after the fact and we can dismiss them.”
Assault? Are you kidding me? What girl assaults a boy? A bunch of redneck boys get behind one of their own and talk about the girl shouldn’t have worn such a cute dress that made it so easy to take off her panties. Well, quid pro quo, guys.
“But his penis had abrasions,” they said.
“He liked it,” I replied.
“Do you have any parting words for the court?” they said.
I thought about it. About how drinking had messed up my night. “I guess I’ve learned the evils of alcohol,” I said. “I’ll have to be more careful about alcohol in the future.”
I do not normally write about news topics on this website. But tonight, as I lay in bed with my six-year-old son, I saw the details in this article about the rape case and lenient sentence that Brock Allen Turner received and I felt sick to my stomach. The above was written hoping to show the absurdity of college boys getting lenient sentences because a girl was drunk. I got lucky. In college, I was drunk more than once and did not wake on a gurney in a hospital wondering what happened to me. My mom never had to look at photos of me without my underpants on. Too many girls find themselves in similar situations and it’s time to MAKE IT STOP.
I realize that many boys are victims of sexual assault and promise I’m not trying to dismiss their experiences in any way. I do, however, believe that too often, crimes against women and girls around the world are blamed on the woman and the girls. I also believe that there’s a fundamental change that needs to happen in the mindset of cases like Brock Allen Turner – where some “inconvenient girl” is threatening his future when he likely has almost ruined hers. I think it’s the continuing message of athlete entitlement is one of the things about this case that most sickens me. It also sickens me that the rapist has only admitted to things like “I had too much to drink,” and has not expressed any remorse about the fact that he left a girl’s vagina with dirt and abrasions. THAT is the wrong part. Sure, drinking too much makes people stupid. But blaming rape on alcohol? NO.
I promise to teach my son about No and about women and about respect. No means no.
If somebody’s unable to say no because he or she is too drunk, too tired, too whatever to say no, that means no, too.
Whether the above story comes from a college girl’s or a college boy’s perspective, it’s wrong and we all know so in our hearts.
I’m linking this up with Finish the Sentence Friday because I’m going to BlogU tomorrow and because the sentence is “When it comes to the news…”
Host: Me (Kristi) from Finding Ninee.