Dispatches from Women’s World

B and I are sitting side-by-side. We are in different worlds.

Image shows a red planet, a blue moon, and a binary star system.
Binary Star, Nebula, and Planet with Moons courtesy Matt Hendrick via Flickr (CC BY-ND 2.0)

B’s wishing he’d known women actually like sex back in his raging hormone days. Society had told him that girls just aren’t in to doing the wild thing, and he’d believed that, so he missed a lot of opportunities. He’s not the sort of man who’d ask a woman to do something she didn’t like. It’s why we’re together.

We’re watching UFC fights. B wishes the cage girls were curvier – these are famine years for men attracted to women who jiggle more in the bum than boobs. He’s hoping for an audience shot of Benson Henderson’s wife, because she’s a hottie. I’m busy watching various nearly-naked men in exquisite physical condition grapple and writhe. Some of the wrestling moves look like they could easily be modified for incredible bedroom encounters. And if Benson Henderson and I were unattached and he was interested, I’d love to test that theory with him. But as much as I’m assessing the fighters for potential happy fun sexytimes, I’m also aware that every one of them could turn horrifically violent in a heartbeat, and their strength, speed, and skill mean I wouldn’t stand a chance. So as much as I enjoy admiring the bodies and consider their performance potential, I’m also trying to read their character, aware that misjudging it could get me raped, killed, or both.

How many men consider calmly the chance that a potential sexual encounter will turn violent?***

At B’s house, chances are excellent the doors are unlocked if someone’s home. Of course, they’ll lock up at bedtime, or when they’re all leaving – no one wants their stuff stolen. The first several times B visits me, I have to remind him to lock the door behind him, and he’s mystified at the request.

I’ve locked my doors religiously since moving to my own place. I lock the door the moment I arrive home: both dead bolts are always engaged. I lock the door if I’m stepping out of sight of it. Even if I’m just going to be gone for a moment, running trash out or fetching something from the car. And if I’ve neglected to lock up, I’m cautious coming in. I check for anything unusual, and note Misha’s behavior, making sure no one got in.

You may think I’m too paranoid. But women have died because of unlocked doors. A woman was murdered by a neighbor because she fetched a load of laundry, and he seized his chance. She was only gone for a moment. She didn’t think she needed locks. But the stalker she didn’t know she had slipped inside her apartment, and killed her when she returned.

She’s far from the only one. Richard Trenton Chase, a psychotically ill young man, thought he needed to drink blood to prevent his death by poisoning. He murdered several people. When caught, he explained to the police how he’d chosen his victims. He said that a locked door meant he wasn’t welcome, so he’d go on to a house where the doors weren’t locked.

I tell B about these murders. He begins locking my doors behind him.

***

“Get together with four women,” I say to B. “Chances are, at least one of them has been raped. All of them have probably experienced some form of sexual harassment, sexual assault, or sexual abuse.”

He looks shocked for a second, then sad and angry as he thinks of his three closest female friends. One of us was sexually molested by a relative. One was raped at knifepoint by a former friend. The third endured repeated sexual harassment at her former job. The official statistics are, if anything, too low – at least 90% of the women I have known have a story to relate about any one or a combination of rape, assault, harassment, or abuse.

“Now get twelve guys together,” I say. “Chances are, at least one of those twelve has harassed, abused, assaulted, or raped someone.”

B is speechless.

And I haven’t even told him that probably 100% have participated in that violence by contributing their bit of casual sexism, or not speaking out when rape culture rears its head in their circles. I know that between B and I, 100% of us have. And one of us is a card-carrying feminist.

***

When B wants to go for a solo walk at night, he just goes. The only things that could hold him back are weather, something interesting on the telly, suddenly cute cats, bedtime, laziness, or getting into an interesting conversation with someone at home. When he needs to make a midnight run for food or household essentials, he chooses the store based on hours, proximity, and whether they have what he needs. When he goes, he doesn’t pay any attention to people outside of noticing them in a vague oh-look-they’re-out-too sort of way.

If I want to take a late-night solo walk, I consider several factors. Does my desire for a walk eclipse my desire to remain reasonably safe? Have there been any reports of attacks in the area? Women have been attacked along the North Creek trail I like to frequent, even in this quiet, low-crime neighborhood. If I decide to risk it, I stay to well-lighted areas, and avoid other people. I carry my cell phone and a knife. I pay attention to shadows and movement, and remain watchful of any other people I encounter.

Shopping at night is generally limited to dire necessity, and a few stores in good areas. I watch out for potential predators, and if someone or some situation gives me a bad vibe, I go elsewhere or go home.

***

B says hello to people we pass on the trails. He’s friendly like that.

I look at them, maybe nod if they look my way, and don’t generally engage beyond a clipped “hi” at most. I don’t shrink away, but I do put some space between us. It’s habit, and it’s potentially kept me from being harassed or assaulted before. Too many men take a friendly “hi” to be an invitation, and get angry when it turns out they’re wrong. I will sometimes stop and talk to people, but that’s after a careful assessment. I’m ready for the situation to turn sour at any moment.

B used to become upset when women walked wide of him and didn’t return his hello. He never confronted them, but he was irritated, and mystified. Now he understands why, and he’s angry at the men who have caused them to shut down rather than risk returning a casual greeting. He now knows what Schrodinger’s Rapist is. He gets it.

***

B and I will never have children. Neither of us has any desire to breed. But if we somehow end up with a daughter, there’s a conversation she and I will have. B will understand it: he’s been listening to me as I explain women’s world to him. But many husbands and male partners find it a nasty shock, and push back, until their partner sends the little girl to another room and explains some harsh reality. Then the men can’t wait for her to give their daughter The Talk.

It’s time for us to give our boys The Talk as well. The one that explains consent, and how not to rape, and what rape culture is, and how not to get sucked in to it. It’s best we give all our children both of the talks, because anyone can rape, anyone can be raped, and all of us need to understand each other’s realities much earlier. Otherwise, we’ll continue to inhabit separate worlds.

***

I wish I could live in B’s world. It’s not carefree, but he’s not hemmed in by the constant threats to his safety. He doesn’t have to face the same risks. Before we got together, he was able to remain blissfully oblivious to the minefield women navigate just by existing. Now, he’s a part of my world. And he’s helping me change it for the better.

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Dispatches from Women’s World
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11 thoughts on “Dispatches from Women’s World

  1. 1

    You don’t have to be a parent to give (some version of) The Talk. In fact, those of us who are not parents and are likely to remain in that state actually have advantages in The Talk terms. Instead of being a parent, and thus Uncool by definition, we have the opportunity to be The Cool Aunt and/or Uncle (personally, I’m angling for “and”). And if we want to really normalize consent as the gold standard for sexual relations (not to mention feminism generally), enlisting The Cool Aunt and/or Uncle can be a pretty major step.

    (Also note that status as Cool Aunt and/or Uncle doesn’t depend on genetic relatednesss.)

  2. 5

    A few years ago I was walking home from the grocery store. It was a quiet night, in a quiet urban neighborhood. At one point on my journey I decided to take a very meager shortcut: I was at an intersection, and needed to be on the opposite corner from where I was. Instead of using one crosswalk and then the other, I just took the hypotenuse right through the whole thing in one cross. I probably saved myself 10 steps with that path.

    Being oblivious such as I am, that path had me making a beeline right for a couple of ladies who were out for a walk together. I didn’t even notice them; I was just thinking about shaving a couple of seconds off my trip home. But I noticed them stand closer together. And I noticed the look of terror on their faces. That was an unexpected learning experience for me.

  3. 6

    This afternoon I got annoyed when another young woman in a retail situation called me “sweetie”; because I’m an old fart and apparently look harmless. Then I remembered this post and that women put up with much worse for their entire lives. I can live with “sweetie”. Women shouldn’t have to live with worse.

  4. 7

    Dana:

    “Get together with four women,” I say to B. “Chances are, at least one of them has been raped. All of them have probably experienced some form of sexual harassment, sexual assault, or sexual abuse.”

    He looks shocked for a second, then sad and angry as he thinks of his three closest female friends. One of us was sexually molested by a relative. One was raped at knifepoint by a former friend. The third endured repeated sexual harassment at her former job. The official statistics are, if anything, too low – at least 90% of the women I have known have a story to relate about any one or a combination of rape, assault, harassment, or abuse.

    When I first became aware of the statistics about rape and sexual assault, my immediate thoughts turned to female family members. In a subsequent conversation about sexual assault with my mother she told me that she had been sexually assaulted as a teenager. After talking about sexual assault statistics, I cautiously said to her “Mom, have you ever been…” and after a short pause, she replied “Yes. When I was a teenager. And I never told your father.” In that moment, sexual assault and rape went from abstract concepts that I’d read about and knew facts about to something much more concrete and horrifying.

  5. 8

    Right? All my feels for your mom. We survive it, but it stays with us forever. And all my feels to you, too – been there with one of my parents, and even though I’ve been raped, hearing she had been shocked me to my core. I’m no longer surprised when someone tells me they’ve been sexually assaulted or abused, but I don’t think the shock will ever go away.

  6. 9

    It’d be nice if we all treated each other with more respect – I mean, sweetie sounds kinda dismissive with someone you don’t know well, unless you’re the Doctor and it’s River Song calling you that. Hopefully it was spontaneous and genuine and she’ll learn not to do it even so.

  7. 10

    Sobering, isn’t it? Thank you so much for sharing that with us. The more men who share those learning experiences, the better off we all are.

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