The View from a Drawbridge

Warning: this post deals with sexual assault and may be triggering for some. Proceed with caution.                           

When I was 16 years old, a friend and I went to a movie. Afterward, as we were walking to her car, a boy whom I barely knew, who had been sitting near us in the theater, asked if he could kiss me.

“Eeew! No!” I said. I wasn’t even remotely attracted to him, and had barely exchanged two words with him in my entire life.

He continued to trot alongside us, begging me the entire way. I think I might have been laughing a little, because it was so random. I was in utter shock and disbelief that he would even think this was appropriate. I kept saying no. He asked why, and I said, “Because I don’t want to.”

I ask you, shouldn’t that have been enough? No means no, doesn’t it? I was young enough to believe that most people understood that simple concept.

I actually still believe that most people understand that no means no. But now I realize that there are people in the world who don’t care. If they are not given what they want, they’ll take it.

I got into the passenger seat of my friend’s car, thinking that I had made myself clear and that we’d just drive away. But before I could close the door, he blocked it, shoved me against the seat back, and forced his tongue down my throat while I struggled. I could taste the pizza he had been eating in the theater.

He then walked away triumphantly while I gagged and spit little bits of masticated dough onto the pavement. I wanted to vomit. We drove home in stunned silence, and I tried not to cry.

This was decades before the Me Too movement, so it didn’t even occur to me to try to do anything about it. After all, it was “just” a kiss, right? Even if it was extremely unwelcome, surely people would have said I was overreacting if I made a big deal out of it. Boys will be boys.

I don’t think of that incident often anymore. It’s been more than 40 years since that happened. But every once in a while something reminds me of it, and, just like that, I can still taste the acidic dollar-movie pizza sauce in my mouth. It took years for that young girl to realize that punching him in the throat at that moment would not have meant that she wasn’t a nice person.

Body autonomy doesn’t seem to be a universal concept in this world. I have been groped, fondled, stroked, penetrated and slobbered on against my will at various points in my life.  None of these acts were the least bit consensual, and there was absolutely no chance that anyone could have been confused about that fact. Often there have been witnesses to these assaults, and they’ve either looked away nervously or laughed indulgently.

The sad thing is, these things have happened to one degree or another to every female I know well enough to broach this uncomfortable subject with. Every. Single. One.

I’m sure it has happened to males, too, but I’m willing to bet that it’s a lot more rare. They are often bigger, stronger, and don’t seem as vulnerable, and fewer females have been raised to be aggressive. Unfortunately, a certain percentage of these violated guys probably manage to convince themselves that it was something they wanted, even if they were secretly repulsed.

Maybe if women walked around randomly grabbing genitals, more men would realize how horrifying the experience can be. But that’s no solution, because no matter what the circumstances are, or what genders are involved, if there’s no consent, it’s not okay. Not ever. Not even for a second.

So, when Jennifer Hermoso went to get her medal for winning the FIFA World Cup, and Luis Rubiales, president of the Royal Spanish Football Federation, grabbed her head in a vice-like grip and gave her a kiss that she obviously didn’t want, I tasted rancid pizza in my mouth. He later described the kiss as one he would give his daughter, but it was more like Jennifer’s head had been forced face-first into a sheet mangler, and first responders would have been hard pressed to extricate her from it. Talk about an unequal balance of power!

As of the time I wrote this, Rubiales has proffered a grossly inadequate apology, and absolutely refuses to resign from his position despite public outcry and a demand for consequences. He has been suspended, pending a disciplinary review. I hope by the time you read this, the Spanish Sports Council will have ridden him out on a rail. Because what he did was not okay.

I stand with Jennifer. She should be celebrating her victory. Instead, she’ll be confronted with this disgusting photo for the rest of her life.