I pictured a boy, innocent looking, the kind of teenager you’d wave to on the way to the shower without much thought, leaning over my friend’s listless body, kissing her, letting his hands stray as she lay too dazed or confused or scared to say something concrete: something as simple but as impossibly difficult as the word “No.” As she told me through sobs on the phone days after that night, she had only been able to say, “I don’t think we should do this,” and this guy—her friend—simply hadn’t stopped.
During freshman orientation at Wesleyan, “gray area rape” was discussed almost ad-nauseam. Dramatic readings, skits, and personal stories were shared to impress upon students the gravity of the issue.
My friend doesn’t go here though. I imagine she would have sat through these presentations like I did: patiently listening but not seriously worried about the subject. She would remember all of the times when, even under the influence, she’d been perfectly fine with giving a straightforward “No,” and deftly pulling a searching hand away. I had always admired her independence—her ability to be sexually explorative but clear on her boundaries. But this time, all of her poise and confidence had been washed away—whether by vodka or the emotional stress of college or some combination of the two, I don’t know.
In the same conversation, she told me about another girl at her school who had found it easier to have sex with an overly aggressive drunk guy with whom she was romantically involved than to argue with him—and had ended up being forced to have anal sex.
I was angry. In both cases, the girls had trusted these guys. They had felt safe. My friend had felt comfortable enough to get drunk with the guy who eventually forced sex on her. Her roommate failed to realize the magnitude of the situation, and left the room while my friend was clearly not capable of making coherent decisions.
It seems like these choices should have been safe ones. Every weekend at Wesleyan, and at any other college, there are groups of stumbling people heading from one party to another, feeling safely intoxicated because they’re with people they know. It’s what PSafe says to do: stay with a group, stick to people you trust. It’s good advice, but not complete advice.
I’d like to imagine that this kind of thing doesn’t happen at Wesleyan—that, even when intoxicated, everyone here is happy to back off when they sense any lack of enthusiasm. But I don’t really believe it. We’ve all heard the rhetoric—the argument is shockingly pervasive: this thing that may be sexual assault could just be confusion or a drunken mistake.
As easy and satisfying as it would be, I can’t entirely blame the guys, since they were intoxicated too. But the fact remains—when one person feels violated, the other becomes the perpetrator. And no amount of supposed confusion or claims of mixed signals can undo that.
When I talked to my friend about writing this article, she tried to help me understand the permanence of it. “…It doesn’t go away…. It’s more than that. I was horrified the morning after. My body and my mind were in shambles. My vagina was inflamed and untouchable in so many ways and today I can’t look at him without cringing.” Though the drunken beast of the night before had subsided once more into a mild-mannered college kid, my friend will always see him as her own personal Mr. Hyde.
When confused beginnings lead to such crushing consequences, it is imperative that every person remember two things. First, it is your right to have safe, consensual sex. Second, it is your responsibility to ensure that no one violates this right for anyone else.
This second thing is especially important to consider. After talking to my friend, I was angry at her roommate for leaving her drunk with a guy who was clearly looking for something my friend was not conscious enough to voluntarily give. We all have a responsibility to look out for one another—so, when in doubt about consent or coherence, always ask. Your friend will probably be more comfortable with asking you to stay than with telling their partner to leave.
Finally—and this cannot be stressed enough—we must pay attention to our partners and ourselves. Sex can be wonderful when consensual, but devastating when not. The most important thing we can do to prevent harm and encourage fun is to talk to each other.
As stupid as it may sound on paper, it’s sexy to ask, “Do you like this?” and satisfying to hear “Yes!” in return, and it’s also incredibly valuable in preventing mistakes. And, honestly, who among us wants to be that person feeling guilty the morning after? Who wants to be the one who feels violated? No one has to be—and no one should be.
Francis is a member of the class of 2014 and the Sexual Health Columnist for The Argus. During Safe Sexfest, happening in the next two weeks, look out for more information on consensual sex like the “Raise Your Hand For Consent” display in Usdan and the hot communication phrases on the walls of Psi U at the Safe Sex Party on Nov. 13.
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