agree or disagree: the intricacies of consent (a personal story)

TRIGGER WARNING - discussion of sexual assault

I don't remember his name.

That's not a problem; I'd rather not remember. Part of my mind obsesses, though, runs through generic lists of names, trying to discover it. I can't shut it off.

I didn't really know him - he was a friend of a friend, who happened to be in the same place as me at the wrong time, I guess. I was having a bad day. Week. Year.

I was sitting in my car in the parking lot of the liquor store when I decided I'd sleep with him that night. We were getting a hotel room, four of us, because we still lived with our parents and didn't have a secure location where we could drink, smoke, fuck, whatever. I remember standing at the ATM. I paid for that room.

Agree or disagree: someone is consenting to sex if they go to a private place with you.

I didn't like him, especially, he was unimpressive. I was bored, all evening. After the drinking and the smoking, after the lights went out, I was relieved. I thought things might finally get interesting.

Agree or disagree: someone is consenting to sex if they get drunk or high with you.

Apparently, he had never heard of foreplay. Even though I was pretty drunk, and stoned out of my mind, this was a problem for me. I tried to slow him down, guide the process a little. He was totally non-receptive.

Agree or disagree: someone is consenting to sex if they allow you to remove their clothing.

I tried to stop everything, completely. Told him to stop, repeatedly. He ignored me. I decided that I might as well just go along with it, because it wasn't *that* bad. I was fucked up, and my pain tolerance is generally pretty high. After a few minutes, I tried to stop him again. He ignored me. I let it go. Repeat.

Agree or disagree: a person is consenting if they agree to have sex with you at first, but changes their mind after you've already started.

It seemed to go on forever. I would try to stop him until it became apparent there was nothing I could do, and then I'd try to put up with it until I couldn't take it any longer. I felt the need to remain calm. I was terrified.

Agree or disagree: a person is consenting if they say yes, but their body seems to be saying no.

I eventually got away - I told him I had to use the restroom. He let me up. I was too stoned, or too scared, and I forgot to lock the door, and he followed me in. I shoved him, dodged past him, got dressed, left.

Sat in my car, freaking out. I knew he'd follow me, but he didn't. (He was too busy telling my friends what a bitch and a tease I was.) I called a friend who lived hundreds of miles away. She called a friend who lived closer to me, and he came and picked me up. It was light when he arrived. He took me out to breakfast. Didn't ask too many questions.

The bruises took weeks to disappear. One night, I got drunk and told my mom about it. She said, "Once things get to a certain point you can't expect to be able to stop them."

For years after, every sexual encounter came packaged together nicely with a panic attack. Sometimes, when I started to freak out, I asked my partner to stop. Sometimes I didn't bother.

Often they didn't notice.

Until very recently, this night was filed in my brain under the tab "bad sex." I had a therapist who tried to convince me it deserved another label. I didn't bring it up with any therapists after that.

I recently began the process of becoming a volunteer sex ed coordinator for a non-profit. I haven't done any real sessions yet, I am still in the training stages. Monday, I attended a class on consent.

Part of the purpose of these practice sessions is to address some of the comments, concerns, or issues that might come up in a real class. To plan what you'll say when a student says, "Of course s/he wanted it."

"It doesn't matter what you think someone wants," I said, maybe a little too intensely. "What matters is what they tell you they want."

One of the facilitators paused, looked at me, and said, "Oh, you'll be good at this."

It was a very triggering session, and I should have known it would be, but somehow, until that moment, I was interacting with consent as a concept, as a theory, an idea to explain.

But I wonder how my experience would have been different if, in 7th or 8th or 9th grade, someone had told me, "What matters is what you say. What matters is what you agree to. And you can change your mind." I wonder how my experience would have been different if, in 7th or 8th or 9th grade, someone had told him, "Everyone has the right to give consent, or not. Everyone has the responsibility to respect that."

Would that have changed anything?

Even now, I can argue the concepts and defend the importance of explicit consent, but in my mind, my experience is somehow different.  My own brain is like a rape apology greatest hits album.

I arrived at this conceptual struggle somewhat late in the game, so it's an ongoing process for me.  But might there be one kid, in one of my sessions, one teenager who hears it? One person who learns to pay attention, to back off if they feel their partner hesitating? One who learns how to communicate their own boundaries?

One who doesn't watch all of their own feminist theory collapse in the face of the ways they blame themselves?

I really, really hope so.