Long Live The Wasted Youth

It's only in recent years that I've grown to fear others. Truly fear. Fear those who appear confident or charming, even quiet or just nice. Movies and media constantly portray the demolition of boundaries through cunning and tall scary men. Men who plot to go into a club and take a woman back whether she likes it or not, and bulky serial killers who feel a cruel desire to overpower those weaker than themselves.

It's embarrassing, to find out for yourself, and have to explain in reality, that the man who touched you without asking;

Is a lot younger and in your drama class,

Was your friend, or your boyfriend,

That he just caught you at a vulnerable time outside the bar,

He's thin, and meek, and doesnt get much attention,

That he complimented your body, your eyes, before taking what he was clearly entitled to, and what he had earned with all that hard work.

The first time I realised I'd actually been sexualised, I was fifteen. I was stood at the bus stop whilst an old man with a neon orange beanie told me my necklace was pretty. He also kept looking at my chest, then up and down my body, whilst asking where I went to school.

This is the stranger danger we all know. This is what we're educated on by our guardians, what is really dangerous, and the stereotype of a true rapist. A Pedophile, the worst kind, the one who takes innocent children into the darkness because they can't fight their own urges. He was terrifying at the time, and his face is imprinted in my mind- but I'm not nearly as scared of him as I am of someone my own age.

The ones who made my stomach churn, and left me scrubbing bedsheets the next day or hiding clothes at the bottom of my drawer so I'd never have to look at them again, they're the ones that really stop me going outside.

Every woman I know has at one time at least been sexually abused in some form, and of course some men too. But the shocking truth is that the majority of these encounters have been in relationships, with friends, at parties, or god forbid with family members.

The word is CONSENT, but how clear is it really? If someone is too drunk to reply, do they consent?, if someone says I'm just tired, do they consent?, if someone says later, do they consent?

The answer is a clear: no.

However many get caught up in the premise that you MUST protest against someone invading your personal space in order to get them to go away.

We have to start asking people for permission to touch them, permission to kiss them, to hold them, to have sex with them. Because even though they might usually say yes, there will be a day that comes where they will say no, and we all must respect that. Even then, asking someone to enter their personal space? it's endearing, it's romantic, it's polite, and it's kind.

I dont care if you're a nice person, or if you dont normally sleep with people, or you prefer to do things "naturally". Asking someone instead of expecting them to shout no at you, is smart, honest and a lot safer than just assuming what they want, because I guarantee you, they did not know what I wanted, until it was far too late.