I specifically stated that the description I gave did technically constitute rape when I asked for responses to my actual query: would you consider it just to convict in that scenario?
Frankly I am floored by yours and others readiness to do so, absolutely floored, and it vividly illustrates the yawning chasm that lies between our viewpoints. I find nothing less than absurd to consider a situation like that rape or sexual assault, or if it technically fits the description, it’s certainly not sufficiently severe to warrant an actual complaint resulting in an arrest and prosecution. Then to think that if it ever did get that far you and others would apparently not even hesitate to convict, with all that entails, leaves me stunned.
But I do have to admire the effectiveness of the 3rd wave feminist drumbeat…the message has been absorbed and incorporated, no doubt about that.
I think that sexual assault is a really big gun to use to pick off a few little bugs, and the result of such a view is ultimately more negative for more people of both sexes.
Camille! Sistah! ![]()
I’m a baby of the first wave, I think, born in '58, but my mom (born in '23) was the daughter of a suffragette, so I came up in the 60’s and '70’s with it in my marrow, and it did not look or sound like this, thats for damn sure.
I have only recent been fully enlightened to this culture of fragility, this “triggering” business… Seriously? This is feminism? I’m gobsmacked.
I know that I was kinda unusually…hmm, can’t decide on a word I like. Tough doesn’t really express it. But this is who I was: i grew up in Hollywood, first of all, and my closest friends today were my closest friends then, and we all agree that flashers were so common they were practically an expected part of the landscape. By the time we were 12 we had it wired up that the best way to respond to the dick-waving asshole that sat down in our movie row was to point and laugh. Bam, he’s gone.
When I was just a wee thing of 6, yes, 6, i was actually molested. Very mildly: he told me there were toys in the laundry room. And I remember perfectly thinking that my mom told me never to accept candy, but toys never came up. So I followed him into the tiny apartment building laundry, and he proceeded to teppshow me a trash can lud and tell me it was a frisbee…uh oh… This could maybe not be good…so he starts asking ne questions about naked men, etc… I lie and deny all knowledge, and yeah, i was freaking the fuck out in my head. Then he pulls down my bathing suit and takes a look… I am crying, not happy, he whips out his dick, waves it at me a little then keeps his promise and lets me go.
I ran screaming and hysterical the four blocks home, my oldest sister is telling my other sisters to “check mom’s heart!” Cuz she was recovering from a heart attack. The cops come, my dad comes, we ride in the cop car and I show them where it happened and my hand to god by that evening I was totally basking in all the tumultuous attention, the thing that caused it almost an afterthought. Next day at school with my girlfriends (my two besties were both 9, I was mature, they were not) I was very exciting with my tales of molestation. Ooooh…ahhhh. Totally over it. I was 6.
So yeah, I find (some!!, not all!!) of these concerns over these fragile women a bit alien, to say the least.
