i can see why

Emily Yoffe, aka Dear Prudence, wrote about drunk college girls getting raped.

Now, I am quick to start yelling when the message is “Don’t get drunk” rather than “Don’t rape that drunk person”. I think the most laying-on of hands you can ethically do to a passed-out partygoer is to turn that person so s/he won’t choke on his or her own vomit.

But I also see the appeal, sad to say, in going out, getting drunk, and not caring what happens next.

It’s hard, if you’ve had bad experiences, to make your mind and body set those aside and rediscover how to enjoy sex. It’s hard even to get to the point of enjoyment if all your life, you’ve heard that you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.

I used to think I could, but I can’t. I don’t remember my first giving a shit whether I liked sex with him or not, just as long as we had it. I don’t remember him ever stopping to ask if what we were doing was okay. Consent was implied by virtue of being a couple. It wasn’t a long relationship but I can’t forget it and move on. It had consequences. If he’d been different, would I be different? Would I have had more flings and fewer inhibitions? I’m probably never going to top five partners, five opportunities to see what it’s like with someone new, in my life, unless I figure out how to set aside all the crap and just have at. Kinda makes me angry. Kinda makes me sad.

I don’t know how to set the crap aside. Part of me is therefore jealous of people who can go out, get drunk, and wake up satisfied. Mind you, having never done it, I don’t know if drunk sex is any good. I don’t know if you remember it very well. What survives the drinking? The memory of pleasure or just a vague notion that you’ve put your body through its paces? Do women even get off that way?

I feel frozen solid some days. Many days. It’s not good for me or my current, very good partner. I tell him I wish he’d been my first and he says he’s happy he wasn’t, but if he had been my first, I think things would be easier between us. People used to think I was a slut, and I was at heart, but I heard the way they were saying it and maybe it stuck. Now that it’s okay for me to be one, I can’t be, and I can’t always unhear what they said. Why wasn’t I more of one when I had the chance? Would it have turned out the same way?

“Regrets? I’ve had a few.”

Alas, getting drunk is not going to unfreeze me. I might only be doing it around someone who has consent 99% of the time (and errs on the side of “no” when there’s any doubt). My tolerance, on the other hand, is too low for even one drink, and I take meds that make drinking dangerous. Guess I’ll be pruding it up a little longer.

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