It’s a Friday night. You lock eyes at a party. Is this sexual eye contact? Did his eyes just happen to land on yours or was it an accident? Judging on your luck, it’s probably nothing. Suddenly, you see him walking over to you. You feel butterflies, the excitement of the many possibilities of this new person with whom you have had eye contact children with. He introduces himself. His name is Ben. Ben goes to X school, lives in X neighborhood, knows X person at this party, which is how he ended up here. You bond over how “weird” the party is. Suddenly, you find yourselves talking about everything and nothing. How many siblings you have, your summer plans, your love for X movie- all conversation that was half a step up from small talk. Finally, as you’re in the middle of talking about how poor you are, he leans in to kiss you, clearly uninterested in your impending financial crisis. You excuse this because, hey, you guys talked for thirty minutes before he made a move! Maybe, just maybe, he actually will like YOU as a person and for once this hook up could lead to something more.
You change locations, because the hallway of this small apartment is no place for romance. The bedroom is empty. You mentally agree with yourself that you will NOT have sex with him, even if you want to, because guys never call you again once you’ve had sex with them. Or is this just a rule you learned from a shitty Jennifer Aniston rom-com? You walk into the uncomfortably bright, spacious room this party house has to offer. There’s old beers, and cups, some unfinished joints laying around. But, the romance wasn’t dead- he didn’t kiss you aggressively, but softly. As if you were delicate and he had to take care of you. Soon, you were kissing awkwardly in the middle of the open space in the room. Thank god you can’t see yourself from an outside perspective, because WOW does it look weird to see two bodies half attempting to dry hump standing up. You then move to the bed, the only logical spot for this hook up to continue occurring. Your shirts come off, as well as your bra. You feel weird because you’re wearing tight high waisted jeans, which is never convenient for most life situations except sometimes making you look skinnier. The tone of the hook up has suddenly shifted. You were on top of his almost buff, but kind of weak body, partly falling off the bed, still in that god awful hospital waiting room lighting. His kissing and handling of your body goes from being soft and gentle to aggressive and moving your body around like it’s his job to help you please him. You try and show that you’re tired and really don’t feel like putting that level of intensity into this hook up, because what you had liked about it was that moment in the beginning where you had locked eyes and he had told you about how protective he was of his sister. Because of these moments, and because WOW you’d look like a tease if you asked to stop now, you don’t tell him that the things he’s doing aren’t ok with you.
As you’re attempting to mentally talk yourself into it, you feel a hand come to your head, attempting bring it down to his unbuckled belt. At what point had he unbuckled his belt? You hadn’t even noticed this, not until you were touching it, one hand on your head, another leading your hand, telling you that’s where he wanted yours. At this moment, all the build up, all the romance that could have been in your head, has officially died. Is he fucking serious? The “I-want-a-blowjob-but-a-handy-could-do-now”? This is a classic move, done typically by the entitled fuckboy who likes shitty rap but makes up for it by liking The Smiths. You know you don’t want this, you really don’t want to give a handy to Ben, who barely tried to finger you over your bulky high wasted jeans but quickly gave up but wanted you to know he tried so that there was SOME give and take.
Your doubts and wishes are saved by friends banging on the door, saying they need to get their coats and you need to hurry the fuck up. He continues kissing you, almost reverting to the “nice” guy he had been just an hour before. He asks you for your number. You give it to him, because if he wants your number, that must mean there is likelihood in the future that he might text you and you might date and he might be better the next time. You kiss again, and you leave.
The next morning, you check your texts. Still no messages. You expected this, because it’s early and he said he often wakes up late. You didn’t even like him towards the end
A few hours go by and the only person who has texted you is your mom sending you photos of her newly dyed hair.
The sun sets and you know he had to have woken up at this point. You look in the mirror, carefully observing the hickey he kind of gave you. You hate hickeys because they’re tacky, but you’re beginning to like it because it was from him and you wanted to be able to say you hooked up with him.
He never texted, never called. Maybe you bumped into him again at another party, pretending like nothing ever happened. He acts like he doesn’t know you, and when you approach him gives you a semi-warm “Hi” and walks away quickly. You wonder for days, “What was it that I did wrong? How was I the problem?” Even though Ben wasn’t that great, even though you know Ben is an asshole, you can’t help but reminisce over that one soft kiss that gave you hope in that brief moment, how foolish you could’ve been to believe the world would do you a favor like that.
And yet, Ben goes into the world, nice guy act and all, and maybe he is actually a nice guy who just doesn’t realize that the hand-move-head-push shit doesn’t fly anymore. Why do men think this will work? Thank you for the input, I know where your dick is. Because even if you obey, even if you make it clear you’re unhappy, you fear being told on. You fear being talked about negatively. And most of all, you fear having another failed hook up result in another failed attempt at human connection and living another day watching all your friends in stable happy relationships, asking yourself why oh why am I so alone?
Ben, like so many others has the terrible curse of thinking that his penis is God’s gift to the world, and that girls are here to help him when his hand gets tired. To break the news to Ben and all Ben’s everywhere, there are bigger things in this world than your dick! Head pushing and hand moving IS about consent, but it’s also about respect and common courtesy. Ben, you might ask how this situation could have been prevented and how to prevent all other Ben’s form doing this in the future. The solution is very simple: if you want a blowjob, instead of signaling that you want one by pushing my head or my shoulders, try asking! If that’s too awkward for you, sorry! If I want to give you head, I’ll ask you and do it if I want to. Sorry not everything is on your terms. Hooking up is a two way street; it’s about communication and being a decent human being. Whether it’s friends with benefits, a one night stand, a long term relationship or a guy you locked eyes with at a party. This story is universal, not uncommon and actually does nothing but make the self esteem of those who’s heads are pushed plummet. As we continue to talk about consent and rape culture, we continue to discuss the smaller but harmful things that occur when hooking up. You don’t know what’s a trigger for someone, and the person you’re hooking up with is a fucking human being. Treat them like one.
P.S. If a girls gives you head, fucking return the favor.
