A Reluctant Masochist

Pain makes me wet. It is a fact. And it is a fact I avoid. I'm not sure why this is a harder issue for me to accept than the submission thing, but I think perhaps it is because when someone says "do something" and I don't want to, I say "no." It is hard to abuse the submission thing. But when someone hits me and it feels wrong, but I'm already in a submissive space, I endure, and the cost of that endurance is very high. I feel worthless and abused.

I'm very clearly only a masochist is tightly defined ways. I'll never eroticize a blister or a sprain. It is easiest to embrace pain and surrender in liminal moments. Once I define a sensation as "pain" I say "ow." If it is the borders on the edges of pain, but not quite yet there, I soften.

I think my ex's mixture of pain with sternness really undercut my acceptance of pain. When we were living together, it was all about disapproval. About him demanding of me my surrender as his right. I never felt like it was 'fair' I was a submissive because I got so little out of it, and he took so much. Always pushing farther and harder and rarely giving the elements I craved.

With my ex, I could only handle more when either we were playing a scene (which we rarely, rarely did--he didn't like the 'drama' portions), or on very rare occasions when I had free reign and could be bratty. The fact of being bratty meant that I knew he didn't disapprove of me--he disapproved of a character I was playing, making it much easier to handle.

I've actually been known to crave it on several occasions, even once with my ex. When I first moved back to Seattle, before I had fully accepted that, at least on some level, I swim in darker waters, I ended up with a man from a local activists group, who claimed I 'smelled kinky.' (And the man with the good sniffer got me into the kinky waters for a few years.) Anyway, after dropping about 10,000 hints that all his friends were kinky, but of course, he wasn't into that, I finally said "are you really as vanilla as you're claiming to be?" and, of course, he wasn't.

The first time he spanked me, I said I didn't want any permanent marks. But his fingerprints remained on my psyche. Wondrous. Gentle, tender yet firm and demanding. And then he'd intermingle it with ice and clothespins, and to this day, those vie with raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens.

The only time I ever got there with with my ex happened this fall when we were lovers, but denying it. He, for the first time, stopped because he didn't want to push me too far and I wanted to scream "More!" He had his hand on my back and tenderly rubbed my back while he spanked me hard. But he had a tenderness then that was unusual for him. I think it shocked both of us--a glimpse of how we might have been in an alternative coupling. Loving and lovely. And we tried to recreate that moment, but we never did. It felt like I was melting and yearning and relaxing into his arms. I didn't even realize it would register as 'pain' if I were in a different mindset.

It is almost like the process of surrender moves the world from the crisp, sharp edges of HDTV to the soft melding of a Renoir painting. I can feel the muscles in my face soften. I imagine if you looked at me, my features would be muddy. Then, when it works well, pain comes in and inscribes the bright lines of a Jackson Pollack onto a Monet landscape. But when it doesn't work well, instead of opening new landscapes it just shuts me down and I'm back to play sudoku in my head, trying to endure and feeling worthless and unlovable.

My ex, who dated self-identified "slaves," said I was the most submissive woman he'd ever dated, and I was far, far more masochistic than I ever admitted to myself. I don't know how stable that observation is. But I wish I could clearly mark the switch, or at least know what triggers it more precisely.

John seems to know his way around my triggers very well. A couple of times, I've been able to melt my defenses a smidgen, meeting his gaze and graze. It feels like, if things worked out, I might be able to learn to relish it, instead of feeling like 'this isn't fair."

Liminal moments

John and I had a wonderful time this weekend. Lots of alcohol so much (I couldn't believe how much I drank!) that it lowered enough inhibitions that we talked openly and honestly! What a weird concept. We talked openly and honestly over a year ago, and then, when things fell apart, we've e-mailed openly and honestly, but never talked openly and honestly.

One time--I don't remember exactly when--he read a whole bunch of past postings from my blog. I woke up to a number of e-mail responding to blog entries of previous months, and felt hopeless because I could do nothing.

And then, the blog remained unspoken. But I also think we'd never be exploring in this direction if the blog hadn't been there. It seems to me that time and again, my insecurities have demarcated boundaries with him. And occasionally things I have said have been interpreted through his insecurities. (It amazes me that he has any--he seems to me to have his life together so well. But I suppose we mirror each other, in that we seem, on the exterior, to be operating really well, but underneath feel less together.)

So for the first time in over a year, we blurred the boundaries between the intimacies of our e-mails, the friendliness of our face-to-face conversations and even a little bit of my insecurities of the blog.

He started it! ;) I seem to have this belief that men want what they can't have, and since John knows I'm interested in him, that makes me less interesting. I think he went off with that chick from Texas last spring because she was new and shiny. But once he broached the topic, we sort of let everything come out.

My fear is that he isn't attracted to me. That he wishes he were because I have my life relatively together, and it would be easier (no, not easier--he knows me well enough to know that nothing is easy with me--vital, engaged, exciting, but not easy), but I'm not some damsel in distress. And intellectually he might like to be with someone that isn't looking for someone to 'save' her. But he said that isn't the case: "Patience isn't rejection."

I said something along the lines of "you could have gotten me in bed a year ago. And I tend to think men go after what they want."

He replied: "I've had fast-food, and either of us could go out for a quarter-pounder. But this is too chefs planning a gourmet meal."

And he also made it really clear that if we ended up together (and neither of us knows if we would--we still haven't kissed--what if I hate the way he kisses?), he would not push me in the S&M area. Nothing is required of me. I actually said (and I don't remember all the details of the evening--it has the hazy fog of a 1920s filtered film) but I'm not usually this blunt: "If it makes me wet and you hard--we'd have to find ways to include it."

I believe (and I think he knows I meant well, whether or not he agrees) that he had to have a chance to play and explore the kinky world when he finally found it. I was the first person he talked to. And I, at the time, felt like an abused puppy. I needed tenderness and gentleness before I could get in touch with the masochistic side of me, which is absolutely there, even if I almost never admit it. I couldn't enthusiastically play with him. And now, when I'm in a much better place than I was, I still wouldn't be able to go to the depths that he would probably enjoy exploring. But then I absolutely couldn't.

So I told him something along those lines. And I said "After the Republican slapped me." I didn't tell him this, but when my ex and I got back together, I said flat out--"I never want to be slapped on the face again as long as I live." And the ex said "OK." And a couple of times he psyched me out, but didn't slap me, was tender, but the psych out was enough and I numbed out and he stopped even playing in that direction. Only ever tender with my face. And it started to heal that part of me.

And Saturday, John tapped me ever so lightly on my cheek, and then left his hand there, and I nuzzled it greedily, like a kitten. I think that is the first moment I've actually surrendered for him on a kinetic rather than an intellectual level. And then he looked me straight in the eyes and did it again, and I didn't flinch. "It's the person, not the action" he said. I don't love that and I doubt seriously I'd ever ask for it. But somehow I was a little stronger for it.

Round and round and round in the circle game

So "John" and I had a fight. Sort of. For me it qualified. I even cried. Stupid as it was. For him, I have a feeling it wasn't a big deal--a few cranky e-mails. But it does make me realize, at least for a moment, that he is right and we can't really be together.

For background, we were having a REALLY fun, smart argument, like in the legal sense of the word, about the economy. Each of us argued our side, which disagreed with the other. And then I cut and paste a couple of articles and it insulted him.

I tend to do that sort of thing--assume I have no credibility and I need other people to back up my arguments. It was part and parcel of my post-graduate education and I do it without thinking about it. He thought I meant that I didn't think he was as well informed. And he got mad at me. I over-react, SO much, to that sort of thing. (Although I think maybe we each pushed each other's buttons and each over-reacted.)

And I can see myself and John repeating the exact same dynamic my mother and father have.

Or maybe that is a lens I use to try and understand what is going on.

Either way--my dad thinks my mom is perfect and life is perfect and everything is perfect, until suddenly, life sucks and nothing my mom does is at all acceptable and she is a horrible, controlling, evil woman, the female equivalent of Dick Cheney water-boarding all the men in her life and then all of a sudden she's perfect. (Now, I should say, my parents are aware of this cycle and are working actively to change it. But it informed their relationship when I was growing up, and my dad, to a lesser extent, had that 'perfect/dreadful' dichotomy towards me as well.)

But for me it means that I really over-react to criticism. Criticism of just about any kind means "I always thought there was something wrong with you and now I know that you are inherently unlovable." My mom says when I was born she told me "You don't have to be perfect to be loved." Unfortunately, she felt the need to say it because everything else in my life told me "be perfect, or you'll never be loved."

I used to be surprised when a man would stay with a woman who, like, got cancer and lost her hair. It didn't really occur to me that a man would do something like that. Why wouldn't they just go get someone healthy, with hair? Woman are, deep-down, interchangeable, aren't they? Intellectually, I don't believe it. But emotionally, it is something that has affected me.

And then, you add all my fucked-up-ness. John got mad at me for throwing too many articles at him. And I've always known I was too engaged in issues. Way too opinionated! Cared too much. Talk too fast. Talk too loud. All those things that make me unfeminine. Why do I have to care about ideas? Why can't I just giggle and say "I hadn't thought of it that way? Thank you for taking the time to explain it to me." And smile. Then I'd be lovable. Not for who I really am, but the fake me might be loved.

It's odd. My ex used to have knock-down, drag-out fights with his ex-wife. But he and I NEVER fought like that because the second he'd get mad at me, I'd cower and apologize, and it would totally neutralize the situation. Then we could talk about it rationally and solve the problem. Like something out of a textbook. We were kind of amazing that way. All these "I feel _____" statements. But we weren't in love with each other. Textbook communication is a lot easier when there isn't as much at stake.

Compromises and Disclosure

So I'm really enjoying getting to know Zachary. He reminds me of John in that we connect over the stuff that matters.

But. He has said bluntly he had no intention of every having kids. And I just don't know if I want kids, but I also know I don't want to say never. I guess that means I'm sort of leaning towards wanting them.

Should I just say "eh--I don't want to waste your time?" Later, when talking about apartments, I said "well, my current place is big enough unless I end up having kids" so I guess that let's him know that it is an open issue for me.

Oh, and we've never discussed kink of any kind. My add says "GGG" and he looked it up and said "absolutely." But he's clearly less kinky than me. And there are times I've had to dance around it. Like when we talked about my relationship with feminism and how I'm a 'bad' feminist. I never really explained the most obvious way I'm a bad feminist. I didn't lie, per se. But it did feel like I dissembled.


I just don't want to go there right now. I don't want to define and limit. Especially when I don't even know who I am.

Finally, and this troubles me, he isn't remember some of the details I've told him. We're having amazing conversations, but then he'll forget really simple stuff (like what neighborhood I live in). I have to think, if he were really 'that into me,' he'd remember where I live. Especially since I had reluctance in pinning down a neighborhood.

Is it better to be right than loved?

Growing up, my dad would try to teach me to not care about 'being right.' "It is better to be right than loved" he'd say, sarcastically. And, he was right. In our society, a woman who insists on being right can find it hard to be loved.

The problem is, these weren't over things like "He said/she said." These were over facts. You know, those pesky things you can look up in a book, or verify. What century was Shakespeare? Did Ghandi have an affair? Can we buy dog shampoo at one store or do we need to make a special trip.

I seem to have this weird fetish for facts. I tell myself "drop it" and I can't. Tonight, I got in a big fight with my mother because she was talking about how the "Goddess cultures" and matriarchal societies predominated the world before the Hebrew culture, which was a reaction to the Goddess cultures, came in and wiped them out. And I said it wasn't true. I had wanted to believe it, but it was based on poor evidence and some of it was made up. And she went on about Isis, as if that meant the Ancient Egyptian culture was centered around glorifying women, and the fact that Isis was one of several gods didn't mean anything.

I could tell my mom was getting really pissed off that I kept saying "I don't think that's true" and she kept going to mythology to back up her view of history and I tried to change the subject several times, but she kept coming back.

Now, my mother will love me, no matter what. But, this same dynamic plays back and forth. And maybe I'm wrong, and the last few years have uncovered new evidence, but the more interesting reason becomes: 'why does my sense of the facts become more important than the relationships?' Why the hell can't I just say "you're right; I'm wrong" when I don't think that is the case?

And the other question is, was my dad right: Do I have to pick between being right and being loved? Emotionally, I'd rather be loved, but for me, it isn't love if I'm pretending. And not correcting that Shakespeare died at the beginning of the 17th century, not the 15th century would drive me crazy! I'll do most anything a person I love wants. I take incredible care of the of the people I love. But I can't pretend black is white.

It drives my best friend crazy, and for some reason, with her, I've learned to shut up. She says "we parked on the left side of the parking lot" and we're walking to the right where the car is, and I don't say anything. But I can't seem to translate that skill to other people.

But at the same time, and I guess this adds to my ever-growing list of demands and weird things about me, it would be awfully nice to find someone that would say "Hey--let's look it up and find out" rather than "I know I'm right."

Wow--Excited and Nervous

I have a date with the eharmony guy tomorrow night, and I'm nervous! I really like this man. He is bright, engaging, optimistic, and seems to actually see some of me. He really likes my writing (and that is just on eharmony, and some emails) and he writes really well too. I think we'd have a lot in common (we are in complementary professions), and we could support each other.

And the whole 'how-the-hell-do-you-talk-about-sex' thing looms large. Very large. First of all, I'm not sure if I know how to fall in crush with a gentleman off the dance floor. If said gentleman is strong, turns me the way he wants me to go, lifts up my chin when I look down, brushes some hair out of my face, then, perhaps. But if said gentleman lets me control the situation, I will lose interest. And the thing is, I will try to control the situation. I really will. I wish I wouldn't, but I will. I will test him to get a sense of how strong he is. (And if he is strong, I will test him to get a sense of whether or not he would take good care of me.) I wish I didn't work that way, but it is like having a pint of Ben & Jerry's in the freezer--I'd eat it, even if I'd wish I wouldn't. That is just how I work.

I've sort of tried to figure out how I might drop hints. So far, he has had two. The first is my eharmony profile, which says:

• What I'm looking for includes: it wouldn't hurt if you had an evil streak and wanted to do unspeakable things to me, if we were serious about each other.
• 5 things I can't live without includes: Fabulous, frequent, faithful sex, vanilla +++
  
• And most private thing I'm willing to admit says: I want a true partnership of equals in the world, even as I yearn for someone to sweep me off my feet and take charge on the dance floor and in our erotic lives. Working out that balance of power--when is it appropriate to lead, when to follow and when to row together is a tough one, and one I think our society is scared to talk honestly about. I welcome that honest dialog, not because I know the answers, but because it is darn important.

So, really. That kind of says it all, right? Then, at one point, I said "I'm really blunt! We've already talked about religion and politics, so I guess we should move on to money and sex!" I was joking, but, I was also trying to reinforce that last point. He says he has re-read my profile on several occasions, and that it what the best-written profile he's read. If he has really, really read it, he has to kind of know, right? I mean, that isn't exactly written in Esperanza or something. Do vanilla people talk about 'working out that balance of power," and hoping someone had an 'evil streak' wanting to do 'unspeakable things' to me? What else would that mean?

Anyway, if we have chemistry (or maybe even if we don't tomorrow), I want to try to let this work. But, I think the way that I'll introduce it, if he doesn't by the third or forth date would be if he asks about my ex and why we broke up. Sooner or later, that seems to get asked. I will say that honestly, we each failed each other in a specific way. I was unable to support my ex as he pursued his dream. (And I honestly feel partially justified and partially bad about that.) And he was unable to fulfill my erotic core. I really don't like the idea of waiting until 3 or 6 month anniversary to bring up the whole kinky thing. That seems to be dissembling to the point of dishonesty.

The next question is this blog. I think that if we worked, I might delete it. I'm trying to figure it out. I did mention that I blogged occasionally. But I also left the impression that I blog on political matters, which I do at least a few times a year! I tried to say it so that it wasn't a lie, but you can't say "I blog about how I feel about sex and dating, but I'm not going to tell you where--nee ner, nee ner, nee ner." That is just too mean.

On the kinky websites, I'm comfortable saying "yeah, I blog about this stuff. No one who knows me gets to see it" and leaving it at that. But this feels differently. If I couldn't say that, I couldn't keep the blog. And frankly, I feel like I might need to delete it before we got serious about each other. I wouldn't want to sleep with someone and not know he was publishing a blog about it, nor that the entire world knew what made him tick, but I didn't get to. It is really, really important to me to not lie. I dissemble about little things, mostly about trying to give the impression that I'm not as smitten with a man as I might be. I may act a little more nonchalant than I actually feel at a given time and attempt to pretend I haven't checked my e-mail 48 times before the 12:00 noon cutoff in my head that will tell me whether he wants to see me again. But that isn't lying. But having a blog about sex and dating and never mentioning it, that seems like lying to me.

Overall, though, I'm clearly excited about him, or else I wouldn't be up this late on a Sunday night. And I'm excited to be excited about a vanilla man who clearly cherishes me already. I think it would be easier to teach him to dominate me than teach a dominate man to cherish me.

How do you make a DQ (tm) blizzard?

So I have a vanilla date tomorrow night. (This is from PerfectMatch.com, which I can definitively say isn't worth the money--$100 for 4 months and the only man worth e-mailing isn't listed as a 'perfect match' and lives 100 miles away, but he's willing to drive in, so we'll do coffee. There are 4 men listed as a 'perfect match' for me after 2 weeks, and 2 of them are over 50! And one looked like he sent his picture for American Gladiator--I'm not much into pictures generally, but pictures where men are nakes or look angry seem like major warning signs to me.)

And the question becomes--how the hell do you make a blizzard? I love Blizzards (although I don't allow myself to have them more than once a year). You start with vanilla icecream, and then you add snickers (it has to be snickers--all the chocolate and caramel and peanuts, and the caramel freezes and gets a little crunchy and sticks to your teeth--yummy!).

DQ's vanilla ice-cream is just bland. Boring! And it would be too sweet by itself. It needs something to set off all that vanilla sticky, sweetness, boring. But do you ask the vanilla if it is OK to add something in? Does the vanilla say "ooh--snickers, come join me?" What if the vanilla wants more, but gets scared to ask. Or looks at all that vanilla and assumes ice-cream only comes in vanilla?

And the snickers--what if the vanilla rejects it? It is scary to be in little pieces, with one part of your self over there and another part over here, and how can you feel whole when you keep cutting yourself into smaller and smaller and smaller pieces. You already feel like a freak, what with your wrapper off and all--you have to take your wrapper off before you have a chance to merge with the vanilla, but how do you find out if the vanilla is interested? The advantage of only hanging out with snickers if you can leave your wrapper on till you crawl into the the other snicker's wrapper. But with vanilla, you can do that! Can you just open the end of the wrapper, and pop out a bit? And what if the vanilla is busy looking at the TV and doesn't realize you've popped out of your wrapper for a bit? Or clueless? Or horrified? (My current eharmony profile, under "stuff only my best friends know" says "I'm kinda kinky." I say it with a little more poetry than that, but I changed it yesterday to say it flat out instead of with hints. Today I had more men 'close' communication with me than I'd typically have in a week! But if that freaks them out, clearly it would have been a waste of time!)

And then, if the vanilla says "oh, yes--I've always wanted snickers," or, more likely "hell--a pretty cute, smart, funny chick that's interested in sex, will do anything I want if I just take charge? Sure, why the hell not? She's got nice tits!" (I've worked fast food--you'd be shocked what the food says when it thinks no one is looking)--but what if the vanilla doesn't really know how to get the snickers out of the wrapper, does the snickers instruct the vanilla on how to take charge?

And another thing--how long should the snickers flirt with the vanilla until she starts to take off her wrapper? How many vanillas will look at her and say "oh, no way!--Skittles, maybe, or Starburst? Even Nerds, but no way in hell can I handle chocolate! And caramel! And Peanuts!!! NO!!!!" And how much time does the snickers want to waste on the vanilla if he's just going to hate the way the caramel freezes up and sticks to your teeth anyway? Especially if the vanilla lives 2 hours away?

So it is all very confusing.

And yet.... We as a country, maybe as a "Western Civilization," well we seem to suck at navigating gender issues. 150 years ago we all of a sudden said "women--you are no longer property. You now get to have some modicum of self." Jane Austen said "cool--how does this work?" And the Brontes said "this is how it might work." And Tolstoy said "this is how it isn't working." And Ibsen said "but this is what happened under the old way." And Strindberg said "this is why this is scary!" And DH Lawrence said "this is why it would be worth it to make it work."

And then something bizarre happened: we stopped talking about it! We said "poof--men and women are equals! Nothing more to talk about." And it is scary to talk about issues of gender (or race or religion) because people get touchy and get hurt or angry. So we just don't talk about it.

So, part of the reason I write this is because I think we need more honest dialogue. I don't have much hope to learn how to make a blizzard tomorrow. But maybe, just maybe, this process will teach me a little more about how to figure it out.

Is Maureen Dowd Necessary?

(Apologies to someone or other, who already had that title a year ago, but a very different review follows.)

Maureen Dowd, in Are Men Necessary, and some columns like “Should Hillary Pretend to be a Flight Attendant,” proposes the theory that men avoid women who are as smart or ambitious as they are. Quoting a Slate article, Dowd seems to believe “They preferred women whom they rated as smarter — but only up to a point ... It turns out that men avoided women whom they perceived to be smarter than themselves. The same held true for measures of career ambition — a woman could be ambitious, just not more ambitious than the man considering her for a date.”

There are other reasons to believe that men avoid women who are smarter or more ambitious. The Chronicle of Higher Education reported that only 5% of women with PhDs will get married after completing their doctorate.

I’m an over-educated, ambitious woman; I’m quite smart according to conventional intelligence assessments. And I’m single.

But I believe Dowd and the Slate study have it wrong. The study in the Slate article was odd. It looked only at seemingly quantifiable statistics but asked the daters to rank the opposite sex based on intelligence, looks and ambition. It had NO assessment of actual intelligence or ambition, only looks. (They had someone outside the study rank the looks of the participants. If any quantifiable intelligence testing or ambition ranking happened, the authors never mentioned it.) The participants ranked the potential partners after a 4-minute conversation. In other words, this isn't real intelligence, it is whether someone has an aura of intelligence. Same with ambition.

People of quality don’t date on quantifiable data. We date on how someone feels, their energy, their ability to engage, connect, and develop an interplay and interconnection. Men, at least men of quality, would never say “oh, her IQ is 5 points higher than mine—I’m not interested.” Please! Same with ambition. No man of quality is going to say “well, her dream job is .387% more prestigious than my dream job. Next.” But they will notice a woman who is focused primarily on that. Anyone who is able to convince someone else of 'being intelligent" in a four minute conversation, is probably focused on that. In my experience, real intelligence isn't about using big words that impress, intimidate and don't communicate (although I can deconstruct heteronormative, hegemonic paradigms with superlative if superfluous alacrity).

Maureen Dowd is in the top half a percent of most influential people in the country, and she is trying to prove she is in the top quarter of a percent. She proves herself all the time. She clutches. Her energy has tighter, narrower waves that feel constricted.

Until 2005, very few men found me attractive, and until 2005, I would have bought right into Dowd’s theory. But in 2005, I quit a power job that made me miserable. By 2006, I had as many dates, vanilla and otherwise, that a gal could wish for. I’m not stupider or less ambitious than I was in 2005; in fact, if anything, I’m a smidgen more successful because I stopped making a compromise that made me deeply unhappy. But my energy shifted.

I used to go through life saying “I can do it myself. I don’t need your help.” I clawed my way, not to the top, but to spitting distance from the top. But all I wanted was to reach the top because my life disappointed my soul and I desperately needed a change. I clung to any hope that would transform my life.

Once I quit a job I hated, which I viewed entirely as a stepping stone to a job that I would hate less, I stopped clutching as much. My energy became less tight, less closed, more welcoming and reciprocal. When I proved myself at work, all the time, I also proved myself in the rest of my life. I couldn’t turn that off.

Few of us, of any gender, are interested in lovers, friends, or even work colleagues, who spend sizeable amounts of time proving themselves. It isn’t a warm dynamic.

As I shifted my relationship to work, more men became interested in me, which made me more confident, which meant more men became interested in me. In the last year, I’ve become as picky in my private life as I am in my job. No one would look at me and say “wow—I bet she has multiple men interested in her.” I’m plump, don’t wear too much make-up and spend little energy on my appearance. I mean, my hair is clean, but sunscreen is the only facial product I use religiously.

But I am happy. My energy is good, and that strong energy has room to give and room to accept. I can listen to men and be interested in them. Granted, I won't see them again if they aren't also interested in me, but I no longer demand to be the center of attention.

Now, this does not mean I don’t support women’s achievement at whatever they desire. And there is an unfair result of sexism—it is harder for women to achieve the same level that men achieve with the same effort. That unfair playing field makes it more likely that women will clutch and fight to achieve their dreams. But women need to realize they have far more control over their destinies than the Maureen Dowds of the world give us credit for. We can very much affect how we are perceived by making a life where we are happy and content. And it does little good to blame the individual men we date for the unfair playing field.

Date Rape

Every communication textbook in the country says something like "Where there is a conflict between verbal and non-verbal communication, humans trust the non-verbal." You know it is true. Someone says "Oh. Great to see you" and the way they say it is all that matters.

And yet, there are young men in prison for trusting non-verbal communication instead of verbal communication. "No means no" intone posters, counselors and just about everyone who is asked. And a firm clear "No" does mean "no."

But what about "no" with a giggle, a laugh, a smile, a blush, a slow and meaningful downward cast, a biting of the lower lip, or an inching of the body closer? What about "Oh, I don't think we should do this?" with a laugh and an subtle arching of the back to raise the breasts just a little bit closer? What does that mean?

We may want to have a model where men must get consent rather than an absence of dissent, but I'd sure hate that. I can't stand it when men ask permission to kiss me! Trust my body language. Trust me to articulate what I need, but lead this dance, please! But in today's environment, a man would be a fool to take that stance trustingly.

The current view on date rape actually disempowers women, because it makes us helpless. 95% of all men (I actually believe higher) would never want to force a woman to have sex, without her acquiescence. But, there are women who do want to be led. "Bodice Rippers" is a very popular romance genre. There are women who don't want responsiblity for their desires. And frankly, given how totally fucked up our society is about women's sexuality, there are quite a few women who do give mixed signals.

Women are socialized to be polite, charming and gracious. We are sent unbelievable mixed signals--something along the lines of "you aren't lovable if you are beautiful. Only a man can determine whether you are beautiful, and he'll prove it by wanting to sleep with you. So if you aren't having sex (or enough sex), you probably aren't beautiful or lovable and you are a failure as a woman. But if you are having sex (or too much sex), you are a slut, and practically a whore and have no worth but your sexuality, which is so cheap it ain't worth much anyway. So it is no wonder women send such mixed signals.

In the face of this confusing mess, we need more conversation, more respectful dialogue. A century ago (more or less), Tolstoy, Ibsen, Strindberg, DH Lawrence and the Brontes were all trying to figure out how the hell we can navigate relationships with women being partners. Today, we have almost no dialogue. We know the models don't work for us, but we're too scared to talk openly about what might work.

Over a year ago, I came close to being a victim of date rape. I met a guy I couldn't stand. I really didn't believe we had any chemistry whatsoever--he'd spent 20 minutes lecturing me on how global warming wasn't happening and the next 20 minutes about how Paul Krugman didn't really understand economics. When he took of his jacket he had a t-shirt on that I found deeply offensive.

He suggested we go to his place to watch a movie. I said "I don't think that's a good idea" and 3 times he promised he would be a "perfect gentleman." Worried someone from work might see me with his t-shirt, and trusting that there was no chemistry, it seemed a polite way out of the evening. Careful to not give a non-verbal opening, I sat on the edge of the couch, as far away from him as possible with a rigidly straight back, with my legs crossed away from him and my arms folded in my lap.

Needless to say, he and I had different ideas as to how a 'perfect getleman' behaves. I don't need to give the details--you've heard them a hundred times. But after fending him off for a moment, I took a step back to try to figure out what the hell was going on and I realized, I was apologizing! "I'm sorry, but...," "I don't think...." "This doesn't seem..." What the hell? I didn't want to be rude! I was taught to be polite. Always. Gracious and warm and ingratiating.

Once I realized what I was doing, I shoved him off me, stood up, got my coat and left. Now, I would never go out with that twit again. Even if I'd been remotely interested, I cannot forgive a man who makes me be rude to him. But once I sent a very clear message that "No, I'm leaving" it immediately stopped. I don't believe his behavior that evening was acceptable, but I also don't believe it should be something that results in years in prison and a life-time label of 'sex offender.'