I’m having a difficult time with men.
I’m a bit grumpy about it.
It seems to me that I’ve had a higher than average number of encounters with what could only be considered bad men. I’m talking about men who don’t understand the subtle nuances of consent.
This post is unlikely to be very funny. Sorry.
I want to write about these men and some recent horrors but I am experiencing large amounts of guilt, shame and fear. Besides, it’s not very funny, is it?
It’s difficult for me to ascertain if there is something about me or my behaviour that says ‘do stuff to me when I’m underage, unconscious or both’, or whether I’ve simply had bad luck. The internal monologue is sadly insisting that I am a stupid fucking slut, I’m hoping that writing this will go some way to shutting her the fuck up.
Either way I’m now going to tell you about a man called Ted.
Ted is a cunt.
My teen years were a bit of a nightmare and my parents didn’t really have it together so I lived as Ted’s lodger, along with his wife and ten year old step daughter.
I was sixteen and starting to grow out of my awkward, fat stage. Men were beginning to notice.
The night I moved into his house, he made several moderately forceful attempts to put his hand between my thighs, whilst his wife and step daughter were asleep upstairs.
I then called my mother, who was drunk. She told me to lean a chair under the door handle of my bedroom as there was no lock. We did not discuss it further until I was twenty five and she was sober.
I stayed on in his house for nine months with his eyes on me.