I don't usually bring politics into my blog but with Betsy DeVos making moves to protect college campus rapists, I feel like I can bring in politics while remaining on topic.
To begin with, it is no secret that college campuses are hot beds of sexual activity, consensual and nonconsensual. I attended state university in the heartland of America surrounded by rolling hills and fields of grain. One of the roughest moments of time there was when me and some friends sat down and confessed to each other the various accounts of sexual assault and harassment we had all experienced. That is something no one should have to experience, let alone so many should experience.
Having to face a rapist or attacker over and over again on campus is a disruption to education. During the Obama administration, there were guidelines released for how universities were to deal with these allegations. While they were not perfect, they were a much needed step in the right direction. But now Devos has rolled these back, saying they were too harsh on the rapists. TOO HARSH ON RAPISTS. ha.
It was my first weekend of University that I had my first encounter with the type of predator I would soon grow familiar with. I was at a fraternity party with some girls from my dorm and some people I had met at freshman orientation over the summer. I was drinking, of course, and dressed to the nines but in no way asking for anything. By the end of the night I was disoriented and intoxicated, unsure of which way was home. A blond All-American looking boy who lived in my dorm offered to walk home with me.
"Great!" I thought out loud. "Now I won't be walking home alone!!"
Ha. How cute.
This "nice" guy did walk me home, but instead of dropping me at the second floor where my room was, he took me to the 7th floor. In front of his dorm door, he tried to kiss me and I did a quick spin to get out of the way. He then took me to the floor common room where I collapsed onto the couch drowsy from alcohol and trying to reorient myself.
"This is not my floor," I slurred and closed my eyes trying to figure out how why he had brought me here. But then the reason became clear when I opened my eyes and I was in an unwilling staring contest with his one-eyed pocket snake that he was attempting to put on my face or in my hand, it was very unclear.
I swatted it away, giggling "haha is that it?" hinting not so subtly that I found his cock to be disappointing in size. He was visibly thrown off by such a comment and I had pulled myself together to get up and make a dash for the stair well.
I made it away safely, stumbling down the 5 flights of stairs to my own floor and room.
What a welcome to college life.
Since we lived in the same dorm which also housed the closest dining hall, I saw him over and over again. He got my number from someone in our building and added me on Facebook. He must have mistaken my drunkenness for actual interest and persistently messaged me. He actually thought I was interested.
But I've always been a bit twisted. Eventually, I grew annoyed and bored with simply rejecting him with false plans and assignments. A month or so later, he messaged me again. His roommate was out. I didn't have any pressing homework or plans, so I agreed to go up to the 7th floor. I met him in his room, and began my game.
He expressed how hurt he was at my little commentary that first weekend of classes. I played along and subtly patronized him. I let him kiss me, I enjoy a good kiss every now and then. His kissing was subpar, and I told him.
Again he pulled out his unimpressive member. I was bored of him and knew his sexual skill would provide me no pleasure. He sat on the bottom bunk of the beds typical of college dorms and I sat across from him in one of those round chairs also typical of college dorms.
He was toying with his tiny dick and I was toying with him. He was right were I wanted him.
I sat back in my chair.
"It's still unimpressive. Show me how you do it by yourself. I want to watch," I said with feigned interest.
He began to furiously masturbate in front of me, in a pathetic 2 finger grasp, that was all he needed.
I continued to harass him and he continued to masturbate. I was growing bored but he was getting into it. He was actually enjoying it. I didn't intend for him to enjoy this. I was humiliating him, I was making him feel small. He was in no way ever going to be able to please me. As his interest grew, my interest faded.
But in one last stroke of brilliance, I faked a phone call as he was about to cum.
"I need to take this," I told him, knowing full well he was about to reach his sweet release. But his orgasm was none of my concern and as the door clicked behind me I heard that last grunt of his.
He never called me again after that.