Y’all keep telling young girls and women not to pursue or even have sexual desires. You denigrate the ones who do, pretend not to understand that a woman may enjoy sex or actively pursue sexual relationships & that STILL doesn’t mean she wants to lay with each person she encounters.
Your fantasy is of a woman who either wants sex as badly as you do but can never explicitly express it OR a woman too pure to have such carnal desires, until you charm her out of her panties.You project these fantasies onto women who may be open to sex with you, but have not necessarily decided yet. You miscaste their uncertainty, passivity, or lack of enthusiasm as ladylike, respectable behavior, “I don’t want it if it’s that easy“, said one of my favorite rappers, and this is gospel to y’all.
What is a “no” in a world where you can never say “yes?” Precursory.
“Remember that evening? I knew that you were too scared to go all the way. But you did it to please me. You were crying, it was raining when you gave it to me.” You mistake the self-suppression of a woman’s agency as love. Some of your dicks get harder with their discomfort–it means they genuinely don’t do this, let a man defile them. It means they are good. You want to wash yourself clean in their purity. But you can’t wash up in a dry ass pussy.
“Why you keep saying no if your panties so wet?”
In middle school, I learned about boners. Prior to this knowledge, I had given very little thought to the male sex organ. I did not know that they rise and fall like tides. I remember learning about uncontrollable erections, and it was the first time I can ever recall being thankful that I was a girl. Thank God I would never have to deal with dissonance of my body being ready for sexual activities when the rest of me wasn’t. Except.
You can understand why a 14 year old boy may not actually want to strip naked with the girl whose desk is beside his, or the teacher with the form fitting pants in the middle of algebra class, as his classmates watch. You understand arousal as nuance, and not promise. And yet.
You will not allow a fourteen year old girl to enjoy the the lingering looks of the boy she has a crush on, or the R&B star she stands in awe of, without saying that something is owed.
You will not allow a twenty year old, who has never learned how to say “yes”, say “no”.
We all sang it. I look back through time and wonder how we didn’t know. What did we pretend? That it was some critique of the superficiality of letting age limit “love?” But it wasn’t love she was singing of. And anyone alive in the 90s knows what “ecstasy” euphemized. We knew she was a child. We knew he wrote and produced the song. What lies did we tell ourselves that made this okay? How complicit were we in being melodically mind-fucked into singing a pedophile’s anthem? — “Age ain’t nothin but a number”
I used to tell my god-brother “Dont’ get raped”, all the time. Every time he cut through the yard at night, to get back home. We were kids, sneaking back into our houses long after unspoken curfews had passed.
It is not a memory I am proud of. Even now, I wonder what he was thinking. And did I say it because he was gay? And what did he think? He used to laugh. Uncomfortably. Why couldn’t I just say “Be careful?” Or “Goodbye?”