I didn't know your name. But you were laughing with me, your arm was around me, and your touch was gentle. I was naïve. I gave you the benefit of the doubt. After all, I had no reason to be scared of boys like you before. Why now? I didn't know that it would be mere moments before I was scared. I didn't know that you would not understand or respect the word "no."
I was scared, and you knew it. Nevertheless, you persisted. Getting away from you was something I tried, and failed, to do. I was well aware of the fact that you were stronger than me. Your arm around me was heavy, pulling me in whenever I tried to put distance between us.
I had never experienced unwelcome touches. You have to understand, Boy, that those who touched me before you asked first. They respected my boundaries and understood the word no. You didn't. And for that, I have to say that I hate you. I hate that you didn't listen. I hate that you treated me like your toy, acting like I owed you my attention. (Which, I didn't. No woman ever does.) You are the epitome of the man that sees women as objects, as toys for you to play with, to throw away when you are finished or things don't operate quite the way you want. Things didn't go the way you planned, and you kept trying, and trying, and trying.
Was I a game? Were you trying to win? What exactly were you trying to win? My undivided attention, that was kept from you thanks to friends who kept you away, or my eventual submission? I'm sorry to say, but you would never get that from me. Is that why you kept trying, because you were sure I'd give up eventually?
You have to understand, Boy, that those who touched me before you respected me enough to know when enough was enough. Maybe that's why, at the end of it all, I felt like the catastrophe of a night was my fault, because my exclamation of "no" and my failed attempts to thwart your advances weren't enough refusal for you. I could have done more. I shouldn't have been so timid. I should have stood my ground.
To the boy who didn't understand the word "no": What you did to me is, and never will be, my fault. You can blame it on the beer, or my outfit, or my actions (too kind to tell you otherwise), but this is, and always will be, your fault. Because the word "no" is one that you chose to ignore. You have not made me distrust men. You have not taken anything from me, not my strength, not my vigilance, not my hope that all boys are not like you. I know for a fact they are not. You are just a terrible outlier.