Hey thar, cowpoke.

Well you shouldn't be poking cows--

Further evidence that the evil done by a nasty word hangs about long after the initial damage has been done.

In this blog I previously referred to the case of a guy--let's call him Guy, who had been accused of rape by one particular girl, whom we'll call Ernestina. And why not Ernestina? It's a good moniker, and one that very few people have, thus reducing potential to offend, and I suspect I may finally succeed in offending a bod or two here and there.

Guy and Ernestina met some two years back when the each attended a perticular college, which we shal call Particular College of Rats--actually, I meant to type "Arts" but hey, I like the look of it.

They were all wrong for each other--she was half his age, he was culturally if not actively Catholic, she was an active Scientologist. He was a man of the world, she was still finding herself. But she had just broken up with her fiancé and he was. . .lonely? Horny? I dunno.

They came together (a-hem) on a basis of mutual respect, apparently. They both write, talented-ly (if there is such a word). Apart from that, there appeared to be little in common.

Okay up 'till now? Right. Here's where the midden hit the mill:

At some point a short while into their mutual acquaintance, they had sex. This is where current stories begin to diverge. You see, according to him they shared a mutual moment of pleasure. According to her it was rape.

Not that anybody knew about this:

His story (paraphrased):

"She was at my place, we were watching the game. We started cuddling and next thing I know. . ."
{As a gentleman I will discuss such details, but not with you, gentle reader.}
". . .It wasn't the only time. She stayed at my place for two weeks. Then she said she was freaked out by the difference in our ages, and that was the last I saw of her."

According to Guy, Ernestina started "acting weird" not long after the breakup--avoiding him, acting cold when he tried to speak to her.

So he left her alone.

Some fourteen months later, Ernestina produced a story about acquaintance rape, apparently intended as an information piece. She produced this for a class which relies on handing the stories out to all classmates for peer feedback. She handed it out herself in class, bypassing the teacher--I want to stress that this in itself was not terribly unusual, but it was a little odd.

The story included the following excerpts. Except for the indicated section, italics are this blog's:

"Of course I never thought it was assault--and it couldn't be rape; those words never entered my head. I convinced myself that I was uncomfortable with the difference in our ages."

"I felt I'd found a kindred spirit, and I didn't want to lose it, no matter what the cost."

(From UBC--where "staring" has sometimes been addressed as a sexual assault crime)

" 'Acquaintance sexual assault does not necessarily result in physical injury and is never the victim's fault.' "

Sorry UBC: "No" means NO. " " pretty much means "keep going". Lying there playing dead may just mean you're no damn fun. If you mean no, then it's your responsibility to say it loud and ₤µ€λing clear. Then it's his (or her) responsibility to stop.

"It's been over a year, and I'm still questioning myself on the validity of my belief that I was raped."

But apparently there wasn't enough uncertainty to not write this story, containing identifiable markers as to the identity of the guy concerned, and then hand it around the class they shared.

The Criminal Code of Canada definition of non-consent apparently "includes 'express[ing], by words or conduct, a lack of agreement to engage in the activity.' "

Again: It is the responsibility of the non-consenting party to express a lack of agreement.

Here's another interesting legal term: Libel. Those who don't know it, look it up.

"When I called the City Rape Relief & Women's Shelter recently I was looking for information about acquaintance rape in the province; I was not looking to recount my experience. I had to give a reason for calling, however, and they didn't seem too willing to impart any information when I told them I was writing about acquaintance rape. So in the interest of research, I told the woman on the other end of the line that I believed I had experienced acquaintance rape.

She redirected me to the Crisis Hot Line, where. . .I repeated my line about acquaintance rape, and [the person] was quick to inform me, 'Casual acquaintance rape happens all the time, so you can trust your instinct on that one.' "

Instinct. Ah yes, that well-known legal term. Like the mothering instinct which leads to crack babies? It is ridiculous to me that this woman is encouraging women to claim they've been raped, fourteen months after the fact, on "instinct". Why not check your aura, or your psychic vibrations?

"The word 'attacked' jumped out at me. I don't feel I was attacked."

Neither did the Hotline Hottie, apparently, at first:

"She had me recount what happened. We were watching a football game at his place, and I wanted to rest my head on his shoulder. He pulled me to lie down in front of him and spooned me. I felt a bit tense, but decided he was just being nice. . .But by the end of the game he had unzipped my jeans and was trying to take them off. I eventually fell off the couch in my attempt to get him to stop, not able to actually say 'stop'."

{Italics as per the story}

"[The lady] listened. . .when I finished, she said 'He did not have your permission, and kept pushing. That is sexual assault. Rape, as a rule, is penetration.' "

So Ernestina decided, after fourteen months, to unburden herself:

"I did not want to recount the sexual experiences I had with him to her, although I vivdly remember crying into a pillow as his fingers dug into my hips to keep me under him. It's hard for me to accept that what happened was rape and assault, especially since I wasn't beat up."

Now remember: On page 2 she was "still questioning myself". On page four she says:

"Now I know that I have no reason to doubt the wrongness of what happened to me."

Pretty quick turnaround.

Later in the same paper:

"What should you do if it happens? . . . Despite these [bad] feelings, and as difficult as it sounds, the bets thing to do is report it, right away, to both the police and health care professionals."

No argument here. In fact, I don't see anywhere, in ANY of the literature, an indication that dithering for fourteen months, then lambasting a man and attempting to trash his reputation in a public forum in such a manner that any response from him looks suspect, is a good idea in coping with this sort of thing.

"I didn't report this case. I see this person on a regular basis and we have mutual acquaintances. . .Author's note--no,no, it's too easy. . .But still, if I'd filed a report, I would have potentially helped other women by establishing a case aginst him and preventing this from happening again."

Or you might have wound up facing a charge of criminal mischief--could go either way, Ernestina. Oh--and by not reporting it, you'll doubtless feel responsible each and every time this guy rapes anyone else, knowing you could have prevented it.

Of course, he's in his forties and has apparently never had such a thing happen before--either that or nobody ever bothered publishing a story about it before--but maybe he's just breaking out and has developed a taste for it.

"It took me two weeks to get away. I wanted that friendship more than anything else; but he wanted all of me, or wanted nothing to do with me."

He was holding you prisoner? The dastard! And "wanting all of you"! sure sounds pathalogical to me. Not too many guys have made themselves fools by declaring those very words to some unrequited fling, eh?

Well surely no more than lie about loving a woman in order to get laid--and that can't possibly be more than what, three, four dozen, max, right?

Now here comes the interesting part. After lengthy quotes from the UBC fact sheet (including "Seek and give clarity where mixed messages may be occuring."), the document ends with:

"It all comes down to consent. My current boyfriend and I have expressed our love for each other, and intimacy {the blog's author assumes this means sex} is now part of our relationship. Before being intimate, he always asks me, "Would you like me to. . .?" or "Can I. . ." At first I thought it was just his uncertainty {um--on the evidence?} or lack of confidence in himself, and I felt silly having to say 'Yes'; in fact, it is difficult for me to verbally express my wishes, even though they are affirmative."

Spoken like a true teenage girl. Tell ya something, dearie. I have personally rolled in the hay with a number of people who not only didn't provide clues to their needs and wants, but often wanted it done harder or more aggressively--without having to tell me. In fact tentativeness has cost me more relationships than aggression.

The only common language with reference to sex is English (if you're dating someone who doesn't speak it, carry a "stop" sign). Use it properly and loudly at the appropriate time. Whispering in loose ears after taking fourteen months to make up your mind is not only irresponsible, it's outright criminal.

Charges like this, even when challenged and defeated in a court of law, sometimes follow the unfortunate victim (and just for the "No means no, maybe means no, and yes means no as well" crowd I mean Guy) and affect his life for years. Doubtless this would please Ernestina.

So what's his story? Guy claims that she indicated in no uncertain terms that she wanted sex. Naturally enough, he was willing to give it to her. The details would bore you. Actually, they'd titillate you, but that's not the business of this blog.

I consider myself a friend to both these parties. But the friendship is somewhat strained at present. I talk to both, but I've pretty much chosen which side I come down on.

What do I think happened? I think two innocents had sex several time. Then something in the friendship went foul. They didn't talk about it, natch, and eventually it festered into something that could destroy not just the two of them, but treasured friendships, including mine.

I blogged on this in far more general terms a few weeks back. But today Guy called me. He is strained emotionally and finds himself unable to put this unpleasantness behind him. You see, while "raped" women are allocated general support, there's no such structure for the poor schmoes facing such accusations.

He will never get the satisfaction of winning a court battle. He wanted to ask the College administration for a written public apology, they seem to have avoided responding--he'll never get that either.

The College should at least censure the female student for un-collegiate behaviour.

Meantime, she posts on her blog--at least two poems so far. She's learned enough not to include identifying detail, but she deliberately directs the attention of our peers to this material.

"She's rubbing it in my face!" He groans.

This may not be true, and I've told him to avoid the sites concerned. But if it was my itch, I'd probably scratch it too. From my own investigation, it seems to me that this is her current hobby-horse.

But now whenever Guy deals with someone in our shared profession, it will drag behind him: "Has this person read these pieces? Is that how they are seeing me?"

Nice one, Ernestina.

So why did I resurrect this, and why do I seem so angry about it? It's cos I damn well am!

In 1991 I was brought in for questioning. I thought the cops wanted to ask about drinking and driving, which I had been doing. But they wanted to know what my alibi was for a rape that had taken place at the same time that I'd been using a bank machine opposite the scene of the crime. They had my car and myself on film, and my car was the same type as the one used.

After an hour-and-a-half of questioning, one of the cops looked over his notes and asked:
"Did you say your car had a brown interior?"

Turned out they were looking for a red one, thank ₤µ€λ.

Later that same year, a friend had his career ended when a woman accused him of raping her (her third accusation that I know of, his first) after smoking some dope.

Never mind that she was almost immediately deemed to be lying. His career was ruined as soon as she mentioned pot, and she knew it would be. She just wanted to cause harm. She was never charged with anything, as far as I know. I last saw her in three thousand miles from here, claiming (would you believe falsely?) to be a lawyer.

The same damn year I took someone home at 2:00 Am--someone who knew about my friend's incident. In the midst of the proceedings, the person told me to stop. I did. The person stayed the night and shared my bed. We palled around comfortably for a week or two, then I left town for a month.

When I got home, this person cornered me outside a local bar. I remember the converstion verbatim:
"Uh. My boyfriend's mad at you."
"Huh?" (I knew there was a boyfriend at 2 AM six weeks previous. I didn't care--probably still wouldn't, in fact).
"I went to the [local police]."
"Huh? Oh God--don't tell me. . ." horrid sensation dawning. This is totally surreal. I am standing outside a bar having a casual conversation with someone who's accused me, officially, of rape. What. . .? Why. . .?

"My boyfriend found out." Ah--there's the reason.

The police took 25 hours of character witness statements. In the end, that's all that saved me. My character and the fact that the individual claimed to have screamed aloud and struggled. My neighbour below, who shared toilet facilities on that floor, was a policeman. Screaming might have been expected to arouse a certain degree of interest on his part.

But that's how close I came. That was the first of many incidents which, to quote Heinlein "Lost me my sweet girlish laughter". There have been others.

When it comes to sexual misconduct, guys are pretty straightforward: We bribe, bluster, intimidate and blackmail. Sometimes we get violent. All wrong, and mostly illegal, in one way or another.

But I have yet to hear of a man having sex with someone, and then deciding he was raped (I have that covered too, but it's none of your business), and I have yet to hear of a male sucessfully charging a woman with rape, unless he was a "child" in the legal sense and she significantly older.

Today my friend, a proud and in my experience good man, was near incoherence from pain and frustration. I have known him for exactly as long as I've known his accuser.

I'd like to consider them both friends. But in this sort of situation something usually collapses.

My other friend is sweet, and gives an appearance of great naiveté. She's so new the shine's not yet worn off in many ways--she reminds me a great deal of a girl dressed up in mummy's clothes, trying to fit into a role she hasn't yet grown big enough to fit into, and not having the patience to do so.

It breaks my heart to think I may have to lose the friendship. But Guy is hurting big time, while she appears to be doing exceptionally well, or so she claims. And hell, I've certainly lost friendships before. I'll live.

I base my allegience, if such it needs be called, on what I know of his character: As long as I've known him he's been a consistent character. No major upheavals in his life since he knocked off the sauce. A man who's been where he arrived at for twenty years or so.

This was going to grow into a bit of a rant on the contrast between preaching and practising--especially in the religious sense. But that's enough for now.

Read this quick. I'm writing it in anger at the misery of a good man, and if the tidal wave of my anger washes me up $λ!τ creek, then I reserve the right to revise history and this blog.

But there's many a true word spoken both in jest and in anger. I don't really think it'll be necessary.


Strange is your language and I have no decoder
Why don't you make your intention clear?
--Peter Gabriel I Don't Remember

Words to the wise.