$15 doesn't buy a blow job.
2005-06-26, 5:15 p.m.
Just when I think life is going well, something happens.
There is a strong chance I'll get a new job on Monday. A good job.
My roommate, Hannah, is the best thing ever.
My partner, Cory, is amazing.
My knitting is working out well.
Everything is perfect. I'm even getting caught up on comment emails.
Then.
Crash.
Boom.
I wrote this for MySpace on Friday night, after the date went bad; consider it autobiographical:
Hey boys! Listen up!
Because I'm angry. And I'm sick. Sick of the taste in my mouth. Sick of being a sex toy. Sick of feeling like I "owe you" sexual favors just because I have breasts and am too poor to pay for a date.
I'm sick of other girls being in my place. I'm sick of them not having a way to speak up.
So you know what??
I want you to listen.
If a girl goes to dinner with you, she doesn't owe you sex. She doesn't owe you sexual favors. $5 of vegetarian sushi does not buy sex. A $10 movie ticket doesn't buy a blow job or even an excuse to get a hand job in a theater. There is no excuse whatsoever for forcing your cock down someone's throat. NEVER, YOU HEAR ME? NEVER.
The ONLY time your sex organs (whatever they may be) should end up in someone's body is when the other person says "Yes! I want your sex organ in my body!"
Tell your friends. Tell your frat brothers. Tell yourself. Over and over again.
Because sex isn't something to be TAKEN. It's only to be GIVEN.
CONSENT.
Consent isn't forcing someone to her knees in a cemetary. Consent isn't putting her hands all over your flacid cock in a crowded movie theater. Consent isn't saying that you bought the movie tickets so the least she could do is give it a lick.
