I was a comic, and so was he. He was one of those Kaufmanesque types — more of a performance artist, really. Someone who'd come out in a blond wig and dance spastically until the audience laughed out of sheer awkwardness. I was more of a setup-punch gal, with bits and jokes and routines: the phone-sex bit, the abortion joke, the younger-men routine. I "worked blue," as they say. I was bawdy, and talked a lot about sex, mostly about how I wasn't having it. I was recently single again after a failed five-year relationship, and each audience was a one-night stand helping me to let go.
I didn't like him. I didn't hate him, the way I hated some other comics, with their racist, homophobic bullshit, but I didn't particularly like him. A few of my female friends had made out with him, and I didn't like the entitled, self-satisfied way he smirked in their presence. He was a little handsy, a little bratty, a little look-at-me — overcompensating,
I assumed, for years of being picked on in high school for seeming like a drama-club fag. But we traveled in the same circles, and often, after a late show or an open mic, a bunch of us would go out and get some three a.m. coffee and fries. We'd recap the night, gossip, put each other down. Then I'd go home to my two cats, smoke a joint and fall asleep on my couch because my bed was too empty and too far away.
We were out in a group at the diner after a show one night. It was four a.m., and everyone was getting ready to leave. "Hey," he leaned toward me, his voice low. "Can I crash on your couch? I don't want to ride the train this late at night."
He sounded like he didn't want any of the other guys to hear him, afraid they'd rip on him for being scared of the subway. What're you, a pussy? I felt for him. I realized he was just as vulnerable on a late-night subway ride as I was, skinny twerp that he was. "No problem," I said sympathetically.
I lived only a few blocks away; we chatted as we walked. He asked me where I'd grown up, where I'd gone to college, all that getting-to-know-you stuff we'd never discussed in our year or two of associating on the comedy scene. I let him into my place, where my cats sniffed his pant leg; I fed the monsters and started rolling my joint. "Nice place," he said, putting his bag down on the rug.
"Thanks," I said, lighting the joint and taking a deep drag. I offered it to him, but he waved it away, looking around the room like he was interested in finding something in particular.
"Can I check my email?"
I waved an arm towards my laptop: go ahead. He sat down at my desk, calling up Hotmail, then chuckling at something in a way that let me know I was supposed to ask him what was funny. I could tell it was an email from a girl, the way he smirked at the screen. He chuckled again, sneaked a sidelong peek in my direction, then gave up.
"Check this out," he said, typing in another address. Up came an amateur porn site. A topless, buxom Latina girl in red pleather pants glowered at the camera. Now I raised my eyebrows, bemused. At least half of my act was based on me being a feminist, busting on men for being horndogs, claiming that women were the superior sex because "at least women don't put cameras in the men's toilet."
"Isn't this hot?" he asked, spinning around in my desk chair towards me, his face eager, patting his thighs. "Here, come sit on my lap."
|
"You're no fun," he whined.
|
"Um, no," I said, still bemused.
"Why not?" he whined. "You're no fun."
"That's right," I said, and hit my joint.
"I can't believe you're not into this. Look at this girl's ass! Look how hot she is! You don't think she's hot?" His tone was incredulous, almost accusatory, like I was anti-female for not admiring this woman's ass.
"She's very nice," I said. "Just not my thing."
"What is your thing?"
My thing was smoking joints and reading true-crime books about women who killed people. My thing was petting my cats and watching reality television. My thing was fantasizing about my ex-boyfriend of five years begging me to come back to him, and me saying no. "Not that," I said.
|
Commentarium (22 Comments)
good one. creepy
This has honestly happened to me 3 times: the begging, then jerking off, when I was pretty much minding my own business, or thinking we were just hanging out. You try to keep a good sense of humor about it, it's more creepy than threatening, as long as they don't push your participation after they already have their dicks out.
The last time it happened to me, I thought if I let him kiss me and firmly said "and that's it," he'd take that as a consolation prize, I wouldn't seem like a cunt, and he wouldn't be too embarrassed,but it got worse. He got naked, forced my pants off, and the most I could do was clamp my legs together and manage to pull my underwear back on while he held me down and pawed me. I had to say no ten times before he let me get off the bed, dressed, and out the door. He still made me kiss him goodnight, and grabbed a tit before he finally let me out of his car. All I'm saying, is that your came really close to that kind of assault, especially if you felt coerced into just letting him beat off to stop a more ardent "seduction."
i am a guy, and something very similar happened with me. I had an artschool TA who was trying to seduce me. I wasnt interestested. She was sleeping with a lot of undergrads and I was simply not interested, but i felt sympathetic somehow. Anyway, I didnt have a place to stay, she offered her couch (turns out she didnt have a couch), I end up in her bed, with her trying to get me to fuck her. I finally 'consented' and after about a half a minute, I stopped and pleasded Cant we just go to sleep? She got pathetic, sad: why wont you fuck me? dont you think im pretty?
The next morning I was pissed, but willing to write it off. She was my TA, however, and fucking nailed me with a bad grade. It got worse, not worth reliving. She was a fucking creep.
Not being the best-looking guy on the block, I've been in the position of the creep where, if I begged for it, I probably could have gotten some. But, I'd rather jack-off alone than pretend to have gotten some kind of connection when all I'd really gotten wass pity or appeasement.
this is one of the best personal essays on here in a long time. very honest, almost painfully so, and much more realistically ambivalent than a lot of the work that seems like memoir-awkwardly-reworked-into-smut. nice.
that story gave me chills.
Yeah, we've all seen this guy... many of us have unwillingly ended up alone with this guy and were "too nice" to say "You're pretty much a big jerk with no social skills who has to wheedle sex out of women when you can get any at all. No, I'd rather you didn't sleep on my couch now. It's dawn. You can take the subway home." I applaud the author for not fucking him just to get rid of him.
Good essay! I've been in this situation and it is traumatic. I won't compare it to something which would be MORE traumatic but the same type of thing happened to me about 6 months ago and it still makes me feel queasy and violated when I think about it.
Agreeing with other posters--this was a strong one, and not only because of the quality of the writing. It reminds me of the time in my life when I was surrounded by this kind of thing, when although I was ostensibly among lots of friends, I had very few people to protect me, and I didn't particularly know how to protect myself. What a bizarre, creepy dynamic, and so common.
I wince at memories of compromising, of not knowing how to take care of myself, of not knowing how to get angry. I wonder about the women out there who don't relate to this kind of voicelessness--what do you think was the difference in how you were taught to stand up for yourself, for instance.
This story should be required reading for a real sex-ed class. One almost thinks just for the girls (to avoid giving the guys dumb ideas), but a follow-up discussion between girls and boys could teach them both a lot.
nks: it is very, very distressing how many women feel voiceless/powerless in these situations. i have so many girlfriends who have had sex or done something physical with a man just to get him off their backs, which is such a strange and sad concept to me. even as adults so many females feel compelled to always be the nice, good, well behaved girl. i have always been very vocal, even physical if needed, in situations where men are threatening or crossing the line in some way--for example, if a man grabs my ass in a club or bar I never just brush it off, i tell him that he better not lay another finger on me or there will be trouble. they always back off and seem sheepish afterwards. i also follow my gut instinct, and if i feel like a person is bad news i follow that instinct without worrying if i'm being a jerk. i think i'm like this because my family is very open with our feelings, good and bad, and my mom is a total bad ass who knows how to stand her ground and stay strong. she should teach classes to young women on assertive behavior, haha. and my dad has taught his daughters that their best protection is themselves, and his sons the importance of treating women as equals. i'm sorry to hear that even with lots of friends you felt unprotected, i hope that you have a stronger support network these days.
That was creepy. But so is writing about it. You're a good writer though.
This essay was really helpful because I had felt so alone having gone through something similar. It still makes me sick to my stomach thinking about it, since I cannot understand why one has to be "nice." In my case, the guy would constantly tell me that I need to be nice when I tried to back off. He would also try to be "nice" so I would be "nice" in return (i.e. trying to cuddle in prelude to sex when I clearly told him no every time). It got so annoying and I felt so guilty about saying no that I helped him jack off just so I could leave. And what's worse, I feel as if I was wrong to let him jerk off, but I was also wrong for not standing up for myself.
Why is being nice so important? Isn't self-preservation more so?
Ugh, what a douchebag. I've totally been there. Thanks for sharing your story.
This is so dead on. Best description of manipulative guilt and defense of not being nice I've read in a long time. I think I'll save this for when I have a teenage daughter.
Wow, that was pathetic. Pathetic guy, pathetic girl. They should hook-up and have some pathetic kids.
Wow, I don't consider myself a nice guy by far, and might be somewhat a perv, but that story creeped me out by far. Fuckin nuts, and I can't believe the author went along with it!
I don't get it...why are you ladies so afraid of speaking up? You've got a brain and a voice, so use them!! If he gets pissed and talks shit about you to his friends, well, so be it. At least you've got your dignity and self-respect intact.
This is just another variant of the mercy fuck or mercy sex. An extreme example but it is almost too common to be interesting. Plus the lame excuse to get into apartment, the back rub, etc. Hint -- no guy ever does back rubs unless he is interested in more. And don't high school girls figure out boundaries pretty early? It's like feeding a stray cat so it will go away.
The author wanted something. Obviously not what she got, but more then "just being nice." Maybe just some companionship -- who knows?
And why wasn't she the person with the smirk? The guy did humiliate himself.
I hate that it sounds like I am defending the guy.
We all hate these guys! Why do they have no pride or shame? It's so maddeningly unfair that after allowing a guy to wheedle some passive play out of me in lieu of actual sex that I am the one who has to feel yucked out! Also having to reinforce or disprove a public persona, making whatever decision into something political instead of an actual want. That all sucks. Hate these groveling creeps.
Love Janice Erlbaum though! And her Girlbomb book!
maybe when women are true equals we'll all get laid more with partners we want and things like this won't happen because women won't feel that either party's orgasm is more important than the other or something
You sound like one of the coolest ever. why can't I find a friend like you to smoke joints with while watching reality TV and petting cats? hmph