Feeling violated, and maybe it's my fault
I briefly dated a guy from a dating app earlier this month. While I'm not looking for a life partner at the moment, I still struggle with feeling like I'm too picky. But on paper this seemed like a good match: we're both well educated and progressive, and we have a similar sense of humor and taste in music. He was down to text via Signal and was always super responsive. We even have similar roots, and I appreciated that he knows about the places that interest me. Finally, just because the bar is so low these days, it must be mentioned that he is not Republican, nor did he invalidate any of my life experiences. All green flags!
It ended up not working out, much to his surprise and even a bit to my own. The physical chemistry just wasn't there. What started with a sloppy kiss on the second date that I shrugged off because he was slightly drunk just went further downhill by date four when I agreed to go to his place to watch a World Cup match because, well, I was willing to give things a chance and was pretty confident he wouldn't murder me.
Murder me he did not. Yet, something wasn't right. I didn't feel anything when I was cuddled, though I didn't necessarily refuse his touch. He and his apartment also reeked of Tide detergent, a scent that I cannot stand. I was relieved that the match went into extra time because that bought me, quite literally, extra time to think of a way I could leave peacefully.
What ensued was, unsurprisingly, an awkward series of events. First, I was yet again kissed in a sloppy and aggressive fashion that reminded me of both a St. Bernard and a washing machine. It also didn't help that something seemed off about his oral hygiene. Hell, I didn't even like how his face smelled. While I didn't verbalize my disgust because I didn't want to react so abruptly, I tried pulling back to indicate that, well, I didn't like that. He didn't seem to get the memo.
I found myself pinned on the couch. Thankfully, things did not escalate further and eventually came to an end after he asked me to spend the night. I refused. What a nightmare that would have been. I blamed my sleepiness and drove myself home. I showered as soon as I returned, washing my hair even though I already did less than 12 hours prior. I shared my thoughts with him the next day, and we went our separate ways.
I'm writing about this not really because it's all kind of funny in hindsight. I'm writing about it because I actually felt violated for about a week after all that happened. And the thing is that I don't feel I was assaulted or that he really did anything wrong. Was he bad at reading cues and body language at times? Sure. But I don't think he had any poor intentions, though he didn't request consent before doing most things. I thought I seemed noticeably uncomfortable in the moment. Maybe my non-verbal signals just weren't enough.
I consulted my best friend, who said it can be tough to set boundaries for yourself when getting back into dating. After all, I'm not a big fan of dating apps. My romantic encounters have almost always been with someone I already knew, so of course it's a bit different when it comes to dating someone who is still almost a stranger.
I don't think that was the issue though. I already knew where the boundary was.
I think the issue is that I didn't stick up for myself as well as I should have. Why didn't I? Maybe just to avoid making things more awkward. Maybe it has something to do with how I view myself. Maybe I didn't want to piss him off even though I never had a bad gut feeling that there would be negative repercussions if I refused him. My main hypothesis is that it almost felt like I owed him some physical affection for "letting him" make it to the fourth date, which made everything even more gross. And even though I knew that line of thinking was wrong, I couldn't help myself, and so I couldn't cut him off sooner like I wanted.
Again, I didn't feel like there was anything malicious. I wasn't pressured. I still felt so wronged though. Am I too sensitive? Did I set myself up to feel mildly violated?
All of this made me ponder other unpleasant experiences I've had as a woman. I've previously written about womanhood, though in that post I express how I don't seem to fit the typical mold. But the truth is that I've had my fair share of negative experiences simply because I am a woman. The recent situation I described above is certainly not unique to me.
A lot of my previous encounters differ in that they didn't involve voluntarily putting myself into a position where I then struggle to cut off romantic advances by some guy. However, I do think some of them also relate to societal expectations of women, especially from the male point of view (I realize Not All Men, but please give it a rest).
For context, I think I have thick skin. I've lived in grittier places. I'm not afraid of going to places by myself and donning my best Resting Bitch Face (RBF). Sometimes the RBF isn't enough though. Plus I don't dress provocatively, and I wouldn't describe myself as hot or sexy, or at least not in a way that would garner unwanted attention from men (not that those traits make unwanted attention okay). I actually look childish.
While its frequency has thankfully plummeted since the onset of the pandemic, being told by a man (who am I kidding, it's always a man) to smile is something I hope to never experience again. This has occurred in both public and private: from my own adoptive father to public transportation employees, and all the random men in between. I will acknowledge that this happens to children and young adults regardless of gender identity, it still feels very much like a woman-specific experience. I will also note that this has never happened to me outside of the United States; my Eastern European blood boils at the thought of putting on fake smiles in public. However, what crosses my mind the most during these particular interactions is that men believe I exist just to look pleasing—for their eyes in particular. I'm always younger and smaller than the man dishing out the command, and he's a stranger, so there's nothing I can really do about it either. I just let it go.
I've had my fair share of irritating and even terrifying experiences that I know would not happen to me if I were a man: catcalled while I was reading a book on my way to the bus stop (and dozens of other times), followed by men on foot or in vehicles, talked over in work meetings by male colleagues, and nearly kidnapped in the Caucasus.
I realize that these things sometimes happen because, well, people are freaks. And a lot of these interactions are quite distinct. Yet, I still can't help but wonder, especially after briefly dating this guy, if I'm actually just not good at sticking up for myself despite the hardcore Don't Approach Me vibe that I radiate in nearly every situation.
I don't know if I'm the best judge of myself in this regard (or in any, to be honest). But I do know that I never again want to feel like I'm being kissed by a dog if said kisser is not in fact a dog, and being a woman can be very tiring.