Men Are Garbage. in Phoenix

Yeah, yeah, I know, #NotAllMen. Just fucking save it, eh?

I was giving a friend a ride home tonight (technically last night… I haven’t slept yet.) and I said damn, we should have stopped for an adult beverage. She was down for that, so I swung back around the block and we went in the bar where I pretty much always go because I have a bunch of friends working there. Of course, a bunch of those friends were there and there was much hugs and love and fun all around.

One of those friends is a drunk. I love him to pieces, I really do. I’ve known him several years, worked with him, drink with him regularly, hang out, whatever. He was drunk and all over me and that’s not new, really. And I generally don’t mind it. He’s a giant of a man and he gives great hugs and I do feel affectionate towards him. Tonight, though…

He asked me if I wanted to fool around and I kind of laughed it off, said I was giving my friend a ride home, couldn’t just leave her to go fool around, etc.. We went outside to smoke and he had his arm around me and was steering me towards my car, all the while telling me, “Just little things, we can do just little things…” I said no several times and yet we got closer and closer to my car, all the way around the other side of the building.

I wasn’t afraid, okay? I don’t believe that he would force me or hurt me… not intentionally, anyway.

And you know what? No. Fuck that. Fuck. That. I’m done making excuses for people who are drunk. If I would have allowed him to get me to my car, I’m honestly not sure what would have happened. He was already not taking no for an answer. He was trying to convince me, and he was physically moving me towards my car. Arm firmly around me, walking me forward towards my car, saying random things just trying to convince me.

What frightens me about the whole situation is that, if I hadn’t had my friend with me, I may have been more easily convinced. I may have allowed myself to be in a situation that wasn’t exactly dangerous but would definitely not feel safe to me.

No, wait. No. That isn’t true. It wasn’t just that I had a friend waiting for her ride home.

Oh, this is hard, I only had one drink but my mind is all jumbled up.

Before, the old me, she probably would have easily have been lured to the car and very likely would have driven him home and gone into his apartment and into his room and into his bed. And she would have done that while feeling uncomfortable and unsafe the entire time. She would have done something that she would feel ashamed of after the fact.

Because she was lonely. Painfully lonely. And she craved affection, human touch, so fiercely. She would have done something that she would have known was a bad idea because it would maybe gain her a few moments of some facsimile of love.

I have had enough facsimiles of love in my life. Being loved is about so much more than having sex. I could have sex whenever, probably. It’s not affection that I craved for so long, I know that now. It wasn’t just wanting to get laid or hugs and kisses that I was lacking in my life.

It was intimacy.

I never knew what intimacy was. Now I do.