Matt Forney
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The “I Didn’t Rape You” Text

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog on March 25, 2013, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

I should be a little happier.

Just last night, the flip of the sexual coin landed in my favor. The results of all this—the workouts, the nutrition, improving my game, earning more money, getting cooler hobbies; all of the things that at one point or another, we’ve all done to be more attractive—have blessed me with more sex and female attention. It’s becoming more frequent now, more of a rule rather than an exception.

Here she was: cuddling up to me after another run in the sheets. I get her a glass of water, help her find the clothes that we flung off the night before, offer her a snack from the spartan selection in my fridge, and see her off. Usually girls have to be somewhere earlier than me, thanks to my relaxed work schedule, so after I close the door behind her and hop into the shower, I send out the text which might determine the course of the rest of my life:

I had a blast, hope you did too! Get home safe!

And now the tedious, excruciating wait for her to reply. I look at my phone after getting out of the shower: no reply. Fuck.

My mind starts to race.

Exactly what happened last night? I fucked her good… or did I? Did I insult her in some way? Did I lose my erection at some point? She had alcohol in her system, so does that technically makes me a rapist? Fuck, fuck, fuck! What if she regrets the whole thing and tells someone I raped her? Who would believe me? I don’t have the money to defend myself… I’m so fucked…

Got home safe. Last night was fun ;)

Whew. The evidence is now in my phone. Everything that took place last night was entirely consensual and justifiable. If she takes me to court, that text could save my life. Maybe I was freaking out over nothing.

But was I?

I keep hearing stories every day about how some woman destroyed a man’s life on a whim, just because she refused to accept the consequences of her actions.

I didn’t cheat on my boyfriend, so I was raped.

I didn’t hook up with this ugly guy, so I was raped.

I didn’t want to pay my cab fare, so I was raped and assaulted.

Every day I hear these stories, and every single day I hear others implying that I am a rapist and don’t even know it. Every day I hear platitudes like “don’t teach women how to avoid getting raped, teach men not to rape,” and while I agree, haven’t we been taught that our entire lives? I know rape is bad and people shouldn’t rape. All of my friends know rape is bad and people shouldn’t rape. But yet we’re still the bad guys, the aggressors.

It seems that until a woman says so, everything I do sexually can be considered rape. I’m terrified. Think I’m paranoid? Look at the upheaval over a recent episode of Girls.

For those without HBO, there was a scene where Adam and his new girlfriend Natalia had sex. It was uncomfortable to watch for the same reason it was beautiful. Adam was struggling with his demons: the demons of alcoholism, the demons of ending and awkwardly maintaining a romantic relationship with someone he was enamored with, the balance of old love and new, and feeling lacking in self-esteem. The scene was squeamish and awkward because it was a projection of Adam’s soul. The scene was self-discovery and self-hate.

What the scene wasn’t: rape.

At least that’s what I thought until I saw the outcry over this scene online.

I’ve had awkward sex before. Does that make me a rapist?

And it wears on you. There’s always that moment where you realize a girl is trying to cut you out of her life and you look back to see if there was anything you did that could get you in trouble with the law. Always got that “I didn’t rape you” text? Check, whew. Used condoms every time? Well, there was once… fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Time to mark that date on my calendar and know that in nine months I will truly be in the clear, and maybe schedule an STD test.

It feels really weird. All this work into becoming better with women, and I can’t trust any of them. I know that at any point, I am subject to their whims. My freedom and livelihood depends on how they feel that day.

So forgive me if I don’t sound too excited about getting wasted and meeting some new chicks, bro.

Read Next: A Challenge to Feminists Accusing Me of Rape