You can call yourself a feminist and be a rapist. You can call yourself a socialist and be a rapist. You can wear funky clothes, go to crafts house parties, wear birkenstocks with socks in the winter and be a rapist. You can have a Consent is Sexy, or Consent is a Conversation stick on your door, laptop, water bottle and be a rapist. You can be a crunchy, revolutionary, woke, open-minded, anti-patriarchy woman and be a rapist.
You might not know it. Might not know I said no. Maybe you didn't hear it the first time. Or the second. Or the third. This is how a straight cis woman rapes a straight cis man. I said "no". You heard 'maybe if I touch him.' I said "no". You heard 'in a few minutes.' I said "no." And you chose not to hear it. I don't really remember anything after that, for like, a month, other than some slight impressions.
I kind of wish I could remember, it might answer some questions I have, like 'did she think I was being coy' or 'what was the weather at the exact moment you realized sex could be physically painful for men.' Then there are the questions I know the answers to: is it possible for a rapist to walk with their head held high and their nose at a smug, upturned angle? Yes. Is it possible for a rapist to rise into the leadership of social justice, pro-labor and anti-racist organizations? Yes. Is it possible to get mono from getting raped? Yeah.
Alas, despite your education in intersectional feminism, your vote for Sanders, your hatred of all things chauvinist, despite you hating people who talk over people, who don't listen, who join frats, spike drinks, rape people, despite your eco-friendly, pro-human, Sex Positive feminism you decided to be a rapist. Despite all these roadblocks, you found your true calling. There were so many obstacles, but nevertheless, you persisted.
I'll never tell you, because I know you'd come to say I was wrong, I wasn't remembering right, I was lying, that I wasn't even good in bed. I'll never tell anyone, because who would believe me? Our friends haven't, they've put us in the same space together again and again. My roommate didn't, he just said 'doesn't matter, you got laid.' I'll never tell you, even though you're probably here tonight, nodding gravely along with everybody else and saying that you believe survivors. You didn't believe I meant it when I said no. Why would you believe it now?