Slut Shaming
When I was a freshman, a rather queer event took place.
My best friend, Harlequin, had gone home for the weekend, so I spent Friday night with my roommate. We decided to go to a dance on-campus, pre-gaming beforehand for liquid courage. I had never heard of pre-gaming before I entered college, but it quickly became routine. Bolstered by several shots of cheap vodka, my roommate and I headed out.
At the dance, two upperclassmen approached us and we started dancing together. I had never seen them around campus before, but could tell that they were older from the way they carried themselves. They were sloppy drunk. My partner’s breath smelled like vomit – only later did I realize it was just stale beer.
I was too shy to look up at him while his crotch was grinding suggestively into my hip bone. At some point, my roommate disappeared with her dance partner. So when my partner asked me to go to his place, I shrugged and followed him to his car. When we got to his place on campus, I finally got a good look at him. In the glare of the overhead fluorescent lighting, his white teeth leered at me, reminiscent of Alice’s Cheshire Cat. Whether it was the alcohol or the time of night, he looked menacing and I was grateful when he turned off the lights.
I’m not sure why girls like me get into situations like this. I was drunk, but I didn’t feel threatened or pressured. In a way, I felt defeated. I had come to college thinking I would be surrounded by intelligent, sophisticated men who would take me out to nice restaurants and write me poetry in iambic pentameter. Instead, I quickly found out that (most) college boys would rather guzzle watered-down beer from red plastic cups and play beer pong than go out on a Saturday night date.
At college, it’s sex or nothing. Sure, there are those few couples that are attached at the hip, playing house in their dorm rooms, but for the most part it’s go home with a guy from a party or go home alone. That night I didn’t want to go home alone.
So I found myself in a stranger’s bedroom, practically empty save a Corona poster and some sports equipment. I knew his first name and that he was a baseball player. I didn’t know much else, and I didn’t really want to. We made out for a while and then we tried to have sex. We were, however, cock-blocked by his whiskey dick. Looking back on it, I’m relieved. At the time, we were both disappointed. I eventually walked back to my dorm room in the rain. My roommate was in bed with her dance partner, so I changed in the closet.
The Jock and I played a half-hearted game of phone tag for a few weeks. Then, the inevitable I’m-Going-to-Pretend-Like-I-Never-Met-You phase began. Unfortunately, I saw this guy in dining hall every day. Even worse, he sat with a bunch of his baseball teammates and I started to notice that whenever I would walk by their table, his teammates would nudge him and start laughing or whispering. I thought I was just being paranoid at first, but day in and day out I began to realize I wasn’t making it up. It was particularly uncomfortable for me, considering I rarely date jocks and I’m not exactly the preppiest girl in the world (I’m prone to stalking around in Doc Martens and a scowl on my face). Not only did I feel like they were dissecting my body and my clothing, but I felt like I was a huge, fat slut in their eyes.
This continued all year, much to my dismay. It all came to a head one day in May, one of the first sunny days that spring. The entire student body was out on the green, wearing skimpy clothing and slathering on sun-tan lotion. I was wearing a bright blue sun-dress that I had just purchased and had already gotten several compliments on. Feeling completely relaxed and content, I walked into the student center with two of my girl-friends. In the middle of the crowded café area, we ran into the Jock and some of his buddies. They all gave me lecherous once-overs and as I passed by them, one of the guys yelled out loudly, “My friend hooked up with that girl in the blue dress!” and the other guys broke out into cat-calls while the Jock just looked at me. I felt so ashamed and shocked. Harlequin shouted at their retreating backs, “Yeah, well he had WHISKEY DICK!” but I’m not sure if they heard. I ran out of there as fast as I could, aware that everyone’s eyes were on me. I was shaking.
To this day I don’t understand why that happened. I’ve had plenty of one night stands, casual flings, and serious boyfriends and none of those relationships resulted in the extreme slut shaming I felt from this guy and his friends. Maybe it was the fact that they were all on the same team and it lent to a misogynistic atmosphere. All I know is, three years later I can still vividly recall that day every time I wear that blue sun-dress. When I slip the dress on over my body and zip up the side, I hear the echoes of those catcalls.
The last time I saw the Jock before he graduated, I was walking past him in dining hall. He was alone and I gave him my coldest glare. I’d like to think he felt ashamed.
- Dollface
:(
I’m so sorry, dollface. I don’t even have the words to articulate my anger (at him, his friends, the patriarchy). That should never have happened. But I do think you’re a lot braver than I am for keeping at it. (((hugs)))
Definitely one of your best posts.
Thanks. I’m experimenting with infusing a little bit of my creative writing background into my posts (memoir-lite? I don’t know). Glad you enjoyed it.
I’m just glad the guy *finally* graduated last year, so I don’t have to see him around :)
I’ve been reading a little bit into your archives, and I definitely agree that this is one of your best posts. Some of the descriptions just sent chills down my spine, and I find myself feeling a tremendous amount of anger towards that guy, who I only know about through writing. People will do anything to get an impression out of someone… it’s clear to me that he and his jock friends were trying to get an impression out of not only each other, but also you.
I’m glad to hear that you’re going to experiment with creative writing; I’m looking forward to reading more like this.
Thanks Polarimetric. It’s awesome that you read some of my archived posts as well :) I’m definitely going to be posting more articles/stories like this.
This is a great post. You know, if you’re interested in working on more stuff like this, there’s this great writing conference that we go to every year, you should totally come with us ;-)
Ugh. Jerks. Good on Harlequin for telling everyone he had a limp dick. You guys should have laughed at /him/ every time he walked by. ;)
sex is sex and i always say have lots of it if your having fun. Don’t stand for the ‘old double standard’ when it comes to this it 2009 for christs sake the sexual revolution was 30 years ago. In this particular case, my guess is that this guy pulled the old ” I’ll hurt you before you hurt me routine” I imagine that he has an image to uphold and that he was terrifyed you would strike first by telling everyone that he can’t hold his liquor. By targeting you first he took the spotlight off of himself; also making any verbal retaliation on your part look like desperate passive aggression.
@ Jezebel — Hmmm, I wonder what that conference might be??
@ Annie Spandex — Haha, damn we should have.
@ sissy — That’s actually a really insightful analysis!!
I’m happy you wrote this. I think many of us have been there before. I once hissed “piece of shit” under my breathe to someone from a similar situation. If it did nothing but made me feel justified, I’m happy for that moment where I called it what it was.
I stumbled onto your blog at random and this is the first post of yours I read. I’m not even particularly into feminism as such, but I believe in treating everyone with respect, which those men failed to do, to say the least. I was struck by the heartbreaking honesty of this post, not to mention the good writing. I’d encourage you to keep pursuing creative writing, as you clearly have a flair for it. Also, I hope you know that while the romantic, intellectual men you first expected at college may seem rare, they do in fact exist and are worth waiting for.
@ Aja — It’s a good feeling to call these guys out, in our own little ways. Thanks for commenting.
@ Justinmulwee — Thank you for your extremely kind comment! It made my day!
Wait a second, in the end what exactly did the jock did to you?. From reading your post werent his friends the ones that teased him and were being jerks?.
Or you are mad that he started ignored you?. Because really from the looks of it, you didnt want to be friends with him either.
Is like your friend calling him a limp dick, what friends do in that kind of situation is hard to control.
The only thing that i see he did wrong was that he told his friends that he hooked up with you, but then you told your friend all the juicy details of that night too.
Its a shame people talk when they should really be a bit more discreet.
It’s simple. Jocks are asswipes.