My husband recently reminded me that on our first date, I enthusiastically told him, “I’m sex positive.” He didn’t know what that meant and was slightly apprehensive. “Well, I am supportive of any one or more consenting age-appropriate individuals doing whatever as long as it’s not causing damage or harm to themselves or others. Oh and virginity is a made-up construct,” explained the liberal arts school babe.
I was not raised this way, and for years I wasn’t ready to admit to all the shame, guilt, embarrassment and sadness that I had carried as a result, all that I had missed out on, all that I had hid and pushed down and ignored.
I was raised conservatively and lived in a fairly conservative suburb in the midwest. I was in high school in the late 00’s/early 2010’s and while I know some things have changed in the last 15 years, I think it’s safe to say that to this day, many teenage girls across our (Puritan founded) country don’t have the space, framework, or confidence to talk about the details of their sexual bodies and identities with anyone, even their trusted friends. It’s easier to isolate than face rejection. Call me crazy, but I think there are also many teenage girls who don’t want to do anything sexual or intimate — not because they wouldn’t enjoy it or don’t feel ready for it — but because they don’t want to deal with the guilt and shame they would feel if peers judged their bodies or experiences.
The unspoken rule, “Girls who do sexual things with guys are sluts” was reinforced one day in my sophomore year of high school. It was a few minutes before class and just a handful of students were there. Delia was in one of the back rows near me. I’ve known Delia since we were 7 years-old on the same soccer team and went to middle school together. She was reasonably popular and had a visible six-pack by the time we were 12, which at any age is incredibly impressive. She was bubbly, sweet, and fun, and we got along fine.
One of the designated male class clowns, Punkassbitch, who sat several seats in front of Delia turned to her and mouthed in an accentuated but rather hushed, “Did you have sex this weekend?” If anyone hears the word “sex” even in a whisper, their ears perk up. He already had some people’s attention. This couldn’t really be happening. Delia laughs. “What did you say? I can’t hear you!” Punkassbitch does it again, slowly, drawn out, staccato. “Did. You. Have. SEX. This. Weekend?” Her face is so red. She’s frozen and can’t think and neither can I. More people come in, but our teacher was out in the hall, oblivious to the microcosm of patriarchal humiliation and domination occurring in her classroom. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” asserted the 16 year-old girl. We were children and we didn’t know it. “I heard from Shane that you had sex this weekend. Is it true?” There had to be 20 students in their seats, most within earshot of this unsupervised conversation. We all feel our lower bodies submerged in wet cement. It’s heavy and slimy, but we can’t get out. “What? No!”
But the damage was done. Punkassbitch got what he wanted from the conversation. He had Delia’s power. We all saw him take it and none of us wanted him to. We felt powerless because we all submitted to the rule whether or not we liked it, even if it meant an innocent girl was being lacerated in front of us for breaking it.
Over the years, I’ve thought about what I wish I would have done. Would have said. How I wish I could have gotten on a soap box and chewed Punkassbitch out. And now that I’m older, I know what you do with Punkassbitches.
My junior year of college, I studied abroad. It was a program through my school where a group of us went with a teacher and connected with other American students and teachers for classes. We had a bit of an anomaly with our group and ended up with 13 girls and 1 (theater) guy. Before we left for our travels, our group met up for the first time, along with the leader’s assistant, a male college alum a few years older than us. My friend and future homestay mate, Sydney, and I were both in tune with the energy of the room and this Punkassbitch TA couldn’t hide his wide eyes. We could sense the hunger. As soon as I got out of earshot from the classroom I turned to Sydney and sardonically said, “I wonder which one of us he’s going to try to sleep with first.” “Stahp! I know right! He’s tryna!” I mentioned him to my older college girlfriend, we went to a small school and she likely knew him. “Umm.. yeah he’s yucky. I had sex with him my freshman year. He was a junior and I was really drunk. I didn’t feel good about it.” Well, good thing he didn’t put her down as a character reference.
I could tell early on that Punkassbitch “wasn’t like the other TAs— he’s the cool TA!” He was your friend. He wanted to give you the full city experience, go grab a drink or two with a group at the bar. Early on he mentioned that, “The locals don’t go out to bars on weekends though; they save money with drinking at their flats and go out later. I’ll have to host us sometime,” thus appealing to the poverty of college girls who would prefer to spend their meal stipends on fast fashion and the local chicken chain.
And just a few weeks after we started our travel adventures, Punkassbitch was ready to throw down. A posh part of town. Friday night. His flat that the school paid for. A floor above our English teacher and her two teenage boys, it had to be safe for these college girls because who would have the audacity?
I wasn’t particularly intrigued by Punkassbitch’s party invitation. I was in school for business and economics, which impressed upon me the need for rational, logical thought. My mind reasoned, “Well, there’s a chance I have a reasonably good time with my classmates. There’s also a chance that this situation doesn’t go well and he acts how I think he may act.” And so, with the logic of a sex-positive college girl studying abroad, I reasoned that meeting up at a bar with someone new on a dating app that night would be a much less-risky and potentially more optimal experience, and so I was one of two people in our group to not attend the festivities.
So I didn’t go. I didn’t witness anything. I got the impression from Sydney the next day that it was pretty wild and a bit confusing. She told me some bits and pieces, but I knew I didn’t have the full picture. On Monday, in between classes, I tried to squeeze my friend Addy for intel, but their answers left me with more questions. Our group finished class early that evening and it was around 5pm. I was feeling outgoing (and maybe a bit nosy), so I asked if anyone wanted to go out for a drink before heading back home. I had one taker and off we went. I was given a full rundown of the party. Jesus Christ. She told me that Punkassbitch and the party goers agreed they weren’t going to tell the group leader about what all had happened. What a convenient agreement for Punkassbitch to consent to.
I knew I needed to be a rat. This Punkassbitch needed to leave right fucking now. He abused his power. And on multiple occasions —including LITERALLY THAT DAY he defied his boundaries with me. He overheard me talking with my girlfriends about my date from that Friday, and Punkassbitch interjected to ask if I had spent the night there. He wasn’t asking as a concerned TA, he was asking as Punkassbitch. He really meant, “Are you a slut?” and wanted the answer to be yes. It was that unspoken rule. The one where a guy can shame you. No matter who he is or what he’s done. Punkassbitch was consuming my sexual humility for his pleasure. And to think he did that after everything he had done on Friday a floor above our teacher and her children. The. Audacity.
So, I met with our teacher that week and told her as much as I could while keeping all my classmates’ names confidential. She knew most of our group attended the party and was able to have follow up conversations from there. He was fired that day.
It’s taken me years to understand the full impact of my actions. I knew I was doing the right thing at the time, but it still felt like I was betraying my friends. We were all adults, right? My friends told me that Punkassbitch established that they were all consenting adults the day after the party. But I knew the truth, and I had the power to voice it to someone who could change the situation. We were not adults and our brains had not reached full maturity. But our teacher was an adult, and she cared so deeply for our wellbeing. She understood the power dynamics, the inappropriateness, and the blatant disrespect he showed for her and all of us. And she had the power to make sure we never had to see him again.
If I wasn’t so stuck in the cement of the slut rule during Spanish class with Delia, I understand that the best course of action wouldn’t have been a heroic sex-positive speech from a 16 year-old classmate. If I had felt more empowered in that moment, first I would have dealt with Punkassbitch. “PunkAssBitch, stop what you are doing right now. I am getting Ms. Oscar.” I would tell Ms. Oscar, “This student is bullying Delia and spreading a rumor to the class that she had sex this weekend to humiliate her and she’s very embarrassed. It’s upsetting to watch and he needs to be kicked out of class today.” But still, Delia’s “reputation” was forever altered. Punkassbitch likely would have been in class the next day, and Delia would still have to face all the judgment, shame and self-hatred. And for bonus, I would have been labelled the uncoolest math team, yearbook, student council, straight A virgin ever, but I know that my actions would have shown love and care for a precious child who needed it. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful then.
If I could have given her my heart and attention at that time, a letter to her would have read, “Dear Delia, I am so sorry you had to deal with what happened in class the other day and I can imagine there’s a lot of talk and judgement going around that you can’t control and it must be really hard. I hope you understand that I got our teacher to help because the way he was talking to you in front of other people was completely inappropriate. I want you to know that I felt so sad for you in that moment - regardless of whether or not you had sex - because it wasn’t right for him to intentionally talk about it for other people to hear. That was bullying. That was him using his power over you and it made me sick. I want you to know that I could sense the energy in the room, and the reason it was tense and quiet wasn’t because we were judging you. We were horrified at what he was doing and we didn’t know how to make him stop. People weren’t judging you. It’s like Taylor Swift at the VMAs this year when Kanye interrupted and people were booing. They weren’t booing Taylor, they were booing Kanye for being an asshole. Delia - I’ve known you since we were little and I only have nice memories of you. You have such a beautiful smile, I’ve deeply admired that you could achieve a six-pack since middle school and how dedicated you are to ice skating- that takes a lot of endurance and commitment. You are a real treasure and I want the beautiful light inside of you to still shine. If you did have sex, I don’t think that makes you a slut. I don’t think it makes you a whore. I don’t think it makes you a bad person. If I’m being honest, I wish I could do stuff with guys, but I’m too worried about people finding out so I just avoid it and am bitter and sad about it :( . It’s not fair that a guy broke your trust and told other(s) you had sex. That guy shouldn’t have done that either, and it wasn’t a mistake to trust him and be vulnerable either. Nothing you did was wrong. Guys really are jerks and they shouldn’t be able to dictate our worth. I hope you’re doing okay. I want you to get help if you ever want to hurt yourself or think about wanting to die because other people care about you and want you to be okay. I know you’re busy with ice skating, but if you are ever free on a Friday or Saturday and want to hang out — I think it could be really positive for each of us to step out of our usual circles sometimes. Take care, Delia. With love and friendship, Becky.”
This is a sex positive place because I will never forget Delia’s pain and its surrounding context. I can only imagine all the needless years of loneliness and suffering she had to endure for a normal human experience to want to have at that age. The more we speak about the unspoken rule, the less power it has. The more we can do against it. And being sex positive is about so much more than avoiding pain. Now that I’m older (and watched Sex, Love, Goop on Netflix), I understand that sex positivity is centered around the love, care, and curiosity you have for yourself. It’s important to not feel shame about sex when you’re ready, AND it’s valuable to fully understand the worth and power of your own sexuality.
I hope as an adult, Delia has all the love, care, and curiosity for herself in the world. She really deserves it and so do you (assuming you’re not a Punkassbitch).