No

 

“Are you bored?” was the strangest invitation to sunset drinks I had heard, especially by a man who just told me he was married with 3 kids.  But I had just helped him pick up his surfboard from a mutual friend’s house who was out of town, and he claimed he wanted to thank me. Besides, I was bored.  Eliana had been in California for almost 3 weeks, and my closest friends were still out of town for the October rainy season jungle escape.

 I met the business acquaintance of good friends for a drink at the beachfront bed and breakfast where he was vacationing.  I arrived to a vibrantly lit red sunset boasting magnificent beauty over the ocean lined horizon.  I was introduced to each of his friends, all men, as we walked through the open dining space where I was offered Santa Teresa 1796 Rum, which I discovered is quite good in a glass of ice with club soda and lime.

The group had a refreshingly calm demeanor.  Often surfers arrive with enough testosterone and energy to supply a high school football team.  But this group of mixed ages, men from Argentina, New York, California, Venezuela, and Spain was calm and relaxed.  Conversation was easy.  No one hinted at how fantastic they thought they were, or talked about surf.  Instead, while enjoying chips and salsa, we discussed the politics of their respective countries and an unlikely yet still possible Nicaraguan canal and its anticipated effects on local communities, natural habitats, and surf tourism. The upcoming US Presidential election between Clinton and Trump, which was taking place in less than a week, also provided engaging conversation.  I was enjoying the evening.

A perfectly situated teepee-style bonfire stood on the sand less than 30 feet away.  It’s backdrop, a now sherbet orange and fuchsia sky, highlighted the amber sun’s reflection over dark blue crashing waves.  A sun-bleached light brown driftwood log, large enough for 4, was perfectly positioned for sitting and watching the sun set over the ocean lined horizon, so the two of us moved to the beach and continued talking.  Here, the conversation changed.

He bragged about his professional successes and those of his friends I had just met.  Hedge fund owners, multi-billionaires, world famous models, and the likes, all here to gather as professional men, network, and take a break from their business lives.  He talked about looking for a woman to spend his time with for the week.  I realized immediately what he was inferring and I interrupted him to say “That is awful, I would never do that.”

“Does your wife know what you do?” I continued. 

“She doesn’t ask, she’s a typical jealous Latina woman, so I don’t say,” he responded.

“How about don’t give her a reason to be jealous.  She’s home taking care of your kids while you’re out here not respecting her.”

Ignoring my comment, he replied, “I’ve run you through my checklist.  Divorced, your kid is out of town, you’re bored, and not looking for money or a relationship.”  Apparently he thought that meant I wanted to have meaningless sex with a married man for a week.  He could not have been more wrong.

“I would never do that.”

Understanding I wasn’t interested, he then stated that he appreciated he could trust me not to tell our mutual friend about the evening, which I interpreted as a request rather than a statement. 

Thoroughly disgusted, I began thinking about how I could end the evening gracefully, although looking back on it, I should not have cared, I owed him nothing and I just wanted to leave.  I stood up to excuse myself and began walking back towards the dining room through which I needed to pass to pick up my keys and continue to my car.  He got up to follow and offered me another drink.  Of course I refused. 

I wish I had walked straight to my car while he grabbed himself another drink, but instead I sat down on the couch, grabbed my keys and looked at them while I thought about my exit.  Just as I was starting to get up, he sat down to my right, turned to face me, placed his upper body over mine, pushed my back against the couch, and attempted to kiss me while I was trapped underneath.

While pushing him away, I said, “No. No, stop, I don’t want this,” I turned my head to the left to avoid his contact.  He did not back off easily, but he did eventually stop and I promptly stood up to leave.

With my keys in my right hand I started walking quickly to my car.  He offered me a ride home and I refused while picking up my pace.  I wanted to get inside my car and lock the door.  While unlocking my car, he quietly approached me from behind, turned me around, and pushed himself against me with an erection.  With my hands firmly planted on his chest and pushing him away from me, he arched backwards while continuing to push his lower body against me.  I pushed him harder, yelled “NO!” and he backed off.

I drove home a bit too fast, and walked through my front door still pumped with adrenaline.  As I turned on the lights in my house my phone beeped from a text.  He suggested that I get in bed and make myself comfortable so we could Facetime.  I was shocked.  Stunned, really, that after hearing a deliberate and straight forward “no” more than once, he would continue to make unwanted advances.  The next day I received a text inviting me over for sunset drinks.  I told him I was not interested and I blocked him from contacting me.

Over the next few days I told several friends, including our mutual friends, about what happened.  I wanted to hear them be pissed for me, to hear them say what an ass this guy was.  I wanted to feel supported retroactively.  But I was also processing why I was so mad and it helped to hear their reactions and perspectives.  I didn’t like everyone’s response.  Some of the guys thought it wasn’t that big of a deal, some thought I could consider it a compliment.  Most of the women though were disgusted, and my cousin explained that the incident was sexual assault.  That fact had not yet occurred to me.

One friend shared how she had seen this type of scenario played out as a way for the man to make the woman feel wanted as part of the flirting and a build up of tension, and that some women knowingly engage in pulling in and pushing away.  That is when I realized why I was angry.  This man thought, or maybe just hoped, that I might not have actually meant, “no.”

I came to believe that the women and men who say “no” as part of flirting made my “no” sound softer.  People who give in because the the other person wears them down made my “no” sound more like a “not yet.”  Men who keep pressing after they hear “no” and eventually get what they want made my “no” sound like an “almost there”.  “No,” the strongest, and most direct response, was diluted by people I’ve never met, people who should not have had influence over my life in that specific moment.  And this man, acting like a child, was willing to run the long course to see if I would change my mind, or possibly just change my answer, because of it.

Had I changed my words, but not my want, I would have been disgusted with him and disappointed with me.  I wonder, had I changed my words but not my want, would I have conveyed that ignoring my words was a legitimate attack strategy, encouraging him to ignore the words of the next woman?

I realized quickly that for 17 years I had been protected under the blanket of “married.”  I was not accustomed to being seen as single or available.  I did not understand that a man could, or would, see me not as a woman with my own mind, but instead as a body to conquer.

Taking such a strong stand to be respected felt awkward, and while it may seem easy to just say “no,” I questioned myself, “how do I make sure he knows I’m serious?” I felt at the time that the events to (hopefully not) follow depended on how effectively I demonstrated that I really did mean “no.”  But I realize now, that his actions were not in reaction to mine.

It took me longer than I expected to process the violation, express it in writing, and feel confident enough to share it.  Shortly thereafter, the Me Too movement emerged and I didn’t want to appear that I was jumping on a bandwagon, although I would be lying if I said the movement didn’t make me feel stronger and safer by sharing.

I’m not sure what my conclusion is with this story, and not coming up with it has kept me from sharing it for a long time.  I’ve decided to share the experience without a conclusion, and instead just leave you with my retelling of the events, my thoughts and reactions, and my realization that some people refuse to hear “no” even when it is being shouted at their face.