Mother of All Secrets

by Kathleen M. Willett

“I fought it, that realization. And continued to make excuses for him. To tell myself I was lucky to have this lavish life. It’s scary what you can convince yourself of when you’re trying to avoid reality.”

I read what I wrote a few days ago, and I can’t believe I wrote that. I know I did, but it wasn’t me, if that makes sense. I may be a little crazy, but I’ve always been the good kind of crazy. Never that.

it’s just sex. Let’s not make it a bigger deal than it is.” “It’s not sex,” Selena said, staring at him from behind the couch, her voice quiet but clear. “Excuse me?” Connor said, whirling a bit to find the new speaker. “It’s not sex. It’s rape,” she said, and with that word, I felt the strangest, biggest rush of relief wash over me. Finally. The word.

consent must be enthusiastic, stated out loud, continuous, given soberly. That it can be taken back at any time.

a girl’s no might be because she’s just shy or coy and should actually be taken as an invitation to keep pursuing with renewed zeal. And we girls were being told that we shouldn’t dress “provocatively,” because if we did, well, then we couldn’t very well expect the boys to control themselves.

Rape. It’s what it was.