I am not writing this to blame the men who have touched me when I was not aware enough to consent. Instead, I hope to place them, like pushpins, on a board of encounters that society has framed as acceptable. I do not know what I was like in these states, what I said, how I slurred. For much of my life, the idea of conflict scared me so much that I would do almost anything to avoid causing a scene. My priority was my pride, not my body. I do not know what I would rather believe: if these men thought I wanted it, if they knew I wasn’t there to consent, if they suspected at all and buried those
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