CONSENT

I should have known something would go wrong the moment I found his tweet: “I <3 ASIAN GIRLS!!!!” But I was still revelling in my newfound sexual freedom after moving out for university. He was nerdy, musical, and cute enough, and I wanted casual sex—lots of it. He was a well-intentioned guy who thought he knew more about sex and consent than he really did, and who thought he made a good Dom despite never engaging in kink before. He had his first taste of barrier-free sex with me and was keen for more, even though we both agreed it was a bad idea. I was between birth control methods at the time, and now I wish he’d repay me for all the Plan B from the three short weeks we spent together. That stuff doesn’t come cheap.

I had trouble calling it sexual assault, even though I’ve supported friends in the same situation and presented workshops on sex and consent. Sure, I hadn’t been fully awake—but I wasn’t fully asleep, either. If he’d used a condom, I probably wouldn’t even consider it a problem—I like being woken up by sex with a trusted partner. It seemed like such a minute detail to change it to a non-consensual encounter, so I resisted that narrative, telling myself others have gone through much worse. It wasn’t until I encountered a comic book character months later with a passing resemblance to him—and felt an enormous wave of panic and revulsion—that I realized our encounter had impacted me so heavily. Unconventional triggers are, as it turns out, still real and valid.

Coming to terms with the gravity of the situation allowed me to develop the self-compassion to honour my limits. I can enjoy my hyper-sexuality, consensual non-consent, and other kinks on my own terms, while still having boundaries that I don’t want crossed. We were only missing a thin piece of latex, but that made all the difference.

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One night, I was huddling with my friends downtown after a paint party held at a local theatre, when a girl from my philosophy class ran up to me sobbing. In between drunken gasps, she explained that a guy had groped her and forced her to make out with him. Concerned, I asked her where he was and she just kept telling me that he wasn't a bad guy, he was just drunk.

I remember thinking, “Seconds after this horrible thing happened to her and she's already making excuses for this guy. She's already trying to protect him from his own actions.” All her friends had left her, breaking this unspoken code that you never leave a friend alone, especially not downtown, and especially not when she's drunk. We ended up taking her home once an Uber was free. It's so unfair, someone can drunkenly assault you and never have to think about it again, but this stuff sticks with you forever. They can go about their life believing that they're a good person, while someone else carries around scars. Just because you drink doesn't mean you're not accountable.

It also reminds me why there's an unspoken rule that you never go out alone. You never leave your girlfriend at the club by herself. You never walk outside alone after dark. I don't think that people who haven't had these experiences can understand how it feels to be constantly anxious, worried, and afraid for your safety. This experience reminded me that it's not just bad people who can hurt you, it's this culture that says this is just how things are. By virtue of the gender you were assigned, you will need to protect yourself. It's the culture that asks you, “what you were wearing?” when you said someone hurt you.

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I always joke about how you can't leave your kids with anybody. In my case, I was far too young to know what a creepy old man is supposed to look like. I couldn't have been older than seven, but I clearly remember how humiliated I felt being forced to act against my will. I can't remember why I was alone with him, but I do remember him forcing me to strip because I "stole a dollar" from him. Luckily, a family member came in and stopped him, but I'd felt ashamed for so long even though I obviously hadn't done anything wrong. The tough thing about situations where you get taken advantage of is that you wonder how people who hurt others just get let go, even when other people know about what they've done. The old man is dead now, so there's no one to punish. The only thing I can say that I've gained from this is the wisdom to keep a watchful eye to make sure I can protect anyone else from having to suffer a similar trauma.

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I had finally made it. Coming from a very conservative Muslim background, it had been very hard to convince my parents to let me go off to university far away from home, but I had finally made it. Here I was, living by myself in Ottawa. Living on campus is a difficult transition for anyone, but it was especially hard for me. Topics like sex and alcohol were taboo in my household and I was suddenly part of this university community where drinking and hooking up were common things. During Frosh week, students weren’t just making new friends, they were taking full advantage of their new-found freedoms, experimenting with drugs and alcohol and exploring their sexuality. Unfortunately for most of my peers, they didn’t have the privilege of being part of a sexual health program that taught them the importance of consent.

For one of the frosh events, we were taken to a massive billiards room. As soon as I entered, the pungent smell of alcohol smacked me in the face. While I was somehow surprising my new friends and myself with some hidden pool shooting talent, a girl approached me. She looked like she was going to topple over, her breath smelled like a bottle of vodka, and she was slurring heavily. She asked me if I wanted to hook up in the washroom. As a 17-year-old boy, a certain part of me was very excited, but the more sensible part of me understood that this girl couldn’t give consent while she was intoxicated. I politely turned her down. Socially, this was a very bold move, as my peers didn’t grasp the concept of consent and asked me: “Why would you do such a thing?” “Are you gay?” “Are you dumb?”

I vividly remember questioning why I would make such a decision, knowing my male peers would criticize me. But I knew it was the right decision. Even though my first instinct wasn’t about the girl’s capacity to consent, I remembered something about the meaning of consent, that ‘ONLY YES MEANS YES’ and that people who aren’t sober can’t give consent. It made me realize that I shouldn’t take advantage of this girl because she was unable to give me consent. I was also mindful of the potential consequences of me taking advantage of this girl for her and myself as it could be considered rape. So, I told my peers: “Only yes means yes and she can’t give consent while she is drunk.”

I felt proud of this moment, as this not only differentiated me from my peers, but also gave me a chance to educate them by taking the skills I’ve learned and applying them in my life. This interaction was my first time exercising the mantra of “ONLY YES MEANS YES,” but it wasn’t the last.

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