The Art of Denying Responsibility: A Modern Story

It was a dark and rainy Friday night in my big-little town, and that meant everyone was going to be out in the bars getting wasted and up to all sorts of debauchery. This was nothing new to me, as I find myself hitting the bar with friends even on weekdays when I have work the next day, unlike more cultured areas this is a normal occurrence here so don't judge me. Despite past occurrences causing me great trauma, even bringing me to call for public humiliation of individuals of certain gender and race, I continue the same line of behavior that saw me traumatized hoping for something different each time.

As I approached the door to my favorite hole-in-the-wall bar, known for the unfavorable antics of their female demographic, the anxiety that was all too common began to create butterflies in my stomach. Before I could even get inside I could hear the drunken cackling and shrieks of the ever-randy monsters that awaited within. Swallowing my fear of what was to come I bravely grasped the handle of the entrance and stepped inside.

The air inside the bar was warm and inviting, prompting me to remove my coat, and as the sleeves slid down my rock-hard biceps I could feel the eyes of every woman in the room piercing my soul. They were now devouring my body with their glances of ecstasy, and the slight glistening of my skin left from the dampness of my coat accentuating every ridge of my muscles only served to stir the passions of these jackals even more. Not long after I had placed my coat on the back of my chosen bar stool did they start to orbit me like vultures waiting for their opportunity to feed.

One drink and compliment after another, hands placed upon my inner thigh and glances filled with ulterior motive sent straight into my eye sockets, the incursions had begun against my will as they had so many times in the past.

"Why do I keep coming back?" I asked myself while feigning flirtations with these harpies and sirens. "Why don't I just ask them to stop or call for the help of the bartender or establishment owners?"

The night would travel onward, drink after drink, conversation after conversation, inappropriate grope after inappropriate grope, until finally I had given in to the drunken desire to hit the dance floor.

The decision to move myself to the dance floor was a poor one, as now I was an island of hunky man amidst a sea of women frothing at the mouth for my body. I was caged in as one of these beasts wrapped her arms around my neck against my will, I put my hands on her waist to humor her as her friend pressed her back against mine. Like shackles made of flesh, there were two women on either side of me stroking my solid and irresistible arms to the beat of the music.

The agony wouldn't end and the beat of the music only served to pound in my head as a reminder I could've just gone home and avoided this same situation I always find myself in. It wasn't long before the dancing had turned into something more akin to erotic motion following a rhythm; now I was no longer an island, I was swimming against a current of female hormones directed toward me. Oh how I wish I was a better swimmer, but I decided to back float and go with the current rather than fight it.

"Will the onslaught of attraction from these rabid females ever end?" I inquired to the universe as hands caressed my firm glutes, and ran generously and undesirably over the front of my body. It wasn't until lips were pressed forcibly against mine with no warning that I decided it was time to run home to my girlfriend who awaited my return eagerly.

Upon reaching the safety of my home and my girlfriend's inviting embrace of love and comfort, I extolled my discipline in allowing these lustful women to ravage me and my delicate psyche. She was not amused and slightly disgusted that I would not actively fight back against them, draw attention to the inappropriate behavior, nor leave sooner; the question of why I would keep returning when it happens every time and why she wasn't invited to protect me where I could not protect myself blared in my ears. I was dumbfounded and offended, though she made some great points and I could not argue them under any logical line of thought.

Having had my trauma invalidated by my girlfriend I now took angrily to my Facebook to post about it because I saw one of the presidential candidates touching men inappropriately without their consent on television, it triggered the memories of the women molesting me against my unexpressed will.

I exclaimed through text confidently, despite my grammatical error, "I can guarantee you more than half of the women, young white women, that I have encountered has been inappropriate to me or someone I know." and my friends flocked to support my unfair generalizations filled with sexist angst. Anyone who dared to speak against me was offered more generalized sexism, or I ignored them because I knew if I argued my weak points then I'd be easily disproved.

In being honest with myself in private, I came to the conclusion that all of this was avoidable if I'd just stop drinking constantly and when I did drink in public I should bring attention to the abuses committed against me if I want to be taken seriously. Then again, all the attention is quite fun and endearing both when I am being groped and flirted with and when I claim the gropes and flirtations were totally uninvited and everyone flocks to support me without any further questioning.

Goodness, I love being attractive and victimized in a world where questioning me isn't politically correct.