In which Dear Roxeanne is just overwhelmed with “WTF were you thinking?”
Here’s the thing: Roxe can’t even muster up her usual “Young ladies of the world, you have all lost your minds?” speech. Here’s the diminished, sad version, lessened by the shock that a grown woman would be that foolish:
Dear Jessica, did you lose your mind? How could you know that this man doesn’t have STDs, a room of pain, a wife, a vengeful Fatal-Attraction-esque ex-girlfriend, a corpse in the backyard, psychotic delusions, a well with a bucket of lotion, or the desire to make you suffer?
Since you didn’t know that, why the bloody hell did you fornicate? at his place? without a condom? after he beat you until you bruised? Do you have no friends with whom you can have benefits? No enterprising fellow alum from college who can provide a decent romp?
Read the whole thing. I just want to shake some sense into the young woman.
Perhaps it’s easier for Jessica to make the whole thing about kinky sex, rather than about the mind-boggling foolishness of taking off your clothes with a man whom you do not know, while alone in his apartment, with no one to ensure that you are safe. (Of course, the kink is part of the problem, because what are red flags for normal people are just part of the scenery for those into kink. Which might be why thousands of years of civilisation have frowned on such, even as people did it in the privacy of their own homes: if you say it’s wrong, those who are spotting red flags can obey the red flags, and those who want their particular brand of fun will find a consenting partner.)
Perhaps it’s easier for her to talk about how men shouldn’t make assumptions about women being on the Pill, rather than examine a culture in which a woman almost has to drug herself up constantly in order to make her way in life. Perhaps it’s easier to rant about his expectations than discuss whether or not Sandra Fluke contributed to those beliefs. Perhaps it’s easier to blame him, rather than to consider that a woman who likes to have sex with strangers probably needs several forms of birth control.
In the penultimate paragraph, Ms. Wakeman refuses to blame herself, because that’s victim-blaming slut-shaming. No, honey, it’s not victim-blaming to tell you that you have to take some responsibility for your safety, and that includes not fornicating, sans condom, with strangers who like to beat your buttocks until you bruise. Victim-blaming would be saying that the dead in Benghazi had it coming, which is completely different from pointing out that playing Russian Roulette is objectively stupid. Fornicating with strangers is the sexual version of Russian Roulette.