I’m Apparently Going to Rape You

April 27, 2007

A while back, I wrote a post entitled “I’m Not Going to Rape You”. It was a (I thought) hilarious little rant on the ridiculousness of some (mostly female) people’s reactions to seeing me on a somewhat isolated street late at night. I was assuring my hypothetical streetwalking buddy that I had no desire to initiate intercourse of any kind, consensual or no. It was my way of saying that my physical features don’t automatically qualify me as a sexual offender.

I was wrong.

I was neglecting my most heinous physical feature: my penis. Where there should have been a vagina, a bounteous life vessel literally gushing with creative energy and love for the universe, I had instead been cursed with a burden, which (though lovely for what it was) was the indelible mark of God’s first draft. As a nonwomyn, I had to come to terms with actively reinforcing a patriarchal society that encourages womyn to be second-class citizens, when in reality, it is the nonwomyns who are inferior.

It was a difficult realization to come to; I fought it at first. I told myself, “It must be possible to be a man (yes, I still used a term as sexist as that) and not be actively oppressive! I respect the rights of women to have an equal societal platform. Surely I would remember oppressing somebody?”

What a silly Negro I was. Since society has long been set up to benefit nonwomyns, every day I choose to spend not cursing at my penis in the mirror is a day where I reap the benefits of a society that both actively and tacitly condones rape. By the very virtue of my phallus, I am just as guilty as the man who actually penetrates the verdant womynly forest nonconsensually. Every time I watch a T.V. program or purchase a product not specifically allowed by feminists, I silently support rape.

I’m sorry.


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