The unsettling account of Aziz Ansari serves as a stark reminder of how men are often conditioned to feel entitled to sex, and how society tacitly permits this belief.
During my twenties, while exploring Greece, I had a travel companion who fell ill with food poisoning. After a few days of care, I decided to venture alone into the charming beach town where we were staying. I stumbled upon a delightful taverna by a picturesque pier and settled in for dinner.
The restaurant’s charming maitre d’, the owner’s son, caught my attention. He was an attractive Greek man, and as we talked, I found his attention flattering. It was a pleasant encounter, nothing that raised any alarms. I never disclosed that I was alone due to my friend’s illness, so I gathered he assumed I was simply a solo traveler.
After my meal, he invited me to a local disco, and I accepted, eager to enjoy the night with such a gracious host. We walked into the club together, where he appeared to know everyone, and I felt welcomed among his friends. The atmosphere was lively, and I was genuinely having a wonderful time, even contemplating lunch the next day.
When he offered me a ride back to my apartment, I felt comfortable enough to accept, thinking it was a mere 15-minute walk. However, as we drove, I quickly realized we were heading in the wrong direction. A wave of unease washed over me as he said, “I want to show you something,” and pulled into a dark area by a deserted pier.
His demeanor shifted dramatically, turning aggressive without warning. Despite our earlier friendly interactions, he now seemed to expect something from me that I was not willing to give. When I expressed my desire to return to town, he began to pressure me for a kiss, grabbing my wrist and pulling me towards him. Panic set in as I tried to unlock the car door, feeling trapped.
I suggested we return to my apartment instead, and though he complied, his hand lingered on my thigh, igniting a mix of fury and distress within me. I felt like I was no longer a person with agency, but merely an object for his desires.
Upon arriving at my apartment, I told him I needed to check on my sick companion. His disappointment was evident, but I fled up the steps, relieved to be safe behind locked doors.
If I had reported this incident as sexual assault, would anyone have believed me? I had participated in the evening, but his advances were unwanted, and I was uncomfortable with every touch. Reading the recent revelations about Ansari, I felt a chilling familiarity. It echoed the experiences of countless women who have navigated similar “dates,” where safety and consent were disregarded.
The conversation surrounding Ansari’s actions has sparked debate, with some dismissing it as merely a bad date, failing to acknowledge the gravity of his behavior and the discomfort experienced by his date. His actions—like using oral sex as an icebreaker—demonstrate a troubling disconnect from basic human respect and consent.
WOMEN. DO. NOT. OWE. MEN. SEX. PERIOD.
It’s high time we stop prioritizing male perceptions and start focusing on the voices of women who have dealt with these experiences for far too long. Society often misunderstands the anger surrounding such allegations, interpreting it as a sign of women’s temporary power rather than as a call for respect and understanding.
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In summary, women’s autonomy and consent are paramount. No one should feel obligated to fulfill anyone’s desires, and we must amplify the conversation around these critical issues.
Keyphrase: women do not owe men sex
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