The Confession

I have made the decision to cough up my ghastly little secret. Before it’s done for me, as is happening a lot lately. From Hollywood to the US Senate. From Westminster to the BBC. It’s all coming out. And there’s no stopping it now. Harrassment, groping, coercion, rape – the full works. There’s photographic evidence of my misdemeanor, you see. No way to get around that, is there? I shouldn’t have. But I did. It was a long time ago though. So that mitigates things a little bit. I hope. But for shame, I did it. I crept up behind the poor girl, reached out – with both hands, no less – and made a grab for her bum. And her boob. But I was caught in the act, on camera. By Mrs P.

Ok, so the girl in question was Shakira. Well, a wax work model of Shakira in Mexico City. And I’m neither a celebrity nor a politicion. So maybe this would have stayed my sordid little secret. But you know. The photo tells it all, doesn’t it? Guys just can’t keep their hands to themselves. Boys will be boys! Lust is impossible to control. It happens, so suck it up baby. Or so goes an increasingly popular narrative. This is assuming that the narrative doesn’t skip victim blaming or justification entirely and just go straight to unfounded denial.

I’m not sure whether I should be surprised by this, or not. Of course, in the United States, sexual assault and rape have been at least partially normalised/legitimised. They had their vote last November and decided it was all sort of ok. For sure, raping your wife and grabbing women by their p***y is all now above board. But I am surprised that there is so much consternation and suspicion that women have gone years, even decades in reporting these crimes. A crime that is through demonstrable fact all too often under-reported and/or reported years later. And I’m equally surprised that sexual assault isn’t deemed worthy of reporting at all.

I’ll let you know where I stand on this. The photo above is a bit deceiving, at first glance. Look again, and you’ll notice that my hands are not touching. You’re not allowed to touch the wax work models. There are signs. They’re aren’t mine to touch. So I kept my hands off. And as far as flesh and blood ladies are concerned, I’m not sure I actually needed to be told. But apparently, there are some who believe that there are a few grey areas in the courting industry. Areas which were once, in civil society, pretty black and white. When I listen to, or read posts by, individuals making excuses for or rationalising sex crimes, I’m rather inclined to assume there’s an assaulted lady or two in their closet. But probably not a waxwork lady.


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