So we all know that rape culture makes no sense, even if you put a top-hat and a monocle on it. Nothing that comes out is anything but incoherent, victim-blaming gibberish. But I have lately taken to being quite amused by one facet of it which reads: if a woman has has a lot of consensual sex partners, that means she’s less likely to be telling the truth when she says she was raped.
No, look at that crap on its face. The more experience you have with consensual sex, the less capable you are of distinguishing rape from consensual sex. Or, alternately, the more experience you have with consensual sex, the more likely you are to lie about consensual sex and call it rape.
That’s what it means. If you put words together like that, that is what those words will mean. Which is an interesting interpretation, because one wonders if this woman has had so many consensual sexual partners, what was wrong with you. Which is pretty obvious, since you raped her. But nevertheless, it’s kind of like screaming about how Jesus came down and said specifically that he doesn’t love you, and how unfair that is. At some point it’s got to be like, damn dude, you are some fucked up.
Now, really, it’s pretty obvious which two patriarchal tropes are being employed. The first comes directly from the First Law of Patriarchal Sexodynamics—the more sex a woman has, the less value the act of having sex with her; a) and the less resistance she is entitled to put up about being fucked, b) and the less powerful that resistance is on a scale of AVUs (Arbitrary Virginity Units), c) until the relative AVUs of her resistance approaches zero in one of the states of Fuckhole Entropy. The second is, pretty exploding obviously, the idea that the group of people most likely to suffer rape (women) are also the least likely to know what rape “really” is.
The Patriarchal Laws of Sexodynamics are simply that; you can’t argue with them, they simply are, like a cloud of pure, unmitigated Chaos lying just outside the boundaries of the universe. Breathe a word about how “no means no” near it and you’ll be eaten by an eight-foot-tall hyppogriff with spiny ears and a lime-green feather pattern in the shape of Bill Maher’s face.
But the second is more conceivable, because the argument is pretty simple: women don’t know what rape really is, because their rapists don’t agree. How can something really be rape if it’s not acknowledged by both parties? How do we know that he didn’t think it was completely consensual? What was his intent while he was sexually assaulting her? Doesn’t anyone care about his feelings? Think about how damaging it is to be told she didn’t actually worship your blood-engorged penis! It must be so traumatizing for him to live with the distant, detached knowledge that he may possibly have had a
penis hand in murdering someone’s soul, leaving her with the indelible knowledge that there is no such thing as safety or a lack of vulnerability!
In other words, when you laydeez are trying to decide whether or not the sexual assault you have experienced was really rape-rape, you should definitely ask your attacker’s consent before calling him a rapist!