I write stories about domination and BDSM, populated with feisty heroines who secretly crave a strong man and the Alpha males who step in and take charge. But right now, all that has me feeling a little sick.
I woke up this morning planning to drive my daughter to school and spend the whole day working on my latest book. She's a high school senior in an early college program, attending classes at the community college. On the way to school, she told me she'd seen one of the counselor yesterday to report an incident that happened while she waited outside a classroom. Most of her classes this year are with adults of varying ages. Apparently an "old guy" in his forties sat down on a bench in the hallway next to her. She said he was obviously drunk. He began talking to her, asking questions, moving closer, and finally putting his arm around her shoulders.
Heather got up and walked away but the guy pursued her down an empty hall. She was able to get away, then headed to the office to report the creep to a counselor.
Yesterday when I picked her up, she mentioned that some guy she didn't know was coming on to her, but didn't go into detail about what had happened. I assumed it was one of the boys in her class giving her a construction-worker style "Hey, baby" as she walked by and told her to ignore him. Like most women, I think she was ashamed at first to tell anyone what happened, even her mother.
We've seen it over and over. Many of us have experienced it ourselves. The victim ends up feeling like she's the one at fault - like she somehow caused the incident or should have been able to handle it differently. Young or old, women are usually smaller, physically weaker. The men are bigger, stronger - sometimes even rich, famous and powerful. Think TV icon versus his victims who finally came forward and are being accused of lying - all twenty-five of them.
Heather is small and delicate and quiet. In short, the perfect victim for a sexual predator. I had a long talk with her - told her if anything like that ever happens again, she needs to get really loud, really fast and then get as far away as possible from the man. Yell at him, holler for help, threaten to call the police, create as big a scene as she can and don't be afraid of embarrassing herself or him. Come out strong and hard. It's the last thing he'll expect from her- and if she's lucky, God willing, it will be enough.
I'm spared the guilt of wondering whether I caused this. No one in my home town knows what I write or the pen name I use. So I don't have to ask myself if this creep singled my daughter out because he's read something I wrote.
My heroines are never victims, forced to do anything they don't already want to do deep inside. And from what I've read, 90% of the readers of books like mine are women. Women of all ages and all walks of life. Happily married. Single. Divorced. Students, soccer moms, grandmothers.
As always, I'm turning to writing to work it through. And here's what I know is true. It doesn't matter who you are, what you may fantasize about, what you read, what you write or what you wear. NO ONE has the right to touch you without your permission, to treat you with anything less than respect.
But I've lived in the real world too long, Heather. And I know that saying it doesn't make it so.
I woke up this morning planning to drive my daughter to school and spend the whole day working on my latest book. She's a high school senior in an early college program, attending classes at the community college. On the way to school, she told me she'd seen one of the counselor yesterday to report an incident that happened while she waited outside a classroom. Most of her classes this year are with adults of varying ages. Apparently an "old guy" in his forties sat down on a bench in the hallway next to her. She said he was obviously drunk. He began talking to her, asking questions, moving closer, and finally putting his arm around her shoulders.
Heather got up and walked away but the guy pursued her down an empty hall. She was able to get away, then headed to the office to report the creep to a counselor.
Yesterday when I picked her up, she mentioned that some guy she didn't know was coming on to her, but didn't go into detail about what had happened. I assumed it was one of the boys in her class giving her a construction-worker style "Hey, baby" as she walked by and told her to ignore him. Like most women, I think she was ashamed at first to tell anyone what happened, even her mother.
We've seen it over and over. Many of us have experienced it ourselves. The victim ends up feeling like she's the one at fault - like she somehow caused the incident or should have been able to handle it differently. Young or old, women are usually smaller, physically weaker. The men are bigger, stronger - sometimes even rich, famous and powerful. Think TV icon versus his victims who finally came forward and are being accused of lying - all twenty-five of them.
Heather is small and delicate and quiet. In short, the perfect victim for a sexual predator. I had a long talk with her - told her if anything like that ever happens again, she needs to get really loud, really fast and then get as far away as possible from the man. Yell at him, holler for help, threaten to call the police, create as big a scene as she can and don't be afraid of embarrassing herself or him. Come out strong and hard. It's the last thing he'll expect from her- and if she's lucky, God willing, it will be enough.
I'm spared the guilt of wondering whether I caused this. No one in my home town knows what I write or the pen name I use. So I don't have to ask myself if this creep singled my daughter out because he's read something I wrote.
My heroines are never victims, forced to do anything they don't already want to do deep inside. And from what I've read, 90% of the readers of books like mine are women. Women of all ages and all walks of life. Happily married. Single. Divorced. Students, soccer moms, grandmothers.
As always, I'm turning to writing to work it through. And here's what I know is true. It doesn't matter who you are, what you may fantasize about, what you read, what you write or what you wear. NO ONE has the right to touch you without your permission, to treat you with anything less than respect.
But I've lived in the real world too long, Heather. And I know that saying it doesn't make it so.
