The Green Light
By Brooke Hannel
Graphic by Jas Calcitas
Content Warning: Sexual assault.
The following work contains sensitive content. Please be advised.
Consent is spoken in hush tones and a catalyst for war in a classroom. Consent can transform even the burliest men into a burlap sack, for fear that they will be ostracized because of a fleeting moment. However, a fleeting moment could last a thousand more for someone else. A record player stuck on the same groove.
Since I was young I was feverishly taught consent. I was bombarded with it in every health class, in any sort of modern media I consumed. The most important contract of sexual activity is a two syllable word. No, not horny. Consent.
I knew it was important, and I valued it. But recently it's been a constant tune in my head, the word echoing through the halls of my mind, repeating itself to me. Mainly because I’ve been trying to understand my own discomfort with a particular incident.
A few weeks ago, during the chilling and dull early days of January, I agreed to go on a date. He was handsome and confident, a little golden boy. His shiny hair and his pompous strut exuded that he has only ever received praise and affection. I thought it was fun to make snarky remarks and tease him, some banter, anything to chip his armor.
It was a good back and forth. I made him work for it.
“Rate the date, on a scale of 1-10.”
“Hm. A 7.”
“Only a 7? That’s ok, it’s passing.”
or
“What is your honest opinion of me?”
“I think you convey an overly egotistical persona to compensate for your insecurities.”
“Wow, you just went for it.”
Towards the end of the date, he invited me back to his place to watch a film. We were snuggled up in his bed. It was memory foam, of course.
The movie ended, and he looked over at me. I knew he was going to kiss me, I had been waiting all night, and truthfully I wanted Prince Charming to kiss me. See if his lips tasted as good as he smelled. So, I accepted him. Parted my lips. Felt his soft touch.
However, the innocence was quickly snuffed out. He became aggressive. It was a metamorphosis. I became frightened. I couldn’t tell if I enjoyed it, if I had truly wanted this, was I enthralled or simply felt too insecure to move away.
At points when he felt me falter, I was growing tired. He pushed me down. An overwhelming weight on top of me. His lips, pressing my head deeper into the mattress, no room to push away nor verbalize rejection.
He did preface that if I wasn’t comfortable with something to push him away or tell him to stop. But the times I did, I said no twice, he would justify himself. Make a case for his unwanted touch. Or when he coyly creeped his hand up and clamped my throat, I was just confused and anxious. I eventually became exhausted from trying to say no or even care to push him away. A form of numbness washed over me and I just waited for his kisses to cease.
He finally let me go, I sighed with relief, and he dropped me off.
I couldn’t tell if I had a wonderful or terrible time. I called my friends and explained the whole of it, providing detailed imagery of my time. I thought for a moment they would be proud, that I had moved onto the next step of womanhood, that I had an exciting kiss story, that I sit among their ranks. But the responses I received were alarming.
My friends giggled as I turned the kiss into a funny story, which involved me yelling and swearing. Comedy at it’s finest. However, their giggles quickly turned to gasps and slight head shakes. My friends said I was violated and disrespected. My numbness hadn’t faltered yet, and I didn’t feel like I could define it as a violation.
But as the days went on, I started to feel like something was wrong. The numbness had withered and I was left with disgust. I felt as though he took something away or he had hurt me. I felt that there was something wrong. Didn’t I consent to his touch? I didn’t pull away or say no, but the feeling that I had been assaulted rang through my entire body.
I ended up seeing him again. I sat next to him, and he immediately began to kiss my neck and I immediately felt nauseous, I gagged. I lied and told him it was my medication, but it was him. My body had revolted at the pure thought of him being near me. And although my mind hadn’t made the connection yet, my body had already received the revelation. My body had felt violated and coerced. I wasn’t comfortable nor did I feel safe, and all those feelings stemmed from a night that I had thought I offered full consent to. My body language didn’t scream that I ached for him but I had pulled him away and said no twice, yet his hands found their way back again.
These conflicted feelings of whether I had given him full permission and feeling disrespected continuously scratched at my mind, begging for a resolution. Which resulted in multiple searches for what exactly was consent.
“Consent is a voluntary, enthusiastic, and clear agreement between the participants to engage in specific sexual activity.”
Planned Parenthood’s website goes into a bit more detail of what to expect: “You get the final say over what happens with your body. It doesn’t matter if you’ve hooked up before or even if you said yes earlier and then changed your mind. You’re allowed to say “stop” at any time, and your partner needs to respect that. Consent is never implied by things like your past behavior, what you wear, or where you go. Sexual consent is always clearly communicated — there should be no question or mystery. Silence is not consent. And it’s not just important the first time you’re with someone. Couples who’ve had sex before or even ones who’ve been together for a long time also need to consent before sex — every time.”
Healthline also discusses what non verbal consent looks like. “A person might communicate that they don’t consent by using actions and body language. These are possible nonverbal cues that indicate that you don’t have consent:
pushing away
pulling away
avoiding eye contact
shaking their head no
silence
not responding physically — just lying there motionless
crying
looking scared or sad
not removing their own clothing
Even if a person appears to be giving nonverbal cues that make it seem like they’re into it and want to have sex, make sure you get verbal consent before continuing. Be sure and don’t just assume. Often times, people who’ve experienced sexual assault are silent and appear to “give in” to the sexual act for fear of harm or wanting the incident to be over, NOT because they’re consenting to the act.”
After this research, I felt more validated in my feelings. It was ok for me to feel these emotions. And even though I remain unsure as to whether I gave ample consent to him, I felt assured knowing I wasn’t alone.
I met with many friends after and asked if they had ever felt pressured or intimidated to continue an activity they were no longer comfortable with. And every woman I spoke to echoed the same response. That they had felt too insecure to say no, that their anxieties and insecurities spoke louder than their comfort.
On the matter of the men, I have no idea if they purposely knew what they were doing. Whether they played the fool in order to exhaust us to submission or if they thought they had received the green light.
But what I do know is that this is something that deserves to be taught and implemented in our culture, especially dating culture, so I never have to hear my own feelings parroted back at me.