Consent  A marble queen ivy  Tonight I saw an old movie I hadn't seem before.  It had Jodie Foster in it, and was called "The Accused."  It's about this woman who is raped in a bar by three guys while a crowd cheers them on.  There is quite an uphill battle in the courtroom, on account of she had been drunk and on pot at the time, she had been flirtatious and fun previously.  It had to be proved that she didn't ask to be raped.  The key testimony winds up coming from a young student who'd been playing video games at the time, who'd phoned 911.      Watching as he relived the night of the rape during his testimony, I was fixed by the whole dynamic.  Here was this woman, having fun, drinking, getting friendly with this one guy, playing pinball, dancing when her favorite song came on the jukebox.  People were watching, appreciatively, as the two became affectionate during the dance.  But when she said it was time to leave, she had to work in the morning, it got ugly, and the guy took her on the machine, asking his buds to help hold her down.  The crowd got so unruly that the guys were egged on to more and more performance, she fighting whenever she got the chance, yelling during the few times her mouth wasn't covered by a meaty hand.      Seems like I have a memory for every occasion, don't it?      Once upon a time, I was in my barracks room having some drinks with two guy neighbors and friends.  I had tequila but precious little mixer for it, so we wound up eventually just drinking the stuff straight.  I was, as always, an incorrigible flirt, an affectionate drunk, but things were moving too fast with this one guy, and I asked him to stop, as kisses progressed to feels which progressed to invasion with his fingers.  My no's got louder and more insistent, but he held me down and took me anyway.  My struggling was uncoordinated, weak; I was too far gone.  The other guy watched in slack-jawed...amazement?  Indecision?  I dunno.  He just sat there looking stupid.      When the guy was done with me, no condom or anything by the way, he let go of me.  I hit him and called him a bastard.  I stumbled to the bathroom, the other guy right behind me.  He tried to console me, comfort me, convince me he didn't know it wasn't an act.  He thought it was part of the game, was sure his friend must have thought so, too, that I really wanted it.  He told his friend to get lost, and hung with me awhile while I cried and blubbered, then I told him to go too.  And I bathed and bathed.      I'm not asking for any judgment here.  I am not saying who is guilty and who is bad and whether there was a criminal act committed or what.  Just telling a story, here.  One of many.  I didn't tell anybody what happened, not until years later.      My experience seems small and insignificant when compared to the one in the story, but there are common elements.  Fun goes awry.  The instigator doesn't take no for an answer.  Through the inaction of someone else, it's allowed to happen.      How do I feel about it?  Now?  Angry.  Angry at the guy who was determined to get what he wanted whether I wanted it or not.  Angry at the guy who just watched.  Angry at me for letting myself get so vulnerable, so easy to overcome.  -- Spring  link o' the day: Spiritweb