Shut Out (6 page)

I stare after him. What does that mean? His shoulders are tense, his spine stiff…and still, I can admire his ass as he walks away. Unlike some guys who have a serious case of lack o' ass, he has an amazing butt.

I whirl around. Here I am trying to educate people about sexual harassment, and I'm objectifying him based on his ass. More hypocrisy. What is happening to me?

I take a few deep breaths and go over my training materials again. Soon I'm facing the group.

“Let's review our learning objectives for this module. By the end of it, you all will be able to correctly answer at least two questions about the incidence and prevalence of sexual assault, identify at least one factor contributing to the underreporting of sexual assault, and list at least two myths and two facts about rape and sexual assault.”

I focus on delivering the training. By the end of the hour, I sense the energy in the room dipping. We need to do something to get people more involved.

I studiously ignore Jacob as he leaves the room along with the others, then turn to Grace and Chad. “I think we need to do something different for the next session.”

“Like what?”

“Well, for the myths and facts part, I'm thinking about handing out sticky notes for people to write their ideas on. Then they can bring them up and put them on the flip chart.”

Chad nods. “Sure. We can try that.” But Grace makes a face.

“I think we need to be a bit more interactive,” I explain. “A few folks looked like they were falling asleep tonight. Plus, I feel like some people”—okay, specifically the men in the group—“aren't totally comfortable speaking up about these things. That way it will be anonymous.”

“Okay, sure, then.”

Grace still didn't seem impressed with my suggestion, so I'm a little nervous the next day, but I leap into it. I ask everyone to close their manuals and I hand out sticky notes. “Take a few minutes and write down ideas about either a myth or a fact about sexual assault on these sticky notes. When you're done, come on up and put your notes on either the ‘myth' side or the ‘fact' side.” I've already drawn the schematic.

When that's done, we break into smaller groups and I start reading out the answers people have put on the chart, asking everyone to comment on whether the note is in the right place. Gradually, everyone opens up and we have some pretty interesting discussions about some of the things people have posted. Then I bring up a few that weren't mentioned and we talk about whether rape can occur in same-sex relationships, and if men can be raped.

“Why do you think there's a myth that men can't be raped?” I scan the room now that we're back in the large group, avoiding Jacob's eyes.

However, it's he who speaks up. “Biology,” he says dryly.

I nod and wait for other responses.

“I think there's a belief that sex is something that men do
to
women,” one woman says slowly.

“Yes, exactly.”

“There's a belief that men
always
want sex,” someone else says.

After a few minutes, I share a true story I learned last year, not using names, about a guy who got drunk at a party. This isn't part of the usual training, but it was really impactful on me and I think it makes a point. The guy's girlfriend had left the party, but he didn't want to and kept assuring her he was fine. He passed out on a couch, and one of the hostesses offered to let him use her bedroom. While he was there, a girl climbed into bed with him and tried to convince him to have sex. “He was barely conscious, and she took advantage of him even though he tried to tell her he had a girlfriend and he didn't want to do it.” I pause. “What do you think his friends said the next day when he told them about it?”

There's silence for a minute, then one guy says, “They probably thought he was lucky.”

I nod. “Yeah, when he tried to tell his friends the next day, they were all astonished. They made comments like, ‘Lucky you, bro, give us the deets' and ‘I bet she didn't hold you down, you dog.' They didn't believe that a woman could have made him do something he didn't want to. Some of them implied that he must have wanted it to happen. Imagine if the gender was reversed.”

Everyone is gazing at me raptly. Yeah, using this real-life story is effective.

“Because of societal pressures like that, men are less likely to report rape, but the effects on a man can be exactly the same.”

We wrap things up for the day. Everyone rises. Jacob stands too and stretches his big, muscled body. Our eyes meet and I see something on his face I don't know how to interpret. His face is tight, his shoulders tensed and hunched. Then he turns away, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, and I peer down at the empty coffee cup in my hand as he leaves.

I don't know how I'm making it through the prevention and awareness sessions, but I am. Not only is the subject matter horrendous, I have a hard time sitting still for very long. Even an hour class has me fidgeting in my seat.

The only thing keeping me going? Skylar.

She's fucking astounding.

Talking about shit like this can't be fun for anyone—it's not supposed to be, I guess. It's supposed to be serious and educational. And yet she makes it interesting and relevant too. By the end of the third session, the group is talking out things way more openly than they were at the start.

I resist getting drawn into discussions because I really don't want to be there. On the other hand, it would be disrespectful to Skylar to sit scowling and silent, and I find I can't do that to her.

I hardly know this girl, but damn, she's got me kind of torqued up.

As I arrive on Thursday, I find myself surrounded by three freshmen girls, who start complimenting my biceps, asking me how much I work out and when does the hockey season start. I look up to see Skylar frowning at us, but she turns away immediately. A few minutes later, she's trying to get everyone's attention to start the session and the three girls reluctantly move to their seats. I meet Skylar's eyes and give a little shrug, but she coolly ignores me.

Today we're talking about consent.

“We define consent as voluntary, positive agreement between the participants to engage in specific sexual activity.” Skylar's eyes avoid mine as she talks, clearly remembering our make-out session and my turning down her invitation.
Shit.

“Do you all think that verbal consent is an absolute requirement for consensual sexual activity?”

People consider that.

“There are other ways to show you consent,” one woman offers.

“Yes, there are.”

“Talking about it beforehand kind of kills the mood,” Danny says.

There are murmurs of agreement from everyone.

“That can be true too,” Skylar agrees. “And it can feel awkward. But talking about what you want and need, and what your limits are, is important if you're going to be that intimate with someone, and it really is the basis for a positive experience.”

I have to admire how she can talk so openly about stuff like this and not seem embarrassed or uncomfortable. She makes it less uncomfortable for everyone else too.

Almost
everyone else. I find myself shifting in my seat a few times.

“So verbal consent isn't absolutely required, but it is the best way to make sure consent is clear and unambiguous. And the absence of a ‘no' should never be understood to mean consent is given. Now, what about alcohol and drugs?” Skylar looks around. “Someone who's incapacitated by drugs or alcohol isn't capable of giving valid consent. Drugs and alcohol can definitely impair judgment about whether consent has been asked for and given.”

The question is burning inside me. I lift my hand and ask it. “What if someone is asking for sex? Is that consent?”

Skylar gives me a level look, although her cheeks go as pink as her hair. “Is that someone sober or intoxicated?”

“Um…I guess that makes a difference.”

“Possibly.” She takes my question seriously, though. “Asking for sex when one's judgment isn't impaired certainly indicates consent. But when under the influence of drugs or alcohol, asking for sex could be a serious lapse in judgment. Depending on the situation. Also, a person can change his or her mind.”

I try not to frown. That wasn't what I wanted to hear.

We move on to talking about bystander intervention.

“Bystander intervention is a social science model that predicts that most people are unlikely to help others in certain situations.” Skylar makes eye contact again. “I don't know how many of you have ever witnessed something that you're not comfortable with and wondered if you should do something. One time I saw a mother give her young child a smack on the butt, right on the street while we were waiting for a bus. I felt so uncomfortable and so conflicted. I hated seeing her hit that boy. But is it my business how she disciplines her child? The child wasn't seriously hurt, but he was crying and upset. What if she did worse to him at home?” She looks around. “Anyone else ever experience that?”

Well, that opens floodgates. Everyone has a story, some good, some scary.

“Research has shown that one major reason bystanders fail to intervene is that the situation is too ambiguous, and like me seeing the mother spank her child, the bystander is worried about misjudging the situation and being embarrassed by intervening. Sometimes they think the victim is in some way responsible for the situation and is getting what they deserve. Like, I may have thought that child was acting out and
needed
to be reprimanded. So what we're going to learn today are the skills we need to be able to make that decision and intervene effectively when it's needed.”

I like talking about skills. Skills are something concrete and relatable. We talk about hockey skills all the time, so I can get into this.

“Here on campus, there are many situations where we might encounter a situation when it would be good to step in. There may be situations you see someone abusing alcohol. Maybe a hazing situation. Maybe a friend who you suspect has an eating disorder. Or, yeah, possibly sexual assault.”

She outlines a model called Step In, with four specific steps that are actually pretty cool and could be helpful.

Whoa. I'm really getting into this. What is even happening to me?

Then we're doing role-playing—which is kind of cheesy, but whatever. I've never been worried about making a fool of myself, so I throw myself into my role. There's lots of laughing and yet people are taking it seriously and really trying.

This makes me feel good for Skylar. What she's doing is amazing…and successful. Hell, she even sucked me in—Mr. Bad Attitude.

I'm both aware of her and protective of her. If anyone said or did anything not cool to her, you can bet I wouldn't be standing by, I'd damn well be intervening, punching their lights out.

Yeah, punching isn't one of the actual strategies, but I'm not afraid to throw down when it's needed.

Huh. I don't think I've ever felt protective of a girl before.

Skylar relates the bystander intervention back to consent and checking in to make sure that someone really is consenting. “It's about respecting yourself and others,” she finishes.

We end our last session on Friday evening with a review pop quiz that is actually hilarious, with some multiple choice answers that are over the top, and Skylar and Grace summarize the training. Then we're given information on the various groups within SAPAP we could volunteer for if we choose.

Back home, I wearily toss my messenger bag onto the floor in my room and throw myself down on the bed. But I can only lie there for a minute, energy burning through my veins. I need to go for a run.

I jump up and change into track pants and a T-shirt, then lace up my Nikes. In the kitchen, I pause to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “Whoa, what's with all the beer?”

“For the party tomorrow night,” Buck answers from his seat at the kitchen table, where he's got a textbook cracked open.

“What party?”

“You said you were coming.” He narrows his eyes at me.

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah, you did, we talked about it this morning.”

“Christ, that was before I had coffee. You know I don't function before caffeine.”

“A house party. You gotta come.”

“Why do you care about my social life?” Then I sigh. “You want me to drive again.”

“Nah, man. That's against the code.”

Oh yeah. The mysterious Bears Bro Code.

“You drove last time, that means we owe you one,” he continues. “But not this time. It's only a few blocks from here. We can walk.”

“Oh.” Well, if it's only a few blocks, I can go for a while and slide out without anyone noticing. “Okay. I'm going for a run. Be back in an hour.”

“All right. We're ordering pizza.”

“Sounds good.”

I fill my lungs with fresh fall air as my feet pound down the pavement. I've been using my runs to learn my way around campus and around town. Running is also a good way to work my body but also to empty my head. Today, I find myself thinking about some of the things we talked about in the training. But that's not what I want to think about, so instead I think about hockey and do some visualization about how our first game is going to go.

I'm still trying to find my place on this team. Coach seems like a good guy. When he sat down with me, he was up-front about my past and that I'm being held to a high standard. But he was also enthusiastic about my hockey ability. I've enjoyed our practices so far. He's tough and makes us work our asses off, but I already feel like I've learned a few things from him.

Back home, dripping sweat, I jump into the shower. Lately, showers are a time for a little yank and spank, and I lean against the wall as my soaped-up hand slides on my dick. Oh yeah…that feels so damn good…Dammit, who am I imagining? Skylar.

Why couldn't I have just been a jerk and taken her up on her offer to go upstairs that night? She offered. She was as turned on as I was, and I don't think I'm being an asshole when I say I know that. Neither of us was drunk, it could've been so good…even though we'd just met.

Pleasure pours through my body as my orgasm explodes, my body shuddering. The water washes away the evidence and I stand beneath the scalding hot shower for a long moment to catch my breath.

I sigh as I towel off. Naked, I walk from the bathroom to my room.

“Oh hey. Nice.”

The female voice stops me in my tracks.

I stare in horror at the girl who's emerged from Rocket's room. I lower the sweaty clothes clutched in my hands to cover my groin. “Sorry! Didn't know anyone was here.”

She smiles. “Don't apologize. That was totally my pleasure.” She waves a hand up and down toward me as I back into my room.

Damn.

I'm so used to walking around naked—in the dressing room and here—I never even thought there could be someone other than one of the guys around. Well, at least she liked what she saw.

In my room, I discover I've run out of clean clothes.

“What the fuck,” I grumble as I shake out a T-shirt I pull from the hamper. I know this is gross, but what else can I do? I step into a pair of black sweats and head downstairs. No females are in sight, only Buck and Soupy opening the pizza boxes, which were just delivered.

“Who do I owe for the pizza?” I grab a plate.

“Me,” Buck says. “Ten bucks. Thanks, man.”

I'm starving after my run and could eat a large meat lovers' pizza all on my own. “Who was the girl up in Rocket's room? I just flashed her.”

“Ha-ha-ha.” Buck grins. “That gives new meaning to your nickname, Flash.”

Soupy cracks up too. “Seriously?”

I grin. “Didn't know she was here.”

“That's the girl he left the party with last Friday.” Buck gives Soupy a smirk. “
Some
people got lucky that night. And by ‘some' I mean not you.”

“Yeah, yeah, shots received, dickhead.”

Buck now frowns at me. “Dude. That shirt is nasty.”

I sigh. “I know. I need to do laundry.”

“Get on that.”

I hate to admit it, but I do, anyway. “I'm not exactly sure how.”

They gape at me. “What?”

I shrug. “I missed Laundry 101 when I was traveling and playing hockey. My billet family did my laundry for me.”

“Jesus.” Buck sighs. “Okay, tomorrow morning, you and me. Laundry lessons. It's pathetic, but I'll help you out.”

“Sounds like a fun Saturday.”

“No shit.” He starts going on about separating lights from darks, the use of stain remover, and hot water versus cold.

“Jesus. I guess when you spend as much as you do on clothes, you have to learn to look after them.”

“True that.” Buck grins. “You don't wanna ruin a hundred-dollar pair of jeans, that's for sure.”

“So what are you guys up to tonight?”

“Poker and cigars night. Barks and Jimmy are coming over.”

“Cigars? Barf.”

Buck laughs. “Yeah, I kinda agree. But it's a tradition.” He pauses.

I don't want an invitation to join them. I need to study, and cigars disgust me. Yet…

“You wanna join us?” he says.

“Sure.”

I try to sound casual, but I mentally smack myself at my excitement of maybe finally fitting in.