Being the quintessential Gemini that I am, I have been at odds with a lot of what is happening right now in my life while trying to figure out what my line really is. I’ve been involved with THE LINE Campaign since January of this year, starting the new year fresh with fem-fucking-power, and it has taken up a permanent spot in my heart, mind and soul. Not only does it re-awaken my feminist spirit every single day, but I have become part of the bigger movement and that has given me the courage to speak out.

A good friend of mine recently told me that I should watch what I say. Although I do admit that I don’t (always) think before I leap, I just can’t keep my mouth shut when I don’t agree with something(or somebody). He told me this after I posted a public note on the door of his building shouting out the sexist, violent asshole on the sixth floor that catcalls womyn from the stoop and thinks that hog-tying his beautiful german shepherd is “funny”. I felt that he needs to be publicly embarrassed and all the womyn living in the same building as him need to be aware of this creep. An hour later, another note appeared in the same place as the prior one stating “I know it was you, you bitch, you fucking cunt.” Obviously he couldn’t think of anything to say except to respond with vulgarities.

I don’t think that I say enough sometimes.

But back to what I was saying..

I’ve been in the city for over a week now, after traveling around New Orleans, then to Detroit for the US Social Forum. I’ve had some time now to organize and sift through my thoughts and feelings, however I am all-over-the-place and can’t seem to do much gathering. I’ve been thinking about where I stand in love and relationships frequently recently because I am seeing someone exclusively, but I’ve realized that I never reach satisfaction in any relationship because I always feel like there is something missing. For the last three years, I’ve succumbed to the fusion of another human being’s life with my own and haven’t had any time on my own.

Shit, I want to be selfish right now. I want to not worry about anyone else’s need besides my own. Fuck male domination, fuck societal paternal pressure of fucking your partner out of pity and fuck men colonizing womyn of color into relationships to obtain control over our lives. I see/hear/feel it with myself and whomever I talk to. Despite whatever madness (or realty) I may afflict, I haven’t felt this rounded and comfortable with myself– ever.

I steal the title of this post from the COLORR (Colorado Organization for Latina Opportunity and Reproductive Rights) girls who I met at USSF at their sexual health ‘zine-makin’ workshop. We ended the workshop in a circle holding-hands reciting Assata Shakur “to my people”, then placing our hands over our hearts and pussies (or cocks) while saying “me quiero, me cuido”. Translation: I love myself, then I’ll take care of myself.

My whole life as a woman, I was told how to avoid rape. The usual advice of not dressing “slutty”, not parking far away from buildings, not going out after dark, not going places alone. All of these “precautions” were a reaction to the stranger myth of rape and sexual assault- the theory that a woman will be attacked by a complete stranger. It never occurred to me that I could be assaulted by someone I knew: I went on dates with men and never thought to be afraid of them or their roommates, although they certainly also could have raped me as soon as any stranger. Thankfully, that didn’t happen, but certain lines were crossed.

I went on a few dates with a guy I will call “The Eternal Frat Boy” due to his love of drinking and partying- constantly. He was a nice guy, but somewhat of a “player.” Either way, The Eternal Frat Boy and I ended up in his room making out. One thing led to another and eventually he just grabbed my hand and stuck it down his pants. When I froze and didn’t do anything, he became upset. Eventually he just let it drop, but looking back on that scenario I have multiple thoughts on the situation, including the coercion ploy of his being upset, his lack of interest in obtaining consent, the lasting feeling of shame and embarassment that I felt afterward, and lastly: the fact that I am in no way alone in telling a story like this one.

When women assert themselves in not wanting to do something sexual, they are told that they are prudish, naive, and unsatisfactory. It is total crap. We have the right to say when we are uncomfortable, even if our Eternal Frat Boys weren’t expecting it.

Another scenario involves the “California Boy.” We went out a few times, ended up making out and at one point we started to get semi-naked. We were making out when I felt his fingers moving towards my vagina, and I quickly asked what he was doing. He shushed me and stuck his finger inside of me. Was it as traumatic as other forms of sexual assault or rape? No. Was it invasive, scary, semi-traumatic, and wrong? Yes. He never asked me if I wanted him. A common theme explored in “Yes means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape,” the anthology edited by Jaclyn Friedman and Jessica Valenti, is the need to focus on exploring the “Yes” of sex and not the “No” of violation. There are too many people that think women who don’t say “yes” still want sex. This is not true.

Sadly enough, I did not really come to terms with what consent was until I began dating my current boyfriend. One night we began kissing and he stopped, looked at me, and said, “are you sure you want to do this?” I was honestly taken aback. Two seconds forever changed how I look at consent. This is how every sexual encounter of any kind should be for everyone: one or both partners looking for the “yes.”

The issue of consent, and our respective lines, came up fairly early in mine and my partner’s relationship. The morning after a night of heavy drinking, he asked if we had had sex that night. I replied that we hadn’t:  he was much too drunk, and I didn’t want to take advantage of him. He didn’t seem to find a problem with sex in such a state of inebriation, explaining that “having sex is something we would have done drunk or sober.”

My partner and I have very different views on what constitutes consent. For him, the green light is given at the beginning of the relationship, while I feel safer granting permission, be it verbally or nonverbally, each time, and staying in full control of my body and the situation. These kinds of boundaries must be reconciled and respected in order for any relationship to work.

I made it very clear at that point that if I am drunk- repeating conversations; blacked out; falling asleep in an alcohol-induced slumber- or otherwise too under the influence to make a conscious, responsible decision about whether or not I want to have sex, then I am to be left alone to pass out in peace. Even more unpleasant than a hangover is the feeling of being violated.

There is no gesture sexier, more attractive, more moving, or more conveying of respect, than waking up to find yourself still in last night’s clothes, curled into the same fetal position in which you fell asleep (with a blanket protectively draped over you), and turning over to see your partner fully clothed as well, surrounded by obvious signs of sexless evening. For me, that strict observance of my boundaries and respect for my line, my sense of safety, is more romantic than any traditional display of affection; consent is the modern woman’s jewelry and flowers and chocolates and white horses and chivalrous brouhaha.

How one defines safety in a sexual situation is difficult, as it is a concept that is subjective, often circular in its logic, and privy to changing at a moment’s notice. For me, however, safety is as simple as being with someone with whom saying “yes” is just as easy as saying “no.”

THE LINE has had a successful year. The film- and Nancy- have touched countless lives and minds, started tremendous heartfelt discussions on campuses worldwide, and impacted communities near and far with a sex-positive and genuine message about sex, communication, and consent.

For those of you who brought this dynamic and thought-provoking program to campus: thank you. For those of you who attended and took part in this movement: thank you. For those of you who write, submit, support, and promote us in your own work and your personal lives: thank you.

And for those of you who want to keep in touch… we’re now offering a newsletter! Keep updated about upcoming and past screenings, updates on relevant topics and items of interest, and opportunities to transform your communities! If you’d like to subscribe to the newsletter, please click here and sign up.

Hello, everyone! My name is Sarah Haack, and I am part of the new crop of bloggers here at Where Is Your Line?

Originally from Richmond, Virginia, I now attend American University in Washington, DC (along with the fabulous Carmen Rios, fellow Vagina Monologues cast member and she-ro) as an Environmental Studies major. I will be studying Linguistics and Scandinavian Studies at the University of Gothenburg in Sweden next year, but in the meantime, I am living in New York City, interning with the Girl Scouts of the USA, and learning the finer points of navigating bureaucracy, planning potlucks, and empowering women and girls.

I toured AU during the April of my senior year in high school, taking in the campus one last time before sending in my acceptance letter, and vividly remember the painted t-shirts strung throughout the student center in preparation for Take Back the Night, part of Sexual Assault Awareness Month. One statistic struck me in particular: that one in three women are sexually assaulted. Still in high school and rather naive, this number resonated as tragic, but hollow, sympathetic but not empathetic. Two years later, I found myself standing on the before those t-shirts as a survivor. It is selfish, I admit, to not really take up a cause until it affects oneself directly, but when I was puff-painting my own statistic on that white v-neck after a realization that took a full year, I finally understood the impact of today’s hookup culture and its implications, and how important it is to open the lines of communication not just about sexual assault, but about sex itself. The perceived “gray area” of sexual assault needs to be eliminated, and replaced with standards where a YES! is just as important as a no.
I was drawn to Where Is Your Line? by its sex-positive attitude and celebration of sexuality. Consent is more than knowing when to say no, but also knowing you can say yes; it’s feeling safe enough to enjoy sex that meets your standards, whether it be with a long-term partner or a total stranger, and being strong enough to draw a line that is either non-negotiable or ever-changing. The pervasive rape culture in which we find ourselves dictates that our demeanor, our alcohol consumption, and even our outfits, are all indicators of our willingness to be sexual- and can be interpreted as such without any discussion. And yes, my miniskirt and five-inch heels are an expression of my sexuality, but that does not (necessarily) mean I want to share that with you. Believe me, if I did, you’d know it. I’d tell you. Just ask.

After the film screening of THE LINE at Barnard College, I was asked to fill out a sticker with my answer to the question “where is your line?” It was difficult for me to put into words what my line specifically was, because it is constantly changing. I thought, well I guess my line is this and that, but wait, what if I had a bad day, I wouldn’t want anyone near me! It is so hard to express what my line is in one sentence- my comfort levels can change with time, my environment, and sometimes even what I am wearing.

My decision to have sex made it difficult for me to express a line in high school. Back then, rumors about my sexual past made boys think that I would automatically have sex with them because I had already done certain things. But having sex was a decision that I made because I thought I was in love and I felt that I was ready to lose my virginity, not an invitation for dirty text messages or naked pictures. Those rumors made establishing my line a lot more difficult during high school. I didn’t like upsetting people: I wanted to make a guy happy by playing along with flirting, regardless of whether or not I felt comfortable.

Looking back at this, I thought of my answer: “My line is what makes me HAPPY at the end of the day.” Over time, I realized that the most important thing about any decision I make is my own happiness. I believe that any decision is justified as long as I can look in the mirror and still be proud of the person that I see standing before me. I have learned to be more comfortable speaking about my sex life and saying no to sex. My sexual life is supposed to make me happy, and regardless of what I choose to do, I want to be able to look in the mirror and know that I did it for my own happiness.

As the new editor of this blog, I want to say a big THANK YOU to everyone who responded with such fire to our call to action. We’re stronger now, and here comes the tidal wave: we’re going to be introducing all of our new bloggers and exploring the power of our voices throughout this week.

We asked YOU, in all corners of the USA- and beyond- the same question: where is your line?

And you told us:

It’s common-fucking-sense.

Some excerpts from the report (and yes, we did leave out the reference to sexting as “relationship currency.”):

On the sharing of “sexted” images:

Nearly one in five sext recipients (17%) reports having passed the images along to someone else, with more than half (55%) of those who passed the images to someone else sharing them with more than one person.

On current legal practices:

It has been one year today since the death of Michael Jackson. His name is one that is sloppily being cleaned off, having been covered in dirt, accusations, and lost opportunities (and sanities) for years. He was pretty ridiculous, let’s not kid ourselves- and he was one of the most scandalized public figures in the world before he died.

But Michael Jackson was also a philanthropist, a giver, a kind heart who wanted people to unite regardless of color, work to improve their world, and come together to create change. Reconciling the sex abuse scandals, the erratic behavior, and the eerie personality with his immense talent, ambition, passion, and conviction has always been one of my personal challenges.

In this excellent article from Dr. Susan Block, published last August following his passing, Michael’s sexuality is analyzed for what it was – public property. Michael Jackson scandalized, publicized, sold, and learned about sex in front of an audience:

Michael was raised as a sex object, groomed to be an exhibitionist, dressed up and made to dance and sing for the pleasure of adults.  In his off-stage hours, he observed two very different attitudes towards sex.  Performing in strip clubs at age nine, he saw his “strict” father cheating on his mother and his brothers having casual sex with groupies while he hid under the covers, probably scared that these older females would come after him.  Maybe some of them did.  Maybe some of the guys did.  Whatever happened in those seedy venues, eventually little Michael went home to his beloved mother who was strict in a very different way, a devout Jehovah’s Witness, who taught him that “lust in thought or deed” was horribly sinful.  No wonder his adorable head explodes into a monstrous werewolf right after a girl embraces him lovingly in the opening scene of “Thriller.”

Michael Jackson received conflicting messages about sex as a child in Hollywood, playing with the stars and learning about sex in all of the wrong places. He was caught in the dichotomy between right and wrong, performance and lifestyle. He was often perceived as being confused by and fearful of his own sexuality, which isn’t surprising when taking into account that the fame he learned about sex from was often fleeting and harmful.

The bottom line? We need to start talking about sex, and we need to stop shaming sex. Michael Jackson may not be an “example” of why, but his story is certainly not unique: he sold sex but was raised to be ashamed of it, just like young people here in the USA and around the world. Young women, especially, consume sexual messages everyday that are conflicting and harmful.

So here’s to you, Michael- for always making us think, for challenging our boundaries, and for all those sunny afternoons where I played Thriller on my boombox and dreamt about my future. It isn’t the same without you.

I chose the above response from Hunter College because it explains where my line falls, too: without respect, how can there be anything else? I believe that if someone doesn’t respect me enough to ask about my boundaries, they’re not worth my time.

And I know that conviction may seem simple, but it’s not.

The other day, my friend told me she was in bed with a guy and he crossed her line. Then she told me they were “both to blame,” and she “accepted his apology.” I was surprised that she accepted his apology (and to think- he apologized via text message!) with such ease. Did I hear her right? She said he was her friend and it was stupid. A friend? How could he disrespect her boundaries like that? I still feel guilty that I sat silently when she told me this, but I didn’t want to push the issue.

I don’t know how I can best talk to my friend about this openly and honestly. What am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to tell her not to forgive him? Should I tell her straight-up that it wasn’t okay for him to cross her line? I’m nervous she would get mad at me, and that she’ll think I’m making a big deal out of “nothing.” I didn’t say anything to her because I didn’t want to be patronizing, and I didn’t want to lecture her- but I also want her to know that I care about her, and that it is something she deserves more than a text about.

I feel strongly about this, and I’m disappointed in myself for not having said anything yet. I want my friend to be with someone who respects her, and I want her to know that. So how can I talk to her about this without stressing her out or upsetting her?