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…have happened to me several times in my life. I will relate a few of the events as illustration, not necessarily to add credibility.
The first time I was a college sophomore and my creative writing teacher, a guy in his late 40s/early 50s, claimed to love my poetry, was taking me around Denver to various poetry groups to read. I believed he sincerely liked my work. He was a semi-famous poet, had been published in The New Yorker, so this was very nice. Then, when he brought me back to school after one of these, he grabbed my breast and tried to kiss me. We were ON CAMPUS in broad daylight, and he seemed not to have a second thought. I pulled away and ran.
From that moment on, I have doubted the quality of my work.
The following summer I got married. It was a mistake, and I knew it, because already before the wedding the guy kneed me in the groin. The marriage lasted six years and one good thing that came from it is that a friend (male) I had back in those days became a champion in Berkeley for abused women and began a landmark program to help them. In those days there was no where to go and the attitude was, “It’s your marriage.” I later learned from my mother-in-law that my father-in-law treated her similarly…
In grad school I was invited to a party by a professor, but the party turned out not to be me and a few others, but just me and some Scotch. First we played ping-pong in the rec room of the prof’s apartment waiting for the others, then we went up to his apartment where he poured me a Scotch (that I did not drink) and grabbed my tit. “Ooooh what a nice little booby,” he said. I was out of there in seconds, drove home on the Valley Highway to my apartment near DU, trying not to puke inside my car and, thank the gods, succeeding.
Though I have many more stories, I don’t want to say much more, but suffice it that stuff like this happened until I was nearly sixty — situations including not getting tenure because I had refused to “put out” to a guy on the tenure committee and being offered sex by students for a higher grade. “I’ll do anything for an A.”
And I was not then — or ever — an obviously sexy, provocative woman. I have no idea what part I played in any of this. I’m not sure I played any part in it.
So, to those of you who think that the Woman’s March yesterday is about bitter feelings because Trump won, no, it isn’t. Maybe you’ve never experienced these things and you’re willing to give a “chance” to a man who openly admits to having done them.