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I'm Afraid of Men

My Conditioning of Fear and Story of Rape

By Nathan ArchibaldPublished 5 years ago 3 min read
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I am afraid to talk to boys. I have been conditioned to be afraid of the conversation. The fear that I speak of, is for those men of toxic masculinity. Put me into a gay nightclub setting and I can talk to anyone with no fear, we all feel safe in that kind of a setting. It’s the cute guy who sits across from me, in the cafe, that I am afraid of. I am not afraid of him, I am afraid of what he could say to me if I approached him.

You see, I don’t want to offend this man if he turns out to be straight. Heaven forbid that someone of the same sex compliments you and wants to buy you a drink or share a conversation. The world I live in has conditioned me to be afraid of other men. The only places I feel safe as a gay man is a bar, or the “dating apps” created for us to connect. I want nothing more than to meet a guy in a normal, regular day scenario. I want to meet this guy at the cafe.

Meeting someone at the bar is generally in a drunken or heavily buzzed state. The words we exchange tend to be more flirtatious, sexually fueled, and inviting. I don’t go to bars to meet guys and hook-up. On the other hand, we have the “dating apps.” Almost every app, for gay men, is designed to be more of a gallery of hot bodies without heads, or faceless profiles with no information. I view the dating apps as vending machines for sex, where the currency is explicit photos of our bodies. I don’t want to be a spectacle. I fell victim to a dating app once.

I met someone who I felt was trustworthy. I was invited to his home to enjoy wine and watch TV. I had recently moved to San Jose, from Chico. Chico is known as a party town, because of Chico State. There are so many things I learned about myself while living in Chico. I learned about relationships, work, and drinking. During any holiday there would be parties and copious amounts of drinking, which I was more than happy to take part in. I digress. I was in this man’s apartment drinking wine, I was only two glasses in, and after living in Chico, I could easily drink a whole bottle to myself and feel slightly buzzed. The next thing I know I am waking up in this man’s bed, being penetrated. I clearly remember telling him to stop, but he told me it was okay and I blacked back out.

I finally woke up again in the dark morning hours feeling absolutely sick to my stomach. The man was passed out in his bed next to me, as I feared for my safety. He had drugged me and taken advantage of my weakened state. I was still under the influence of whatever he had drugged me with, but I had to escape. I don’t even remember if I grabbed all of my possessions. I got in my car, looked back at the apartment I had just run away from and cried. I drove home crying, and under the influence of drugs. A report was never made as to my rape because I had made the entire encounter my fault. It was my fault that I went to a stranger's house and drank his wine. It was my fault for not being more considerate of my own safety and taking note of where I was.

Now that I have become more aware of myself and my safety, I don’t want to meet a guy in those potentially hazardous situations, but I have been conditioned to be afraid. This guy at the cafe is so cute and potentially gay. He has been here a few times when I have, but I can’t bring myself to say, hi. I resign myself to sitting behind my computer and make furtive glances in his direction. Maybe one day he will approach me because I will not approach him.

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