In the process of talking to my friend Fluffy about old traumas this evening, it become absolutely clear: much is made of the leering, frothing disgusting rapist, ready and waiting in the shadows to defile.
Looking back, my rapist was incredibly normal — even a bit tedious.
He was a Republican. He loved the Red Sox and Family Guy.
These days, I would never have dated him. I would have thought him boring and passed right over him.
Product of rape culture? Is this masculinity by default?