For those who don't believe, Number Six

I am 24
I am 24 and I have had a few boyfriends. I think this happens after Friends' Boss, but I can't remember. I remember these events by where I was living at the time. Friends' Boss and The Broker Who Kissed Me both happen while I am living in the apartment off Steck Ave in Austin.

I date the Turkish guy when I rent the house on Indian Trail with my friend Rebecca.

The Dentist happens when I am in the duplex on Stamford.

Nobody while I am in the duplex on Windsor.

Anyhow.

I am 24 and I dated my college boyfriend - Calvin, the one I almost married, and a sweet, sweet man for about six months in Houston before I  move to Austin.

And maybe Friends' Boss or maybe he is after.

I can't remember.

I work for an insurance company. We work with brokers. The brokers bring us the requests for proposal. I am paid a salary, but I get a bonus for every new account I sell. It is in my financial interests to develop and maintain good relationships with my brokers.

A broker comes to us for a bid. My boss tells me to work with him. So I do.

I like Broker. He is funny and nice.

He is also old. So so old. He must be at least 50. Like - he is my dad's age.

Ancient.

Ancient and married and someone from work which, I have learned, is not a good idea, as sweet, sweet man in Houston works for the same company I do and working with someone I date was not the problem. It was working with someone I used to date that was not so great.

Don't get your honey where you get your money. I learned that lesson and have abided (abode?) by it since.

Let's list the facts again:

• It's WORK
• He's OLD
• He's MARRIED
• It's WORK

But I have fun with broker. I like talking to him.

If you talk to a man and you laugh at his jokes, does that mean you want him to kiss you?

What is the standard of behavior a woman must maintain to make it clear that no advances, verbal or physical, are welcome?

How must a woman dress? What must she say? What must she do? How must she look?

Are my navy blue Joseph Banks suits with the starched white blouses and those stupid bow ties too provocative?

Is it that I have conversations with Broker?

Surely I do something.

For when he kisses me - which he does when I see him on my way home from the grocery store and pull the car over to say hi at the soccer field where he is coaching a kids' team - and when I tell my boss I no longer want to work with him because he kissed me, my boss tells me that I must have done something to invite that behavior.

In my world, a kiss on the lips is not usual in professional relationships. A kiss on the cheek is not even usual in professional relationships. I will hug some of my corporate HQ co-workers I see only twice a year, but - I initiate the hug.

I have never thought I should kiss them, even on the cheek, and have never thought such a thing would be appropriate.

But in my boss's mind, I have done something to make Broker think I want him to kiss me on the lips and that such behavior would be welcome.

It was my fault. I asked for it. 

For those who don't believe, Number Five

I am 23
I am living in Austin. I meet my friends' boss. He is in his early 30s. I think he's kind of hot, but - he's old and he's my friends' boss and he has a girlfriend anyhow.

Friends' Boss (FB) quits his job to return to school - out of town - for a master's degree. He comes back to Austin for spring break and shows up at a party I am attending with my friends. We talk. A lot. He has broken up with his girlfriend. So I flirt with him, as much as I know how.

(Remember, I am the girl who was not asked to a single high-school dance - except the ROTC ball, which is still weird, because I never had one nice conversation with the guy who asked me.)

In retrospect, I see that youth is its own beauty. Twenty three is gorgeous. Twenty three is firm and unblemished and glossy.

This one is the hardest to write. I don't think I have ever told this story to anyone in real life. (I may have written about it here before.)

I told it to Primo last week and his first reaction was, "But - but why did you see him again?"

And Primo is the person who loves me most in the world outside of my mother, my brother, my sister, and my other blood relations.

When the person who loves you the most questions your actions, how do you not question them yourself?

This is the one that causes me the most shame. The one that makes me question myself the most. The one that makes  me blame myself.

And then I get angry because WHY DO MEN PRESUME? AND WHY WON'T THEY JUST TAKE "NO" FOR AN ANSWER?

All I want is for my space and my voice to be respected. All I want is to sit in a seat and not be bothered by some man who decides that his desire for company overrides my desire not for company. All I want is to be able to tell a man to leave me alone and have him LEAVE ME ALONE.

No. All I want is NOT TO HAVE TO TELL HIM THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE. What makes some men think that they get to decide everything? That just because THEY WANT, I have to listen?

So FB calls me from Houston after the party. He wants to see me again.

Stupid me. I think he means take me on a date. Sure! I tell him.

He knocks on my door the next day. I don't remember what we do - maybe we do go out to eat. When we return to my apartment, I ask him - out of politeness, more than anything - where he is staying.

"With you!" he says.

Ummmmm.....

That was not  my plan.

"No," I tell him.

And what ensues is an hour-long conversation - and I use that term lightly - in which he convinces me he can stay - "I guess you can sleep on the couch" - and then convinces me to let him into my bed -

DO YOU SEE WHY I AM SO ASHAMED OF THIS? DO YOU SEE WHY I FEEL SO STUPID?

This is why I don't tell this story. This is why I know this is my fault.

Because I let him.

I let him into my bed.

And then I let him - you know.

And - this is where Primo was in absolute disbelief - I let him visit me again in the summer.

This is the part I don't even understand myself. If he didn't respect my wishes from the outset, why would I let him back into my life?

He was funny and smart and - I was going to type "nice" but how nice are you if you don't respect a woman's "No!"

I liked him.

And maybe by letting him return I don't have to admit to myself that he did not treat me well? That his talking and talking and talking until I finally just wanted him to SHUT UP constituted - what? - is that a form of date rape? I don't think so. I don't. But --- I had no intentions of sleeping with him. None. I hadn't even thought he would stay over at my place, even on the couch.

This one still confuses me. I still don't know what to think.

Except I am still angry.

After visit number two, he writes me passionate letters.

He asks me to move to California with him once he graduates.

I ignore his letters. I ignore his phone calls.

He writes more letters, telling me "not to be afraid of [my] passion," which simultaneously pisses me off and makes me roll my eyes. I'm not afraid of my passion. I'm afraid of him.

He calls one day to tell me he's leaving St Louis and will be in Austin in X hours. I hear the message on my answering machine and look at the clock in a panic.

I grab my purse and leave. I don't come home until after dark.

I never hear from him again.

Four years later, my friend Cathy asked why I hadn't warned her about my former boyfriend.

The only former boyfriend I can think of is Calvin, who is getting married to my former college roommate in a few months, so I am very confused.

No! she says. FB!

Right! She is in that same group of friends who worked for FB.

"He wouldn't leave me alone when I tried to break up!" she said.

I google stalk him every now and then. What would I do if he were nominated for some important position? Today, he just rolls on his very liberal credentials (he's super big in renewable energy). Would a story about his behavior discredit him? Would my story? No. No, it wouldn't, because just re-reading what I wrote, I can see that almost everyone in the world would say that I was asking for it.

This. This is why women don't tell.