I don’t normally think about big-picture things as much as I should. Usually, I just focus my attention on the little details that make up the picture, like a mosaic. I’m one of those people who are too used to the way things are to say or do anything that could change things. It wasn’t until an awkward encounter with some friends that I realized doing nothing is just as bad as doing something wrong.
Not too long ago, my boyfriend came over and had spent the night – and I think you know where I’m going with this…
The signs of his love were obvious, covering my neck and chest. Personally, these sweet bodily presents were something to be proud of, something that made me feel good, and yet that good feeling was taken away from me the very next day.
(Photo from istock)
Two of my guy friends had shown up at my apartment, unannounced, to drop off a gift for my roommate. I was in my bedroom, cuddling, at the time when she called out my name. I remember being excited because the smell of bacon and sweet bread lingered in the air, so naturally, I assumed breakfast was prepared and ready to be gobbled up. And so, I made my escape from under my floral blankets, leaving behind my boyfriend. I ran out of my room and into the kitchen, only to see my friends standing by the door, staring in shock.
One had his mouth wide open, looking like a baby bird waiting to be fed, while the other had his eyebrows raised and his lips pursed. At first, I thought they were checking out my boobs and legs because I came out without a bra and some booty shorts.
Thinking that my friends were looking at me like this had made me feel uncomfortable the entire time. I kept asking myself if I looked like a hoe or something, but I tried to make the most out of their surprise visit and continued on to make jokes and whatnot. With the tension in the air as obvious as smog, the boys came up with a somewhat plausible excuse and left.
Later in the day, instead of dancing around the subject, I decided to ask one of the boys just exactly was up with them, and his response was surprising.
It went something like this…
“Ohhh that? That’s cuz you had a big ass hickey on your chest. We were like woah, we had never seen you like that, and it was kinda weird to see you like that.” (paraphrase of the conversation)
(Photo from motleynews)
Had it been one of my girlfriends, I wouldn’t have thought anything of it. I would have told her not to think too much about it and that she’s just being paranoid. But I lived it. I experienced it, and I knew I wasn’t being crazy.
Once he had told me that my hickies had made them feel weird, I felt ashamed of what I was once proud of. I made sure to wear turtlenecks and scarves even in 90-degree weather. It was outrageous!
Not even a week later, he had sent our group chat a picture of him at a party with hickies galore all over his neck – appearing to be attacked by leeches or something. I was stunned. All the boys were congratulating him, while the girls remained silent on the subject.
I realized that for a guy to be blunt about sex it’s perfectly okay, but for a girl to openly talk about sex it makes them seem dirty. It hurt knowing that this was the way our world worked. After I thought about it some more, I realized I shouldn’t give a damn.
Why should I be ashamed for something a guy is proud of?
(Photo by Adventurebar)
With the hickies still clinging on to dear life on my body, I decided to stop hiding these perfectly natural demonstrations of love. If a guy can stride around and be applauded for his hickies then so can I. I began to strut around campus proudly showing off my hickies.
Although many looked at me in disgust, I knew I had done the right thing when a man walked up to me at the Bannockburn bus stop, with a wide grin on his face, saying, “someone had a good time, huh?” with a sudden surge of confidence, I boldly responded, “yes I did.”
This may have been a small feat for women everywhere, but I know it’s just the beginning. Now I know things won’t change unless we make the effort to, even if it’s just one small thing at a time.