| |  Dear Teagan:
You're a pretty woman and a great bodybuilder (I saw your layout in the December '03 issue of "Muscle Mag International"--wow!). I can't believe that in all the time you spent with Arnold Schwarzenegger--training, jogging, going to parties and even practicing sword-fighting in his own backyard-he never once made a pass at you. Can you swear to God that he was never sexually aggressive with you?
Stumped in Sacramento
Dear Stumped:
No comment. But you've raised a subject that's dear to my heart-sexual aggression, the act of "attacking" someone sexually. Although I haven't always liked it when it's happened to me, I've always liked knowing that a man was sexually attracted to me. Therefore, I'd be a hypocrite to condemn sexual aggression. Without it, humankind wouldn't copulate, propagate or even venture forth. Without a curious tongue plunging deep inside an ambivalent orifice or a hand clamped hungrily over a cool breast, kisses would quickly become mere pecks and a wink would fetch the death penalty. So, yeah, I'm grateful for he who takes responsibility for his desires by initiating an act of sexual seduction, full-steam ahead. I definitely prefer a man who enjoys taking the reins and driving the damn horses as often as he likes; it sure takes a load off of me.
Okay, I'll swear to God. I swear that I'm a total romantic who prefers a two-hour five-course round of lovemaking to a fast and furious grope. I don't eat, I dine. I don't gulp, I savor. That said, whenever a groper has gone for me-whether he grabs a breast, a buttock or the crown of my crotch-if kind words aren't spoken and flowers aren't sent in sweet follow-up, I might feel a little soiled and violated and prone to consider the event a violent crime, a type of mini-rape. "You're ridiculous," scoffs my physical therapist, "you hang out with these guys who you know are powerful and aggressive, and then you complain if you're ever abused by them. What do you expect?" (For the record, I'm not complaining, I'm exploring.) Groping is the most primitive way a man can take a piece of a woman, like a shark contenting himself with a nip of flesh.
There's usually no warning. For example, this guy I admired a long time ago, once gave me a violent hug and then added on this long, unstoppable equally violent grope. After his fingers had forced their way up through my sweatpants and spiraled hard into my vagina, my feelings for him changed. In 20 seconds flat, he slid from "hero to zero", and I would never come near him again.
No, I don't take gropers seriously; not for a relationship, anyway. The gropers I've experienced were mostly on the take. They never allowed me any power in the relationship. Naturally, I always wanted to believe my powerful aggressor actually loved me, truly loved me, and the only way he knew how to show it was to reach out and grope. But I never stuck around to find out. I ran like a rabbit, in fear for my crotch, my breasts, and whatever was left of my dignity.
The few times I've been groped (any more than a few and I'd probably join "Code Pink" to protest sexual misconduct), I've always managed to pull away, after which I'd mutter a rather gracious "Not now, not here, darling". Then, I'd go merrily about my day, even sharing some laughs about the incident with friends. No serious damage was ever done, thank God. I was never, say, groped while sipping hot coffee. Only once did a dude-a real cowboy-put me in potential danger that was pretty hard to shake: while driving him around on my Gold Wing, he grabbed my breasts and shouted, "Whee-ha!"
I'm not offended when a man expresses sexual desire for me. Instead, I'm offended if he doesn't. I'm behind the times, however; and, as an actress and former fitness icon, I'm used to being objectified. These days, when a man expresses sexual desire for a woman and actually puts his hands on her in any way at all, he runs the risk of being slapped, punched, kicked in the groin, incapacitated by a series of karate chops and chokeholds, arrested, prosecuted, sued, shot at or perhaps blackmailed. Heck, if I were a guy, as affectionate as I am, I'd be in a tub of trouble.
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