Ann2011 wrote:
Sylkat wrote:
This is not an 'Adults Only' forum, so the whole story is on the Internet,but it is sickening, if you consider researching it
It seems almost hateful as well as sexual.
It's more than hateful as well as sexual.
I grew up in a similar culture. It's contemptuous. Like they said in one of their media messages-- "Some people deserve to get pissed on." Whether that was a vendetta for something that happened (or didn't happen) earlier, or whether that's just for getting too drunk and passing out at a party, makes very little difference.
It's, "You are weak, I can hurt you, therefore you deserve to be hurt."
It's a cultural problem-- and not just in the Rust Belt, though that's where I grew up with it. It happens all over.
I have limited sympathy for the boys. They're a product of their culture. They probably didn't stop to think they were doing something wrong.
They should have stopped to think. I hope they enjoy getting the same treatment from someone bigger and stronger in juvie. I hope they enjoy a lifetime of being branded sex offenders. f**k 'em. I hate jocks anyway.
I have, sadly, no sympathy whatever for the young lady. I know I shouldn't feel that way, but-- I do. She went to a party and got drunk with a bunch of other high schoolers. She wanted to have a good time, and got taken for a ride. She wanted to f**k, and she got raped.
She is also a product of the culture. She knew the risk she was taking. My husband, long ago, told me that if I were ever raped, he would treat it as adultery. He said that knowingly putting yourself in a situation where something like that can happen is, basically, the same as consenting to or even soliciting it.
I thought he was horrid at the time.
Fifteen years later, I realize he was absolutely right. She knew what went down at house parties. She invited it. She deserved it. To put it in terms from my high school days-- Hey, that's what happens to skanks.
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"