Norah is skeptical:
“And if one of you assholes (and you know who you are) that I’ve been reading the past few days would EVER lift a finger to save me from a rapist, then I’m Queen fucking Elizabeth.
There is a certain irony in that the more traditionally oriented male – the sort who thinks date rape is a myth – is far more likely to save a woman from another man than the sort who enjoys posturing about how terrible rape is and how he would never rape a woman.
If the definition of rape is stretched so far to include women who have not given consent, then I am absolutely a serial rapist. So, too, is every man I know. And if that makes me a rapist, I shall endeavor to somehow survive with that upon my conscience.
Although Norah is not likely to believe it, unlike many of the bold anti-rapists striking morally superior poses, I have actually physically defended a woman from an attacker. It wasn’t a rape situation, though, just a mere beating. A loser named Buzzy had been dating a stripper friend of mine, and for whatever reason, decided to punch her in the face outside a nightclub just after closing. TPAM caught the girl as she collapsed, while I introduced Buzzy’s head to the brick wall of the nightclub, then twice ran his face back and forth along what turned out to be a rather rough surface.
He didn’t look quite as pretty after that, but he did learn his lesson. I’m always quite happy to defend a woman from an unprovoked attack and I’d probably, out of sheer instinct, defend a woman from an attack that she provoked and perhaps even deserved. But I do not accept that women are children, totally devoid of all responsibility for their decisions and actions in all situations.
I may not think that they should be allowed to vote, but I don’t harbor that sort of utter contempt for them.