Without My Permission...

I saw Taylor Swift play at Hyde Park on Saturday just gone; her only England show in her tour for her 1989 album. Sadly, this post is not about how amazing the concert was, or how much fun I had.

After the concert, my friends and I walked along Oxford Street to get back on a tube at Bond Street; the start of our journey to our respective homes. It was busy, there were lots of people around (shocker, it’s London after all) and we were all focussed on sticking together and not losing anyone in the crowds. 

One of the four of us, who is absolutely Darling and was pretty damn drunk at the time was lagging behind, so we stopped every now and again to let her catch up. It was in one of our paused moments, that I felt a hand run up the back of my leg, hook a finger under the brim of my shorts and give me a harsh tug. 

I spun around on my heel and my eyes found the man in the crowd. He was walking away and not looking at me. “Hello!?” I shouted out, daring him to turn around and say something. His friend turned around and pointed back to me, telling his friend I was looking at him, as if he couldn’t tell. The man didn’t turn around, he simply ignored his friend and continued to swagger away. 

I felt the heat rise up my neck as I felt my friends staring at me. I’d previously been engaged in light hearted banter and then suddenly, to them, I was shouting after a man in the street for seemingly no reason. Suddenly, I was embarrassed. 

I was embarrassed because a man I didn’t know had touched me,  without my permission and I didn’t like it. 

Why should I be embarrassed? 

“Did he bump into, did he bump your shoulder?” One friend, asked. 

I watched the man walk away, in complete shock. 

“People make me so angry.” I said, turning on my heel and starting to walk away again. 

“Did he touch you?”

“No, yes. It’s fine.” I said, hurrying my friends along

“No. Lex, did he touch you?” My friend repeated her question, I could see she was angry but I told her it didn’t matter. I took her hand, which I didn’t let go of until we got on the tube. 

It did matter. It wasn’t fine. 

It wasn’t a huge gesture, but it was a thing none the less. 

My friends made light of the situation, joking entirely of course, that I must have been asking for it because I had been drinking or because I was wearing shorts.
Not that I need to explain myself, but I went to a concert in Hyde Park and I’m an adult, so yes, I had been drinking.
It is the height of summer, and I’m in one of the busiest cities in the world, so of course I’m wearing shorts. 

Does this mean that people can touch you without your permission, in any way?
Absolutely not. 

I was walking home from work last week, and just in case you’re not reading this from the UK, it’s hella warm right now. I was wearing a summer dress; it’s black, strappy and the hem is just above my knee. 

I was coming home from work, and I currently work with the public, so I’m sure you can imagine my dress was not inappropriate in any way. It was a hot, humid summers evening and I’d been working all day. 

As I’m walking through Bedford Place, which is the row of shops and bars nearest my house, a skinny, bedraggled man who couldn’t have been any less than forty years old cleared his throat and shouted across the street at me “You’ve got banging legs, darlin’.” 

Some people may have considered that a compliment, I did not. 

I felt embarrassed. 

He made me feel like I was doing something wrong and like I had a reason to be embarrassed. 

Characters on TV or in Movies are so often portrayed as ‘the bitch’ when they say things like ‘Don’t call me darling…’ - but, don’t call me darling. Darling is reserved for those who care about me, and for those who I care about. Man in Bedford Place and Man in Oxford Street; I do not care about you. 

I’m not sure what the point of this post was, aside to voice my frustrations, but maybe it’s to question what these men think they’re going to get out of these situations? Do they expect me to go weak at the knees and beg them to take me home with them? 

Part of me wishes that I gave the man on Oxford Street more of a piece of my mind but admittedly there was a part of me that was intimidated which now I look back on with hindsight and the utmost frustration.
Who is he to embarrass, frustrate and intimidate me? 

I’m sure there are a million girls out there who get catcalled in the street every day (and more) but I’m done with it. I was never into it. It was never hot. We’re all done with it. 

Obviously, before we all board the hate train, I understand that this is not all men. 

There is no realistic solution to this problem and therefore no conclusion to this post.

A Change In Heart

Remember the girl in your college, who was quite happy to be alone, because she didn't have the time or patience to be with anyone else? That was the same girl who couldn't be bothered with other people, so she put herself first. She did pretty well, she got her grades, she knew what she was doing. She was smart. But she had particular views on relationships and love.

People who had the typical happy relationships were silly; you shouldn't put your needs second to someone like that. You should be your priority, and there is no way you can be 17 and in love.

The two don't equate. You have to love yourself before you can love someone else.

 

Now, that same girl, is realising maybe she was wrong. Although romance and lovey-dovey public displays of affection used to make the girl wretch, and roll her eyes at her friends - now she has a different view on the world.
A semi-typcial story of boy meets girl enables her to now be feeling things she thought never existed. Love was never real emotion, and now it's what her world revolves around. Isn't it funny, how one person, the one the world told you you weren't meant to be with, can change your whole perception on the world? 

 

My name's Alexandra, although now mainly I answer to Lex. I'm not conforming to a romantic being, or losing my initial ideas on relationships - I'm merely growing up, and learning that life can be so much better if you accept you may have to let someone in occasionally. I've met someone who is so amazing, I never thought I could feel things like this for someone. I thought I was emotionally crippled, destined to never be in love and get married due to various upbringing strategies. Now however, I can lay with the person I love and happily muse about our life together.

 

This is what growing up does to you - it makes you see things in a new light. A better light. Being 20 may be the worst idea that I have ever had, but if next year brings as many good as things as this year has, bring on 2013.

Being in love with someone teaches you that although you need to look after yourself, it teaches you foremost that someone else can matter just as much. And remember when I once said that you can't love anyone else until you love you? Not true. He loves me enough for the both of us.

 

 

Next time.

Lex.

Fifty Shades by EL James

Remember when One Day (David Nicholls, 2009) came out? It was pasted on every bus that went past, and every other passenger on the tube was reading it? Yeah, well I bought and read it, because everyone else seemed to love it. I, however, did not. I was a little disappointed in the novel that had been hyped up so extortionately. 

Which is why I was ambivalent to pick up a copy of the new craze, that has everyone salivating, Fifty Shades (EL James, 2011). I had heard whispers of the phrase “mummy-porn” associated with James’ novel, but blind to the definition of that term, I let my friends and colleagues urge me to give the trilogy a try.

One abnormally sunny Sunday, I found myself in Hampstead’s Waterstones with a copy of the first book in the trilogy, Fifty Shades of Grey, at the till with my Waterstones card.
I fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Less than two chapters into the novel and I knew I would finish it within the next couple of days. The incredibly addictive relationship blossoms profusely between mysterious Christian Grey and innocent, vanilla Anastasia. And somehow, it pulls you in, until you realise you’ve been sat in Starbucks for the best part of three hours. You’ve been lost in a world that you feel like you shouldn’t be in, still you can’t help but turn page after page.

Chapter four brings the mentions of the obvious sexual tension mounting between our two main characters, but nothing compares to their later conversations discussing contracts, various sexual implements and a very particular BDSM lifestyle. (For those of you, who are vanilla, and who like me had no idea what BDSM is, it stands for bondage, dominance, discipline, submission, sadism and masochism.)
It was only when I’d finished the first instalment that it clicked. Ah yes, mummy porn. Now I understand.

The feeling that you’re reading something you shouldn’t be remains with me throughout the whole second novel, as the sexual aspects only get more in depth, and the erotica well...more erotic. I can’t help but feel like I am blushing, as I read, on the tube to work. But I think that’s a part of these novels that I enjoyed so much.

I am going to read the last one, because it speaks for itself that I have read the first two in a matter of days, but also because I’m not ashamed to say that they are addictive books, that tell stories of glass balls, spreader bars and of course, that brown leather riding crop. And oh, how the mind boggles.

The world has had such a positive response to the books, that the biggest, and best department store in England, Selfridges & Co (Oxford Street) named Fifty Shades of Grey book of the week, and now Ann Summers, the British and multinational retailer of  sex toys and lingerie have no dedicated pages on their website to helping customers find exactly what the Fifty Shades trilogy has intrigued them in.

Yes, maybe Random House could have whittled EL James’ novels down to just one book, but I can’t judge a set that holds not only first, but also second and third place on the best selling Kindle charts.

So, once I’ve got my hands on the last book, I will return to the “romantic, liberating and totally addictive” novel, joining Christian Grey and Ana Steele, in what is turning out to be a nice little read to get me through the summer.  

Till next time. 

Alex.