When Saying ‘Yes’ Is Easier Than Saying ‘No’

Photo

For years, my female friends and I have spoken, with knowing nods, about a sexual interaction we call “the place of no return.” It is a kind of sexual nuance that most women instinctively understand: the situation you thought you wanted, or maybe you actually never wanted, but somehow here you are and it’s happening and you desperately want out, but you know that at this point exiting the situation would be more difficult than simply lying there and waiting for it to be over. In other words: saying yes when we really mean no.

In my own life, I’ve had plenty of “no return” encounters, but there is one in particular that still makes me cringe. I was 19 and he was in his 30s, the older brother of a childhood classmate my friends and I fawned over as teenagers. I was home from college, old enough for him to notice, and he did, and then it was happening, and by then I was absolutely sure I didn’t want it to happen, but in some combination of fear (that I wasn’t as mature as he thought), shame (that I had let it get this far), and guilt (would I hurt his feelings?) I let it.

There are other names for this kind of sex: gray zone sex, in reference to that murky gray area of consent; begrudgingly consensual sex, because, you know, you don’t really want to do it but it’s probably easier to just get it over with; lukewarm sex, because you’re kind of “meh” about it; and, of course, bad sex, where the “bad” refers not to the perceived pleasure of it, but to the way you feel in the aftermath.

It is also, as of last week, known as “‘Cat Person’ sex,” a reference to a short story published in The New Yorker that has sent a certain cohort of young people into fits.

Written by 36-year-old Kristen Roupenian, “Cat Person” is, by one interpretation, an utterly ordinary story of a modern-day sexual encounter between a woman and a man, in which text messages are exchanged and lukewarm sex is had; then she (spoiler alert) ghosts him, and he, desperate in his need to know why, calls her a “whore.” It is not a story about consent, per se. But it is a window into the uncomfortable reality that clouds it.

The story most likely would have resonated with young women regardless. But in this particular moment of cultural reckoning, it gets at a crucial nuance that seems to have long been missing from the conversation around sexual harassment and assault: that consent isn’t always black and white.

Sometimes “yes” means “no,” simply because it is easier to go through with it than explain our way out of the situation. Sometimes “no” means “yes,” because you actually do want to do it, but you know you’re not supposed to lest you be labeled a slut. And if you’re a man, that “no” often means “just try harder” — because, you know, persuasion is part of the game.

“A lot of what we as young men learn as seduction is really more like preparatory sexual assault training,” the sociologist Harry Brod, a longtime lecturer on the topic of consent, once told me. (Or as a 37-year-old male friend observed: “In a man’s mind, ‘no’ is always negotiable.”)

In the 1970s and ’80s, when Take Back the Night rallies began cropping up on college campuses, a new antirape slogan emerged: “No means no.” Four decades later, that mantra has been all but replaced by a newer version of the consent standard, this one focused on the word “yes,” or what’s known as the “affirmative consent” model.

As the thinking goes, body language in sexual scenarios can at times be an unreliable factor. So the communication aspect — clearly saying “yes” — is crucial. The default then is no.

Which seems to make a lot of sense, given the fact that, in heterosexual relationships, anyway, men and women have wildly different understandings of consent. In one study, 61 percent of men said they rely on nonverbal cues to indicate whether a partner consents, while only 10 percent of women said they actually give consent via body language.

But what about when “yes” isn’t really an enthusiastic affirmative — or an affirmative at all?

The reality is that no matter how many sexual harassment training programs we enroll in, or how much activists extol the virtues of consent, we are missing something deeper: Our idea of what we want — of our own desire — is linked to what we think we’re supposed to want, with what society tells us we should want. And most of what society tells us — when it comes to women and sex, anyway — is wrapped in dangerously outdated gender norms.

“Women have been taught, by every cultural force imaginable, that we must be ‘nice’ and ‘quiet’ and ‘polite.’ That we must protect others’ feelings before our own. That we are there for others’ pleasure,” said Rachel Simmons, the author of a number of books on girls, including a new one, “Enough as She Is.”

Indeed, women and men learn early that playing hard to get is what’s appealing, and part of that chase is saying “no” — and then ultimately relenting.

As Peggy Orenstein, the author of “Girls & Sex,” puts it, despite educational gains, despite professional ambition, despite all of it, young women still learn that “our bodies exist for male sexual pleasure, that our ‘power’ is in attracting male desire.” Which can make even seemingly straightforward ideas about sex — such as, you know, whether we want to engage in it or not — feel utterly complex.

Consider the drinking analogy: Most of us understand, or at least we should, that a blackout drunk person cannot consent to sex. On some campuses, that inability to consent applies even if someone has had just a sip or two. But what about a woman who doesn’t feel that she can speak up because of cultural expectations? Should that woman be considered unable to consent, too?

In The New Yorker story, the author describes a moment in which the main character almost floats above her body — watching herself perform the sex act almost as if she’s a third party. That’s a real phenomenon with a name, “spectatoring,” and it’s more common among girls and women who see their role in sexual encounters as being “desirable” rather than assertive, Ms. Orenstein says.

Like the character, many women have said “yes” to what is happening. Like the character, many of them are thinking to themselves, “This is the worst life decision I have ever made!”

In some respects, it’s as if they’re in the nosebleed sections of their own sex lives. What will it take for them to come back down?