I can now somewhat understand how my ex-girlfriend felt to be raped while comatose on Klonopin (a prescription pill in the benzodiazepine family prescribed for symptoms like anxiety and epilepsy). All I got was an older man, my friend Frank, sticking my balls in his mouth while I was teetering on the edge of an alcoholic black out and unable to differentiate up from down. Lucky for me Frank didn’t go any further.

I can’t imagine being entered without my consent (physically maybe, but not the potential emotional trauma). I’ve got a host of social constructs on my side like the fact we are both male and thus courts would likely take my case more seriously. Almost every single woman I have known has told me the police and courts are useless when it comes to sexual abuse. But the events that led up to me laying in Frank’s bed getting cuddled and cooed over can apply to anyone, male or female.

We were friends and drank lots of beer. I was walking home and not worried about stumbling a little on the way, while he was driving and drank less.

He suggested we get some beer and drink back at his place with some friends of ours at the bar; a perfectly logical suggestion. This story is as of yet benign.

Back at Frank’s place we all got very, very drunk. I can’t pass any judgments on them, but I was definitely drunk and obnoxious, sitting on counters, jumping around and knocking beers all over the place. Then, I jumped off a stump in the back yard and fell right into a pile of horse-crap and lots of mud. Now I couldn’t go back inside with my pants. My alcohol-laden logic at this point stated the obvious course of action was to ditch my shoes, socks, pants and boxers as they were soaked as well.

At this point Frank and others would have had a few options open to them. They could tell me to go to bed, maybe even sock me one if they got tired of dealing with me, they could give me clothes or a blanket to cover myself with, or they could let me run around until I pass out, then cover me with a blanket.

Instead Frank took pictures -morally dubious to be sure, but so far only embarrassing- and waited until I was passed out and unable to move. Then he took me to his bed to tell me how special he thought I was. That is the moment I was taken advantage of. That is the moment when I, or anyone in my position, stopped doing and began to have things done to me. That was the moment consent stopped.

This isn’t about Frank and I, not really. This is about the line of consent; where it is drawn. This is about the Toronto Police Officer advising female students to “avoid dressing like sluts” to not be victimized. This is about girls on couches escaping an unhappy moment in their lives with Klonopin and getting raped because they’re comatose.

This is about the weekend parties in Santa Rosa with horny boys trying to get into the hot chick’s pants. Sex on the weekends is one thing. Drunken hook-ups are one thing. One night stands are one thing. Sex without explicit, verbal consent crosses the line into taking advantage of a person. Sex without explicit, verbal consent crosses the line into sexual abuse, assault and rape.