A Better Man

by Michael Ian Black

  “Okay,” I said.

  “Unless you want me to stay,” she said.

  “If you want.”

  She became exasperated with me. “I just don’t know what we’re doing here!”

  I didn’t know, either! That was the problem. It wasn’t even clear to me that our date was a date. We hadn’t used the word. We’d just agreed to do something together over the Thanksgiving holiday when everybody else was out of town. Was that a date? I’d hoped it was, but I wasn’t sure. There was also the small matter of the fact that she was living with her boyfriend at the time.

  She’d made it clear to me that she wasn’t that into him, but I didn’t want to be the guy seducing somebody already involved with somebody else. I didn’t know what was going on between us and I didn’t want to be presumptuous. What if she didn’t want me to kiss her? What if, like so many other girls, she just thought of me as a friend? Maybe she only wanted to hang out and flirt and go home to wait for her boyfriend to return from his family visit.

  I didn’t know and I was afraid to make the first move. Of course, it would have been simple enough for her to lean over and kiss me. So why didn’t she? Because she was as caught up in the same gender hang-ups as me. Kissing me first would have violated her own archaic sense of sex roles. Instead, we talked and talked and nobody was kissing anybody.

  Finally—after she yelled at me—I got the message. I stood up and kissed her.

  I’d been struggling with questions about what we now call “consent” for years before this moment. Not because I overstepped, but because I tended to under-step, which is to say I was so worried about offending somebody that I missed social cues that perhaps would have been obvious to most other people.

  I’m writing to you about relationships with women because you’ve told me you like girls, but anything I say here would apply to any kind of relationship. When I was eighteen, I spent a summer as an intern at the Williamstown Theatre Festival. I heard a story there about a very famous (and famously married) actor who hit on another, younger actor. When the younger actor said he wasn’t gay, the older actor replied, “It’s just plumbing, my boy.” Whatever I say in this chapter applies to everybody, regardless of plumbing.

  Growing up in a lesbian and feminist household, I’d been raised to believe that men and women are equal, and that (to paraphrase Orwell) women are slightly more equal than men. This created some awkward moments when I started dating because I was so nervous about appearing sexist that I refused to pay for my date’s dinners, insisting that we go dutch. My reasoning was simple: I didn’t want my dates to think that I expected anything from them in return for dinner and a movie; I was trying to protect my dates from, I guess, me. In retrospect, I’m mortified at my own doofy behavior. Nothing kills a romantic vibe more than trying to figure out how much she owes for the calamari.

  I was still doing this when I first began dating Mom. Thankfully, she endured my early dating faux pas with grace and has only made merciless fun of me about it for the last twenty years.

  Here’s some advice from father to son: don’t split the bill with your date. If you ask her out, you should pay. That’s not sexist—it’s the polite thing to do. If she asks you out, you might also volunteer to pay because that’s also polite, but hopefully she insists and then you have a little pretend argument about it, which hopefully ends with one of you saying to the other something like, “Was this our first fight?” and then laughing about it and making out.

  Men have always been expected to take the initiative in pursuing relationships. The man woos and courts while the woman sits sidesaddle in her salon chair, arranging and rearranging her petticoat ruffles. It’s never the girl standing outside the boy’s bedroom window holding up a boom box.

  When it came to the physical relationship, it was the man’s job to initiate first contact. If a woman demurred, it was not necessarily because she didn’t want to say yes, but because saying yes without at least a pretense of resistance risked her reputation.

  Back in ye olden days (and here I am referring to when I was growing up and earlier), both parties understood—or men thought they understood—that “no” was almost never to be taken at face value. No might mean no, but it also might mean maybe. No could even mean yes if you just kept kissing her. Look at any of those old movies where the hard-nosed detective finally kisses the dame he’s been arguing with for the last two reels. He wraps her in his arms and plants a smooch right on her kisser. She resists, bats at him with her fists. He ignores her. Finally, she submits, returning his passion with hers.

  Millions of us grew up with images like those. The message was clear: Even if she is punching you to get you to stop kissing her, all you have to do is persist. Eventually, she will come to realize it’s what she wanted all along.

  This ambiguity was considered a crucial part of sexual courtship. The boy persisted, the girl resisted. And then, somehow, love blossomed. It was that middle part I couldn’t quite get my head around. How were we guys supposed to understand the difference between no no, maybe no, and yes no? Some guys adopted a sneering attitude toward girls, as if her disinterest in his pursuit could be overcome with the contemptuous line, “You know you want it.”

  But what if she didn’t “want it”? How was a guy supposed to know, and how was a girl supposed to communicate it to him? Slowly, the phrase “no means no” began percolating through the culture, an effort to deliver to men the important message of consent. The only time I heard the word “consent” as a kid was when my mom signed permission slips for field trips.

  “No means no” was born out of a time when the idea of consent was as malleable as a lump of Silly Putty. A guy just had to massage it into some recognizable shape and he was good to go. One of the most famous songs from my childhood was “Summer Lovin’ ” from the musical Grease, about two teenagers describing their summer fling and which includes the cheerful musical question, “Did she put up a fight?”

  I hear that now and think, What the fuck? Guess what, Danny Zuko—if she’s putting up a fight, you’re raping her. In a 2018 article in The Atlantic, Megan Gerber describes the phrase “no means no” as a “[relic] of a time when ‘don’t rape women’ was still treated as a moral argument rather than a moral fact.”

  She’s right. We didn’t talk about rape or sexual assault in anything close to the same terms that we talk about it now. My recollection of the attitudes toward sex crimes perpetrated by men against women was that they were bad things to do, yes, perhaps even jailable offenses, but also the sorts of things that inevitably happened when girls put themselves in situations in which they might occur. In other words, there was always a question of the female’s culpability in the crime committed against her. If she got raped, it was a tragedy, but also, in a sense, a natural conclusion to a series of events in which she must have played no small part. Unlike any other crime, sexual assault is one in which the victim is assumed to share the blame. That tendency to victim-blame remains with us even today.

  Amazingly, as “no means no” gained traction, it also found resistance. Even among women. To some women, the idea of explicit communication between men and women about their sexual boundaries stripped the mystery and allure from dating. The problem was, and to a certain extent remains, knowing the rules—rules that were never made explicit to me because the rules weren’t explicit. They varied depending on the people and circumstances. Or maybe they only seemed to vary because, in actual fact, they didn’t exist. The reason so many guys don’t think they’re guilty of sexual misconduct may be because, according to their rules—which is to say, the rules they set for themselves because nobody had ever clarified for them the basic idea of consent—they hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Laying down clear lines of consent diminishes the chances for misunderstanding or worse. Even today, the idea of asking for and receiving enthusiastic, affirmative consent still hasn’t penetrated the skulls of some men. Here’s an excerpt from an essay written by obscure �
��dating coach” Vincent Vinturi on his website, Return of Kings. I’m quoting it because, even though the dude and his site are obscure, the attitude is fairly representative of a lot of the kind of trash you’ll find from the “alpha male” community, which celebrates aggressive male behavior and denigrates any guy who does not subscribe to it as a “beta male” or “cuck.”

  Ask any guy who’s banged a lot of girls and has had a lot of same-night lays, and he will surely regale you with tales of seemingly insurmountable resistance, conquered and slain by his resolve and unwavering horniness. It’s in the nature of beautiful women to resist, test, protest, sabotage and make your job of fucking them difficult.

  Does that sound like a license to rape to you? Because it sure does to me. Yet the attitude behind this sentiment was common when I was growing up. Girls said no because they were teases. Girls said no because they were mean or vindictive. Girls said no because they were “bitches” or “dykes.” Your job, as a guy, was to overcome their no.

  You’re entering a dating environment that, from the outside, seems more egalitarian than the one I encountered, but also far more perilous. There’s a lot of guidance aimed at young women, words of sex-positivity, encouragement, and empowerment. The evidence suggests those messages are being received.

  On the other hand, young men are being told, in some respects, to be less confident, less empowered. We’re told we have an overabundance of those qualities, and we need to dial them back to ensure that the young women in our lives feel heard and respected. I suppose this is, generally speaking, good advice, but it also conflicts with behavior we still expect—and sometimes want—from men.

  Are we still supposed to be confident, strong, and assertive? Or are we supposed to be sensitive, empathetic, and vulnerable? Can we be all of the above? How do we navigate the ungainly terrain between the traditional approach, in which men are expected to lead every aspect of courtship, and the new, bumpier landscape in which every step must be carefully measured, each new aspect of the relationship negotiated?

  It’s confusing for both sexes. I was speaking with a female executive who said, “It’s hard because you want to be powerful, you want to be the boss. But you also want to be taken out to dinner.”

  Isn’t that what we all want? To be tough at times, soft at times? To lead and to be led? These desires don’t have to be exclusive. It’s okay to want both. Sometimes you’re the spooner and sometimes you’re the spoonee.

  Which is why I was so confused when I first started dating. I always went slow with my girlfriends. My hesitation was partly fear around creating offense and partly terrible self-doubt that made it nearly impossible for me to believe that a girl actually wanted me to make a move. Perhaps, I thought, she just enjoys hanging out in Denny’s parking lots with guys in whom she has no interest.

  I remember a huge clue that went right over my head right before I started dating my first girlfriend in high school. She and I took the train into New York one weekend in the late fall. At the time, we were kind of flirting with each other in school, maybe exchanging notes during class. Nothing had happened between us and I didn’t know if her interest in me was anything but platonic. As we walked down Broadway on a chilly day, she looked at me and said, “My hand is cold . . .”

  “Put it in your pocket,” I responded, not realizing that she was trying to tell me she wanted me to hold her hand. Such. A. Doof.

  Of course there will always be some ambiguity in a relationship, particularly in the beginning. Neither party wants to appear too forward only to get rejected. That part of the experience will probably never change and, honestly, it’s fun. Flirting is fun. Taking tentative steps toward each other is fun. As you gain confidence in the dating world, you’ll eventually get a sense of the right time to lean in for that first kiss. As you do, though, ask her if it’s okay. “Can I kiss you?” does not have to be a buzzkill. If anything, it will enhance the moment when she says yes. And if she says no, congratulations! You’ve just avoided a sexual assault.

  In other words, sex does not have to be some minefield you’re attempting to cross without getting blown up. Far from it. Having consent frees you from the terror of wondering, “Is this okay?” and opens you to the experience of being honest, loving, and positive. Don’t wait for her to say no; you should actively affirm that what’s happening is what she wants to happen. Moreover, check in with yourself to make sure that what’s happening is also what you want.

  Traditional masculinity assumes that all guys are sex-crazed goons. We’re not. Yes, we sometimes (often) want sex. But not always, and not always with the person who is offering it to us. I feel like this is an under-discussed aspect of male sexuality, but it’s important. Men can say no, too. There may be times when you find yourself in a situation with somebody who wants a level of intimacy that, for whatever reason, you do not. Say no. Don’t go through with it because you feel bad or you feel like it’s what’s expected of you, or you feel like somehow you will be less of a man if you do not. Just as a woman’s body is hers to control, your body is yours to do with what you choose.

  The other thing I want to tell you is that it’s okay to want an emotional connection with somebody before you have sex with them. It’s an obvious thing to say, but we tend to think of placing emotional intimacy before physical intimacy as a “girl thing” instead of a “human thing.”

  Personally, I have sometimes just wanted to have a purely physical relationship with somebody, and sometimes I have wanted something more. Either is okay. You’re under no obligation to pursue sex for the sake of sex. Some guys do. Some girls do. That’s all fine. The expectation with guys, though, is that we will always choose sex over intimacy. Don’t believe it.

  I generally regretted the few one-night stands I had, not because they were “wrong,” but because they didn’t provide me with what I really wanted, which was a connection to somebody that extended past the physical. In the moment, it felt awesome to be wanted because I felt so insecure about my own self-worth that if somebody expressed desire in me, that was enough for me to desire them. But those moments didn’t solve anything. They provided a temporary relief from my own insecurities, yes, but the end result often left me feeling worse. What was I doing with this person in my bed, or me in hers? There’s a reason they call the next morning’s departure the “walk of shame.” Trust me, men feel that shame, too. We just don’t talk about it. Because talking about our sexual shame no es más macho.

  Again, I’m not making a judgment on spending a single night with somebody. But if you are going to have a one-night stand, it’s vital that you communicate with each other that that’s what you both are doing before you do it. Tell the person, “This is great. I’m happy we’re doing this, but this is a one-night stand for me. If you’re cool with that, let’s keep going. If you’re not, let’s not.”

  Don’t let other people dictate your comfort with sex. We’re so conditioned to think of men as insatiable sexual carnivores that we don’t allow for the possibility that they might be the one to delay or forego sex with somebody. If you do decide to move forward together, be kind. Ask. Listen. Treat “no means no” as an inviolable rule. I know I’ve said it already, but it’s worth repeating: If she wants to stop for any reason, stop. Same goes for you. If you want to stop for any reason, stop. Your mind and body are your own to do with as you see fit. Be respectful, be patient with your partners. Be as attuned to your partner as you are to yourself. Maybe more so.

  Imagine how scary it might be for a woman to go to somebody’s place, maybe a little inebriated, take off all her clothes, and open her body to a person who is probably bigger, heavier and stronger than she is. Men don’t generally think about these things because they don’t have to. Women have to. They always have to.

  “There’s always a level of fear involved,” Mom says when I ask her about her early experiences with men. “You feel like you have to be constantly vigilant because you do. It’s just a fact.”

  I
f we want women to control their own sexuality (and it’s worth mentioning that there are many, many men in this world who absolutely do not want that), then we have to understand that they are usually going to be more vulnerable in sexual situations than guys. They will always be taking more of a gamble than men because women are more likely to suffer adverse consequences for engaging in sex. Anything from getting pregnant to catching an STD or being physically assaulted. Even their reputation may be put at risk for simply wanting to connect with somebody.

  Although the larger culture is growing more welcoming of female sexuality, it’s still true that women often face judgment for their sexual appetites in ways that men do not. Women are shamed for having sex, and shamed for not having sex. When you consider everything they have to put up with, it’s amazing women want to have sex with men at all.

  Sex should be a joy. It should be fun and it should connect you with somebody. It will be none of those things if it ever feels coerced. Not all sex has to have love, but all sex has to have consent.

  Here’s something else that nobody talks about because it flies in the face of every cultural message we receive: sex isn’t that important.

  As guys, we’re taught that sex is always the goal. In so many ways, we’re taught that our self-worth as guys hinges on the question of how many people will have sex with us. When I was a few years older than you are right now, my friends and I had our first TV show on the air. We were young and popular and all I wanted to do was figure out how to convert the currency of my new fame into having sex with girls. I’d go out to bars (where I didn’t drink) to try to meet girls (in whom I didn’t have much interest) and stay out until three or four o’clock in the morning (well after I wanted to be asleep) in the hope that somebody—anybody—would want to have sex with me. As I said, the few times an evening like that ended with a one-night stand left me feeling somehow worse. I’d accomplished my “goal,” but over time I learned that the goal itself was misplaced, that I was looking for something else that I didn’t have the words for. I have the word now. It’s “intimacy.”