I grew up with mostly males as friends.
In my young young years, I was pretty Tom boy. I sat with my legs spread, wore boy clothes, played football, ate like a horse. Actually, I still do all those things, but you get the picture.
I never really resonated with girls in school, besides the few who also had lots of guy friends. But then, I got older and more feminine, and things started to happen that pushed me away from that and toward sisterhood. Friends started punching holes in walls, and threatening to kill themselves, because they saw me kissing another guy. It wasn’t working out for me to hang with the boys.
I once had a New Years party after I graduated high school — one of my greatest friends from HS, that had been my mate for years, came. In the evening, he helped me carry my passed-out boyfriend to my bed and then cornered me in my room, trying to lift my shirt off while whispering to me stupid shit about how he’s always known how I felt. I pushed him off me multiple times before he called me a bitch and left. I questioned what I did to lead him to that many times but mostly, I just dropped the whole thing. I could understand, with how close our friendship was, how he could get into that mental space. A few years later, he apologized, and I forgave him, but we were never friends again.
Later that year I was working as a waitress in Austin, and my two managers, who lived together, offered to take me and a glassy/bar-back home because we were asked us to work later than the city buses ran. On the way, they said they needed to stop at their friends place quick. When we walked in, there was a mountain of cocaine on the table and like 15 people stuffed in a tiny apartment. It wasn’t beyond me that all the bartenders used but I was still uncomfortable as I waited for them to make their deal.
We all got back in the car and they said that, because it was so late, we could just stay with them and they would take us back in the morning. When we went into the house, there were a few other people hanging out so I didn’t feel unsafe. They put on a classic movie and I fell asleep on the couch, waking up later to one of my managers kissing me down my neck.
I sat up, made a joke, and told him I needed to go home. Everyone had obviously gone home since I originally fell asleep. He pulled his dick out and said, “but look at what you’ve done to me… you can’t leave me like that.” I laughed and made a sarcastic apology, trying to keep the energy light enough to just get out. I called a cab, he paid for it, and I quit my job a few days later, never telling anyone higher up about the incident because it didn’t feel like it qualified as anything. I had heard far worse stories and it felt silly to make a big deal out of an incident that left me full of shame, but physically unharmed. Plus, I knew he had a daughter, and I didn’t want him to lose his job.
A few years later, a guest teacher came into my massage school that I had been attending off and on for 2 years.
The head teacher hadn’t seen this guy in 15 years, since he originally taught him, so he had invited him back to the school to get up to date with the new teachings and also participate as a teacher. Honestly, I thought the guy was awesome – in his late 50’s but young spirited and playful. Everyone loved him. I even talked to him and my mom about meeting each other. He gained my trust quickly as he gave me space to ask unreasonable questions and welcomed my sarcasm and bluntness. I knew that he incorporated Tantra in his private practice and it was something, at the time, I was really trying to understand in my own life.
Note: When I spoke of Tantra, I spoke of energy, not physical contact, and I was clear about that. I remember now a conversation that I had with him where he acknowledged my outwardly sensual nature and warned me of the “lions and tigers” of the world, suggesting that I needed protection if I were to continue living my life with such openness.
On the last day of class, he offered to give me a private session because I had missed the part of the course when everyone got a full treatment. Throughout the massage, I let him raise my shirt above my head as it felt normal to do that and I felt close enough to him after the course to not question it. Everyone had practically seen me naked at some point throughout a month of living on the same property and we were all really close. Plus, I’m not a shy one.
But then, the energy shifted.
I felt it as clear as day as his hands slipped into my pants and he began to pull them off.
I sat up in shock, turned around, and found him there with his pants already off. I’m not sure exactly how he did that without me noticing.
He was different, like a mask had fallen from his face and he was now an animal, in hunt.
I was angry and afraid, but mostly, I just felt sad — so sad and so heartbroken by the betrayal I experienced in that moment.
That school was like a home to me, a place where I felt completely free to be myself, and in just an instant, he took that away.
I cried like a child as the knowing flooded my heart that he’s done this, time and time again, with the spiritual mask of tantric healing, to many many women before me.
I cried at the sheer fact that I didn’t catch it.
I had spoke to my mother of his worthiness without a hint of question.
He was so good at holding his mask in place,
I never saw a glitch.
He obviously had many years of practice.
It wasn’t his age that got me, it was the manipulation.
The trust that he had gained as said, “teacher.” He used beautiful tools for healing as tools for feeding his outdated dick.
I sat there in shock for a minute as he explained to me that he has been watching me throughout school. Dancing, singing, speaking to people. I cringed as he spoke as if every ounce of my expression was for him. As if everything I had done throughout that month-long course was to feed his desire to taste something so youthful and alive.
I was clear that I wasn’t my body in that moment. I wiped my tears. An energy outside me, wrapped me up and held me, as I spoke for every woman he’s ever encountered and may encounter in the future. I’m not even sure what I said, it was like something was speaking for me, and he didn’t try to stop me when I left.
I found my room and laid in bed until morning, soothing the rage that was building in my depths. I left the property the next day, and immediately became a victim. My head spun with the knowing that I was taken advantage of, and I did everything in my power to shut it down with gratitude that it didn’t go further — with gratitude for my strength and willingness to speak up, though I was certain, I should never have had to do so.
I kept suffocating my anger with compassion — with my outrageous ability to understand the minds of people, however fucked up they might be. It took me weeks before I spoke to my mom and sister about it, and eventually, the school. I realized that I didn’t have to make this guy a monster. It wasn’t about that. It was about continuing my commitment to stand for the women — to speak and say, “this is wrong for me and could be wrong for others…”
The school treated it beautifully and the wife of my head teacher, who had been sexually harassed and taken advantage of throughout her entire youth held the most amazing space for me to process the experience and heal. Every teacher from the school called me with genuine concern. Never once did they make me feel like I had done something wrong though they all knew me well. They all knew my natural personality to be very sensual, flirty, and open — but they only apologized from their depths that my space was infiltrated in any way.
I can create sexual tension with anyone,
no matter the gender or age.
I know this about me.
I know that my expression is misinterpreted time and time again.
I had gotten to a point where I actually did not know how to respond to men anymore — after the betrayals I had felt and self blame I had embodied, it’s natural for me to assume that every man on my path wants something from me. It made me far more aware of my mannerisms, my tone of voice, and my choice of words, as to not ever put myself in a compromised position.
Over the last few years though, I have had a few incredible men prove to me that fierce and beautiful and real masculine energy still lives.
I have had men who saw me traveling alone and took it upon themselves to protect me as though they were my blood brother.
Men who saw first hand what happened to me on the daily — guys grabbing my ass in bars, buying me drinks without asking, trying to pull me to the dance floor without my consent — they have kicked some serious ass for me, risked their lives for me, and held me in my brokenness, wanting nothing in return.
Men have offered me tidbits of wisdom, and listened to every word that I spoke, without ever making me feel like I owe them something for their ears.
There are good men.
I see them.
I know them.
I’m held by the best one on the daily.
And I’m here, now, strong in the knowing that women shouldn’t have to spend so much energy learning how to navigate the world of unhealthy/unbalanced masculine energy.
I’m learning how to trust myself in all of my expression again, without shame or guilt for how my authentic self affects others around me and I am fully committed to continue embracing and expressing myself fully, forgiving myself fully, and loving every single drop of who I am, fully!
I am quite clear that it’s time for men to figure out their shit and how will they do that if we all just keep playing their game, following their rules, and apologizing when we break them!
So, to those people who try to warn me of the lions and bears — to wear more clothes and watch my tongue — because there are creeps in the world.
My loves, yes, I know of them.
I’ve had their lips on my neck and their hands down my pants.
And as tough as that can be…
I can honestly say, today, I am tougher. Stronger.
More fierce and ready than ever to teach the fuckers how to honor the sacredness of a woman!
And fear won’t stop me from being true to me.
I’m not sorry if I turn you on.
I’m not sorry if you can’t help yourself.
I’m not sorry if you think I do this all for you.
I’m not sorry for being me.
I’m not sorry for being a woman.
I’m not sorry.
Your Moon Babe