This Woman Says No
And I’ll keep saying it until I’m satisfied
No, I am not okay. No, I don’t accept things the way they are.
No, I’m not going to forgive this world for teaching me not to say no.
No, I’m not happy. No, I won’t be quiet. No, I will not let you make me feel badly for being angry.
No.
No, you can’t have this. No, you can’t have that, either. No, you don’t deserve it just because you decided you do, just because our culture tells you you do.
No, it is mine.
No, I don’t want to come in on a weekend. No, I’m not being paid enough to work these kinds of hours. No, I won’t take on another job duty until my salary starts to reflect the level of responsibility I have.
No, I won’t take that offer. No, that’s not enough money. No, I won’t sit through an unpaid training when my male coworkers are being paid. No, I won’t stay after work for the sake of boosting morale. No, I won’t take another assignment off Liz’s plate just because she has kids and I do not.
No, I won’t take an hour out of my day to give you advice on how to navigate the new system. No, I won’t let you pick my brain so you can strategize about how to do something I had to figure out by myself.
No, I will not tolerate being called “girlie,” or having my methods criticized for being “too soft,” or “too maternal.” (Do you have a master’s degree?)
No, I will not stay when you promote the less experienced, less educated men into positions above me. When you say I “haven’t earned my promotion yet.” When you won’t take a meeting with me to negotiate my salary after you just finished sparring with Mike about his.
No, you can’t have this brain and this expertise for a discount — and sure as hell not for free.
No, you can’t look me up and down with your come-fuck-me eyes. No, I won’t be made into your potential sexual opportunity when I’m out picking up broccoli at the grocery store.
No, you cannot tell me you want to fuck me when I’m out taking my walk and I innocently say hello to you. No, I will not stop here on the side of the road and pull my leggings down so you can stick your dick in me just because you got turned on at the sight of me.
No, I don’t want to suck your dick — I was actually heading to the library. No, I don’t think it’s unreasonable that I’d like to continue on with my errand, without having to engage with you or any other man I pass by who also might want his dick sucked.
No, you can’t brush up against me like that then tell me I’m being uptight about a simple “accident.” No, you cannot squeeze my breast or my ass just because this room is crowded and you’re feeling randy.
And no, I’m not going to sleep with you on our first date just because you pressed your erection against my hip to let me know you’re ready.
I said no.
No, I don’t want your dick in my inbox (metaphorical or not). No, I didn’t ask to see it. No, I don’t think it’s vulnerable or brave (or funny or cute) that you sent it to me, a stranger, without permission. No, I won’t let you pretend that you meant no harm. No, I’m not so nice that I’ll just smile and act like nothing happened.
No, I don’t want you to tag me or any of my friends when you post masturbation videos on your social media account. No, I don’t want to see you come on a photo of my friend’s face.
No, I don’t want you to treat my nude self-portraits as Playboy centerfolds. No, I don’t want you to leave me comments saying, “Yes, baby, gimme more,” or the ones where you leave a string of baby bottle emojis.
No, I didn’t make these photos for your sexual fulfillment. No, I wasn’t thinking of you, at all — I have no idea who you are. No, I didn’t post them to get your attention. No, they are not a subtle invitation for you to join me in bed or suck on my tits. No, I don’t want to meet you “IRL.”
No, the words I write weren’t penned for you. No, I’m not seeking sexual liberation in order to further your sexual fulfillment.
No, I don’t need you to like me. Or want me. No, I don’t exist to arouse, satisfy, and delight you.
No, you can’t enter my body without putting on a condom. I told you this multiple times. We went to the store and bought the condoms together.
No, I was not unclear: I said “I need you to wear a condom.”
No, I didn’t want you to do that. I didn’t want you to do that.
No, I won’t let you make me apologize just because you’ve had a vasectomy — I wasn’t worried about getting pregnant, and you knew that. No, it’s not silly to worry about STDs with a new partner. No, it’s not unreasonable that I wanted you to get tested. No, I wasn’t making too big a deal of this.
No, I didn’t want to continue without a condom — but you made me feel unreasonable to agree to any other option.
No, I don’t want to be touched like that. No, I don’t want to be touched there. No, I don’t like that pressure. No, that doesn’t feel good.
No, I’m not okay that you pinned me to the floor and fucked me when I said “no” over and over again. No, I don’t think it was okay just because you were my boyfriend.
No, I’m not okay that you never reciprocated the pleasure I gave you. No, I don’t think it was valiant or mature that you were trying to “protect my feelings” by not giving me orgasms so I don’t develop a hormonal bond to you. No, I’m not going to sit here and smile after every blow job, as if everything is okay.
No, I don’t want to have sex without protection. No, I don’t trust you to stick around if I get pregnant. No, I’m not entirely certain you’re not still fucking your ex — or if she’s your ex, at all.
No, I never wanted this. No, I’m not stupid. No, I do know who I am and what I need.
No, I won’t let you tell me otherwise.
No, I don’t think you’re a “decent” guy. No, I don’t think “decent” is a remotely high enough bar, nor have you gotten anywhere near it.
No, I don’t think I’m being too hard on you. No, I don’t think you’re doing your best. No, I don’t think you deserve a free pass.
No, I don’t think we’ve conquered inequality. No, I don’t think women are free to do what they want. No, I don’t think everything is fine. No, I don’t think we’ve come a long way.
No, I’m not happy with the current state of affairs. No, I’m not grateful for how much has already changed. No, I’m not done being angry — and no, I won’t let you shame me for that.
No, I don’t think most men get it. No, I don’t think we’re just a few steps away from a more just world. No, I don’t think enough people are willing to let go of their power in order to empower others.
No, I don’t feel hopeful. Or safe.
No, I’m not done saying no.
© Yael Wolfe 2021
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