The scariest #metoo that ever happened to me… didn’t actually happen. Bit of a long story but hope you’ll bear with me because it’s about the male side of the equation in a couple of ways.

Early in first semester freshman year, I got some bad scary news about my mom’s health and decided to deal with it by getting drunk. Couple of guys in my dorm who I sort of knew brought me to a small party where I proceeded to do shots for the first time. I vaguely recall being aware I was the only girl, but everyone was really nice and sympathetic as I told them about my mom.

Then the barfing started. Oh man did it start. I remember being on the cool white-tiled floor of the bathroom with a bunch of tall guys looking down at me. The straw-blond one said something like, “Hey, let’s keep her here til she passes out, and then, yknow.”

But they didn’t. The guys who brought me there practically carried me home again. Another boy from the party dropped in a few minutes later to check with my roommates and make sure I was safe.

And I was safe – except for an epic hangover and a lingering sense of horror and betrayal at what could have happened. It really shook me, but at least I knew I could trust those two friends who saved me. I stuck close to them all year… and no, they didn’t ever hang out again with the perp. After that year, we drifted into different dorms and different friendships.

I avoided Mr. Blond for the next four years. Got knots in my stomach whenever I saw him around. Which wasn’t often – until senior year, when he suddenly started showing up on the fringes of my mostly gay group of friends.

He noticed that I never talked to him or even looked at him. He asked if he had done anything to offend me, and said he’d been doing a lot of apologizing for who he used to be. So I told him what he’d done, what he’d tried to do.

He apologized. Said he couldn’t possibly have done anything to me anyway because he was gay and had been desperately trying to hide it. He had felt that he HAD to suggest it or the other guys might suspect him.

I pointed out that even though he might not have been physically able to rape me, he could very well have prompted the others to. He looked ashamed and apologized again.

It ain’t like we became friends after that. I think it was his turn to avoid me. But that unexpected twist ending stuck with me all these years.

One man was so frightened about how to be a Real Man that he gave me one of the most frightening experiences of my own life. It could so easily have turned out horribly different.

My men friends proved they were real friends and protected me. I’m still fb friends with one of the two who brought me home, though I don’t think we ever even talked about it. So if you’re reading this, dude, thank you after 28 years.

Men are people.

People are complicated.

I like people.