Take a trip with me. Imagine being gay, or queer, at a club, or a bar, with the lights turned down, the fog machines blowing. It’s around midnight. People are drunk or getting there. The groping starts. Shirts come off. Hands trace down backs and starts cupping butt cheeks.
Rarely is consent obtained or given beforehand. Occasionally crotches are groped. Occasionally quite aggressively. Some people let it happen. Some welcome it. Sometimes a joke is uttered by one of the parties: “Haha, I can’t help myself.” And sometimes people pull away. Sometimes they slap hands away. Sometimes friends step in.
But almost never are there consequences for this. There are no fights. No complaints to bouncers or a security guard. I have never seen anyone get kicked out of a bar for being too handsy. The same people are there, the next week, testing boundaries, stepping up the ladder of predatory behavior.
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