I moved into my apartment here in Baltimore a couple of weeks before the semester started. In the hardly-two-months I’ve lived here, I’ve been preoccupied with school, finding work, finding affordable groceries, and going to the gym. It was a friend’s birthday this week though so her and I hit the town on Thursday. We pre-gamed in my living room and talked about how we’d never been out without male partners, or male friends and that tonight felt both liberating and unprotected. I’m not too far from Federal Hill so we walked along the bar strip, heading in and out of bars until we found one we liked. The Charles was hosting a four-year anniversary party (which seemed pre-mature and anticlimactic to us, but maybe four years is a long time to be established in Baltimore?) in which most people were dressed in suits and spring dresses, and others showed up in VOLO jerseys and shorts. Our outfits landed us somewhere in between, but the bar wasn’t playing Wonderwall or Santeria and that seemed good enough to us.

The bartender gave me a free drink he’d messed up, and then a second with no explanation. I looked at him hoping his eyes would say you don’t owe me anything, and they did, so I thanked him and moved on. The outdoor patio protected us for a short time while we talked about what it felt like to owe men, or owe anyone anything, how unusual it was to fear generosity. As if we’d called him by name in that moment, a man walked up to us with shots- we’d both had enough but they were already paid for. It felt understood we’d be rude to deny a free drink from someone who said he just wanted to make some friends. Damn these unspoken rules! We tell him it’s our last for the night, drink up and talk for a few. He’s friendly but domineering and my tipsy brain is having an impossible time thinking of polite-but-stern boundaries to offer in return. His friends arrive, much kinder and no force at all. We like them. He comes back once more with beer bottles, I catch my friends eye, hoping we can just carry them around till we find a sink to pour them out. His friends offer to take us to a bar just around the block, and thinking the forceful man wouldn’t accompany us we agree to go. Of course, the forceful one now considers the economy and says we should all ride together. Now I’m scared. Why can’t I say no, why can’t I change my mind, why do I feel crazy for being intimidated? He takes my hand in the back seat and does what I can only describe as the most disgusting attempt at sensuality with a kiss/bite combo on my wrist.

Definitely too late to say I have a boyfriend, definitely don’t want to be cursed out or driven far far away never to return. We arrive, I hurry out of the car and single myself off with one of his tamer friends, we’ll call him Bruce. I ask Bruce if anything is expected of me, he says nothing reassuring but confidently tells me he is a feminist and says if anything got crazy he would defend me. I do not want things to get crazy, thanks anyways Bruce. I find my friend, we take refuge on our own in the bar, we’re getting an Uber out of here stat but the Assertive one finds us, somehow, with more drinks. It’s maddening, I tell him we’re off to the bathroom for just a minute, our ride won’t be long now, and the drunk girls in the bathroom slur us well wishes and talk about all their experiences escaping generosity.

We make it home perfectly safe. Either sweat or the lingering feeling of guilt is a yucky film on my skin. Without prompting, my friend says we didn’t owe anyone anything. She’s right but I feel wrong, stupid and scared. His claim to me was unquestionable to himself, to others, my claim to myself felt preposterous in the moment, like I wanted to steal something of his and made any claim for it I could, even if it was my body. She’s a wonderful friend, she made sure to change the subject and help us laugh before bed. Yet when I finally closed my eyes I felt his teeth and tongue on my wrist and hoped I wouldn’t dream of it. I don’t think my experience is unique or special, in my sober mind I know no one can claim me or pay for me in three-dollar beers; I also know I should never go out without my partner or a male friend at my side. It doesn’t matter that my body is my own, it doesn’t matter if I’m stronger than any of the males I’d bring around for protection, I know what the social contract of a good night out is. I know I need a man to say I’m my own to feel like my own, I know I need a man around to make my inalienable rights actually inalienable. I know violence can wait for me if I say yes or no to a free drink and that I might not ever be able to protect myself the way I want to, own myself the way I should be able. I’ll go out again sometime soon, I’ll have a good time and be happy to see my partner and all my friends together, but I’ll never forget what I know now.