Fuck this, I'm not running from these jokers.

You roll your eyes, putting yourself together. Run? You’re Anna Goddamn Morales. You parents didn’t give you a middle name to pave over for some light blasphemy so you could forget that. And who the fuck are these two? Two community college sophomores with a crappy smart phone? You’re going to let THEM scare YOU?

As the cone of light narrows at the edge of the alley, you spring out, eliciting a sharp pair of screams from the two boys. Too stunned to resist, you snatch the phone effortlessly out of the taller one’s hand and cancel the recording, making sure it doesn’t complete even on the off-chance it caught something. You turn the light in their faces, revealing two young men, aghast and more than a little scared as you scan them critically.

“Which one of you jackasses was driving that car?” you snap, not wanting to go off the offensive. The one with the hat raises his hand while his friend points to him. “Good. Driving stoned is as bad as driving drunk, at least I know you’re not entirely monsters.” They still stand there agape, completely silent. “Okay, so raise your hand if you want to fuck me.” Their eyes widen and faces pale, but their arms don’t even twitch. “Come on, I heard you guys saying how you were going to change my life with those dicks, who wants to prove it?” Nothing.

“We, um …” the shorter one stammers, “we can just go?”

“I mean, not if you want your phone back, you can’t.” The shorter one starts to turn when his friend grabs him by the shoulder and forces him back to face you. “Better. No, we’re going to have a chat about your attitudes towards women. Then I’ll decide if you get this back or not. Or I can just call the cops and we can see if I get in more trouble for being naked or you get in more trouble for being high. I mean, you’re good, upstanding white boys. Not like you have any, say, priors for **** or ****?”

“I’m up for listening to the lady,” the tall one offers quickly. You grin, a little proud you clocked him right.

“Okay, first things first, you see a naked woman outside and your first thought isn’t ‘Gee, she might need help?’ How do you know I didn’t just escape from a cult or a basement or something? I mean, I didn’t, but you don’t know that.”

“I … I saw you, I thought it was just the weed?” the tall one offers weakly.

“Look, I get how it seems like a fun adventure to go looking for a sexy lady at midnight, but what if I had been running from something? What if I was traumatized or needed medical aid? You think the aggressive recording was going to help me feel safe?” It’s more than a little satisfying to see the realization sinking into them. It’s not your job to fix every jackass who hasn’t considered gender politics once in their lives, but seeing them looking ashamed is a lot better than seeing them looking angry. As confident as you are you can outrun them, talking sense is a lot more fun than running and destroying a cell phone for ****.

“Jesus …” the shorter one says out loud, shoulders slumping a little.

“Yeah, that would have been … extremely bad. Fuck,” his friend agrees.

“And even for what’s actually happening, you know how easy it is to destroy a woman’s life by posting something like this on the internet? I mean, really. I want you to think of one person with a sex tape you don’t know as ‘that person with that sex tape,’ and then tell me how many are men. Is it zero?”

“You’re not wrong?” the short one says, very hesitantly. “But isn’t what you’re doing sort of illegal?”

“Absolutely, but who, exactly, am I hurting doing it? Whose life is being made worse right now?”

“I mean … I guess … kids?”

“Yeah, there are no public schools between here and Cincinnati, no one around here has kids. Especially outside in the dead of night.” He shrugs, unable to argue further. “My point is, have you ever actually put up pictures of women having sex, naked, just being even moderately sexual at all without them knowing or consenting to it happening? Videos? Ever seen what that really looks like?”

“I mean, I’m on some forums, but …” The tall one glances at his friend, clearly surprised at his hesitance. “No. They’re all talk. And … it’s not great talk, either.”

“No, I just … I wanted to seem cool?” The shorter man looks at his friend, also in confusion. “To you, man! I’ve never been with a girl or anything, last date I had was junior year of high school.”

“I mean, me, either … yeah, I know, I talk a big game … Christ, we’re assholes.”

“Yes,” you state bluntly. “But you’re listening, which I appreciate. It’s a low bar, I know, but a lot of guys won’t even do that. Which is just a cycle. If you won’t listen to women, they won’t listen to you, you’ll stay distant, refuse to hear WHY they don’t want to hang out with you, and you’ll just get more bitter and unhappy. Does that shit sound like fun? Like, all morals aside, does it sound fun to be depressed and single and taking it out on strangers for the rest of your lives?” Both of them shake their heads. You almost feel bad for how down this conversation seems to have gotten them, but it matters a lot more than it seems to have cut to the core all the same.

“Fuck, that sounds awful,” the tall man says, clearly sobering up. “God, lady, I’m fucking sorry, I didn’t mean to stress you out like that.”

“Or insult you. I … definitely said you some stuff that probably insulted you …” the other admits.

“Listen, you just have a lot to think about. You don’t seem like bad guys, but it’s easy to slip into toxic behavior, farther and farther, until you actually mean it. And it’s not harmless even when you don’t. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? I’m, like, seven years older than you, tops.”

“We’re twenty-one,” the tall one clarifies.

“Then I thought you were younger, because I’m only FIVE years older than you. Sorry. Sorry. Staring at thirty is stressing me out, even if I’ve got a bit still. The respect is actually … pretty good, as far as steps go. Ma’am is fine. You guys can head out if you want, I just wanted to make sure we were clear on some things. And you can have this back.” You toss the tall guy his cell, then turn to walk away.

“Hey, this might be stupid?” the guy in the leather coat, which he must be absolutely sweltering in, asks after you. “But can you answer some questions for us about, like, what we SHOULD be doing? It’s not like we have a lot of friends who know what the hell they’re talking about. And you’re right, women and us are … we don’t have female friends, and it’s pretty hard not to see how that’s our own fault. Would that be okay?” You consider for a second, then turn and hold your hand out.

“Coat,” you say to him. He pauses, then rolls it off and hands it to you. “First, this is fine SOMETIMES. Leather jackets are not an everyday look. Just makes you look like you’re about to mansplain bondage to me with no warning whatsoever.” You fold it neatly, then put it on the ground and sit on it. If you’re going to try to help these dumbasses out, you’re not getting grass into your asshole to do it. “And the hat? I’d burn that. I’m not saying they never look good, but we’ve sort of reached this point where a fedora says some things it’s hard for even a good style to drown out.”

“She’s pretty right, man,” the tall one says. “I’m going to guess … I should wash my clothes more …”

“I’ve smelled worse, but yeah, especially if you smoke as much as I’m guessing you do. That honestly goes for both of you, JESUS.” You almost jump when the short one takes his hat off. It’s hard to tell at first if his hair is extremely greasy or if that’s intentional, but looking closer, you realize he has it styled that way. “Look, we are going to get into the nitty-gritty, emotional fulfillment, what-a-relationship-means stuff in a second, but don’t do … that. The hair thing. What do you even put in there?”

“I just did this in the morning. I found this bottle of gel, and I thought maybe I could do something with it, and yeah, it didn’t work out. I have it in the car?”

“Not important right now, I’m just glad we’re on the same page. Okay, so, we’re going to start the hard stuff like this: you ask me a question or tell me something you think about girls or relationships, I’ll do my best to point out any parts that are gross and what, yes, you’re right about, because you probably will be about some of it. Separating it out is just important. Sound good?”

It takes a few hours, but Eric (the man thankfully no longer wearing a fedora) and Nate (his taller friend) are surprisingly good listeners. You idly wonder if you being buck-naked might have something to do with that, but hey, if it’s effective, it’s effective. And as they seem to process what you’re telling them and even manage to internalize a few of the points in impressively short order, being watched nude feels exciting again instead of stressful, anyway. Plus, with them actually taking in your points and putting out the effort to acknowledge their mistakes … they’re actually pretty cute. Eric’s hair aside, but that’s not a big issue. And at least the race stuff you went over was just “that’s not a good adjective,” and not “genuinely racist,” so you’re not worried about them being secret Nazis. And Nate was sobering up when this started, so he’s stone-cold by now … hey, whoa. That’s kind of a bad idea. But is it? I mean, you’re horny, and while you’re pretty sure they’ll remember and build on this anyway, do you really think sex with a knockout like you would make it LESS likely to stick as a lesson?