Crone with a Machete~Somebody Has to Walk Her Home
Narayan *Somebody Has to Walk Her Home
Crone with a Machete
I want to live in a world where all women and children are safe.
Where a woman can walk down the street stumbling drunk, high as fuck, and somebody sees a human being who needs help. Somebody says, “Where are your friends? Who can we call?” Somebody makes sure she gets home safely.
Not somebody steering her into an alley. Not somebody inviting her to a frat house because her vulnerability looks like an opportunity.
And when somebody sees a child alone, I want their first instinct to be protection.
I want to walk down the street without my keys between my knuckles. I don’t carry a gun, and I don’t want to. I believe in the right to bear arms. If somebody wants to carry, let them carry. But I want to leave my house without feeling that I need a weapon to come home intact.
That should not be an outrageous thing to want.
Yet here we are, arguing about how much responsibility a woman bears for what somebody else chooses to do to her.
She drank. She showed up. She wore that. She went into the room.
And before we get started, yes, I am taking the side of women.
If that makes you want to skip this article, go ahead. But I encourage you to read it, because taking the side of women does not mean I believe women are perfect. It means I am tired of watching a woman’s imperfections become the excuse for somebody else’s entitlement.
I do not know a single woman who has not experienced some form of sexual abuse, harassment, or violation. When I look at the degradation of the relationship between men and women—the downfall, the accusations flying across both camps—I wonder how much further we can sink before we finally look at what we have become.
Because there are three things happening here, and we keep arguing as though there is only one.
There is the law. There is health—mental, emotional, and physical. And there is the moral compass.
Depending on which one matters most to you, that is where you will derive your opinion. But how many people are actually looking at all three?
Some people defending the men begin and end with the legal argument. What can be proved? What was agreed to? What was signed?
Those questions matter. But where are the questions about the health of everyone involved? Where is the concern for what an encounter does to a human being? Where is the question of whether something ought to happen simply because somebody believes they can get away with it?
I am not going to untangle the legalities of the situation circulating right now. That discussion is a muddy cesspool, and I am not pretending that social media gives us a complete evidentiary record.
We do not know what she signed or did not sign. We do not know the circumstances surrounding those decisions. We do not know how much of the story reaching us is actually true.
But I want to know what evidence has been examined, what remains disputed, and how the university handled the situation. Whose interests did its decisions protect? Are we looking at that familiar institutional response: get her to sign, get her out of here, protect the reputation, and carry on?
I want those questions answered. I don’t want them buried beneath a thousand arguments about what kind of woman she was.
And while those questions remain, we can still examine our own response.
Boys will be boys.
Girls are sluts.
There it is. The programming. Still running.
The men get an excuse, and the woman becomes the explanation for their behavior.
I am utterly shocked and dismayed by how many women I see defending the behavior being described.
“Well, she got drunk.”
“Well, she said she wanted to.”
Okay. And why couldn’t somebody say no?
Why couldn’t one person stop and say, “You know what? This isn’t okay. Let’s make sure she’s safe.”
Why is restraint apparently too much to ask? Why is care too much to ask? Why does an opportunity for sex seem to erase every other responsibility in the room?
This is a fucking human being, goddammit.
A person with a body and a soul.
At what point does a person become something to pass around, perform on, laugh about, or turn into a story for your friends?
What the ever-loving fuck are we calling a good time?
I have been on this planet for 64 years. I am phenomenal at pattern recognition. And in my own experience, I have yet to meet a man in whom I have not encountered some version of that entitlement.
That is what I mean when I speak of patriarchy: a mindset. An assumption that a woman’s body is available, negotiable, something to pursue until she gives in. Something a man can claim because he paid, waited, wanted, or decided he deserved it.
And now we have politics determining whether people are willing to question that mindset.
The women on the left become “crazy.” The women on the right get pulled into defending men because they don’t want to agree with the women on the left. Somewhere in the middle, people are laughing, collecting attention, and watching the shit show go down.
Are you defending this because you actually believe it is acceptable? Or because the women you dislike are outraged?
That is a question worth asking yourself.
People say they don’t want to divide over politics. Then they let politics decide whose pain deserves consideration.
I have been party-less for many, many years. That doesn’t mean I don’t vote. It doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions. It means I am not handing my judgment over to a party and letting it tell me when to care.
My concern for a woman’s safety does not depend on which side gets to win the argument.
And yes, perhaps I am taking the outrage bait. Perhaps a story is being packaged to provoke us. I question the timing and the framing, too. But calling something a psyop does not make the underlying problem disappear.
The entitlement was here before this story. The double standard was here before this story. So was the willingness to turn another person’s vulnerability into entertainment.
We have to look at the culture surrounding all of it.
That includes Hollywood, pornography, reality television, and the microphones through which people now sell their version of sexual freedom.
Slight confession: I love reality shows. I watch how people behave when placed in certain environments. What gets rewarded? What gets laughed off? What do people do to belong, to be wanted, to remain in the game?
There is a dating show out of Australia that comes to mind—a whole party-fucking environment, with women behaving as badly as the men.
I know we are watching something produced and edited. But look at the behavior being presented as entertainment. Look at the version of relationships being sold back to us.
Who gets the attention? Who gets humiliated? Who becomes desirable because somebody else wants them? What does a person have to reveal, tolerate, or perform to remain interesting?
And then we wonder why people are confused.
We can point a finger at the feminist movement, and I am willing to hold parts of it responsible. But I am not going to hold it completely responsible. The demand for equal rights was a legitimate demand.
What troubles me is the response: Fine. You want equality? Then we will treat you like a man.
As though equal rights meant women should expect less tenderness, less consideration, less care. As though women had asked to be treated harshly, and now men were going to make sure they got what they supposedly wanted.
And women took it on.
We took on the armor. We took on the boss babe. We took on the idea that we could prove our freedom by being just as sexually detached, just as hard, just as careless with ourselves and one another.
Somewhere in that performance, I think we lost the question of what we actually wanted—and what it was costing us.
We began confusing being desired with having power. Being sexually available with being free. Being able to do something with knowing whether it served us.
And men have their own version of that confusion.
The idea that their dick wields power. That conquest proves something. That access to a woman confirms their importance, and the more access they get, the more powerful they become.
A woman can mistake the attention her sexuality generates for empowerment. A man can mistake his ability to obtain sex—or pressure somebody into it—for empowerment.
Both can become dependent on somebody else’s response to feel powerful.
Where is the freedom in that?
If your sense of power depends on being wanted, being watched, being purchased, or getting somebody to submit, what happens when the audience leaves? When somebody refuses? When the body ages? When the money stops?
What have you actually built within yourself?
Now we have hugely popular podcasters discussing taking it up the ass on the first date as though this is the conversation that proves how liberated we have become.
I hear that, and I wonder where the depth went.
There is a difference between speaking honestly about sex and turning intimacy into a performance for an audience. There is a difference between helping somebody understand their body and seeing how far you can push the conversation to keep people watching.
What happens when your private life becomes material? When the next episode needs a more explicit confession? When sexual experience becomes something to rank, boast about, monetize, and compare?
Where is the conversation about trust? About tenderness? About what an encounter leaves you feeling afterward? About whether you wanted it—or wanted to be the kind of woman who could say she wanted it?
And yes, we need to talk about porn. But I want to be precise here.
I am not going to pretend that every couple who watches something erotic together is degrading themselves. Sometimes it can open a conversation, help partners express a desire, or bring playfulness into their intimacy.
But where is the line?
Can both people comfortably say, “I don’t like that”? Can they turn it off? Can they remain interested in the person beside them without needing a screen to tell them what happens next?
Is it something they are sharing, or is one person being asked to measure up to a performance? Has curiosity become expectation? Has an invitation become pressure?
Can somebody say no without being called boring, prudish, insecure, or insufficiently liberated?
Those are the questions I want us to ask.
And what about the men watching it?
What happens when porn becomes a habit they cannot comfortably put down? When they keep returning to the screen even as it takes time, attention, and intimacy away from the person beside them?
At what point does a performance become an expectation?
A woman on a screen is performing for a camera. You are watching something selected, staged, and edited. You are not seeing the whole person, the whole encounter, or necessarily what she feels about any of it.
But when a man starts carrying that script into his relationships, a real woman can find herself being measured against a manufactured reality.
He expects the availability. The enthusiasm. The endurance. The willingness to do whatever comes next.
Where is the room for her actual desire? Her hesitation? Her tenderness? Her body having a different response from the one he expected?
She is a human being. She does not exist to bring your viewing history to life.
And when the pursuit becomes compulsive—when there is always another video, another body, another thing to watch—where is his attention going? Is he able to be present with another person, or is he looking through her for the next stimulation?
That is the disconnection from the heart I am talking about. When her humanity gets pushed aside because the appetite has become more important than the encounter.
And if she says no?
Does he hear her? Or does he push, sulk, bargain, compare her to somebody else, and make her feel that she has failed him?
“You’re boring.”
“You’re uptight.”
“Other women do it.”
There it is again: a woman being asked to abandon herself so a man does not have to confront his expectations.
Watching porn does not make every man abusive. But when a man uses what he watches to justify pressure, humiliation, or entitlement, we have crossed into something that needs to be confronted.
And calling it an addiction does not erase his responsibility.
Your struggle may need care. Your partner still deserves safety. She does not owe you her boundaries as payment for what you are going through.
If you cannot put the screen down, take that seriously. If you keep asking for more while becoming less available to the human being beside you, take that seriously.
What kind of power is it if your appetite is running your life?
A man who can hear no, respect it, and remain kind is exercising something far more substantial than conquest.
He is remembering that there is a person in front of him.
And that is where the heart has to come back into the room.
Because “we watched it together” does not tell us everything about what happened between those two people. Neither does “she agreed.”
What were the conditions of that agreement? Was there room for hesitation? For a change of mind? For a boundary that did not have to be defended like a court case?
This opens a much larger conversation about sexual energy, and I will come back to that. But first, look at how many ways we have learned to put sexuality on the market.
Pornography. Prostitution. Escorting. Strip clubs. Webcam performances. OnlyFans and other subscription pages. Paid sexting. Custom sexual videos. Private erotic livestreams. Sugar arrangements in which money, gifts, companionship, and sexual expectations become entangled.
Then there are the adjacent performances: sexualized influencer content, intimate confessions sold through podcasts, reality television, and the endless invitation to reveal more of yourself to keep an audience interested.
These are different circumstances. A woman selling a photograph is not having the same experience as a woman meeting a paying client. A podcaster discussing sex is not automatically selling sexual access.
But across these different worlds, I want to examine the same question: what happens when a woman’s sexuality becomes the product through which she is expected to earn her living, establish her worth, or maintain her visibility?
What does she have to keep giving? Who sets the terms? Can she change them? Can she stop?
And before we answer with another slogan about empowerment, can we listen to the women themselves?
I used to have women working in some of those worlds as clients.
Do you think I didn’t learn anything from them?
I am not talking about learning how to seduce a man. I am talking about listening to what was happening within them. What had happened in their lives. What brought them to the place where I met them.
Some of their stories would blow your fucking mind.
Those stories are theirs. I am not going to expose them to make a point. Nor am I going to pretend every woman has the same story.
But I listened.
And I wish more people would take the time to understand how a woman arrives in the circumstances she does before calling her empowered, calling her ruined, or deciding that whatever happened to her was simply the consequence of being that kind of woman.
What choices did she have? What did she need? What had she learned about her worth? Could she refuse? Could she leave? Was anybody listening?
Being wanted can feel powerful. Being paid can open a door. Neither tells us everything about whether a person is safe, respected, or free to choose.
So yes, I am asking women to look at what we are participating in.
What are we calling freedom? What are we teaching younger women to accept? What are we applauding because we are afraid of being called judgmental?
Do I think women need to treat their bodies as sacred?
Abso-fucking-lutely.
Your body is sacred. Treat it as such.
And a woman does not have to demonstrate perfect judgment to deserve protection from harm.
Those convictions belong together.
I can ask women to care for themselves. I can ask men to exercise restraint. I can ask everyone in the room to recognize another person’s humanity.
A woman’s behavior does not relieve a man of his moral compass.
Women can manipulate, exploit, seduce, and cause harm. We are responsible for what we do, too. But none of that makes another person’s body fair game.
Sober or not sober. Dressed or undressed.
A woman should be able to walk down the street naked and nobody should fucking touch her.
Her body being visible is not an invitation. Her vulnerability is not permission. Your desire does not give you ownership.
And men: fucking keep your dick in your pants.
Stop using it as a weapon. Stop treating it as the source of your power. Stop acting as though wanting something gives you the right to take it, or as though somebody’s inability to stop you is permission to continue.
You can feel desire and exercise restraint. You can encounter vulnerability and offer care. You can be in a room full of men behaving badly and decide you will not join them.
What would it take for us to behave as though we understood that?
Part of me would love to see chaperones come back. Somebody present who is paying attention. Somebody willing to interrupt. Somebody who notices when a person is too far gone and says, “We’re leaving. I’ve got you.”
I understand the baggage attached to that word. I am not romanticizing control over women’s sexuality, marriage, money, or movement.
What I want is the care. The watchfulness. The willingness to be responsible for one another’s safety.
Where are the friends who refuse to leave someone behind? Where are the men who will stop another man? Where are the women who will step in before something becomes a disaster?
We need people willing to interrupt the party.
And women who say they want to protect women have to do more than scream into a microphone.
We have to help each other.
Make the call. Arrange the ride. Walk over to the woman standing alone. Ask whether she wants to leave. Stay with her. Refuse to join the whispering circle that turns her distress into gossip.
Be somebody she can tell the truth to without having to prove that she behaved perfectly first.
The law has responsibilities. Institutions have responsibilities. But we cannot wait for a legal judgment to offer somebody care. We cannot wait for every hidden agenda to be exposed before deciding how we will behave.
We are in the midst of disclosure in the plainest sense: ugly things are being brought into view. Whatever else may be shaping the spectacle, we can see the excuses, the appetite, the contempt, and the division in the responses around us.
What are we going to do with what we are being shown?
Watch another video? Win another argument? Wait for somebody else to correct it?
Or participate in making the corrections ourselves?
For women, part of that begins with saying no.
No to mistaking sexual availability for freedom.
No to performing a version of liberation that requires us to disregard ourselves.
No to laughing along when another woman is humiliated.
No to defending entitlement because the people criticizing it belong to the wrong political camp.
No to making a woman earn our compassion.
And no to the idea that we have to put more of ourselves on display to prove we possess ourselves.
That no belongs to us. So does the responsibility to respect another woman’s no—and to stand beside her when somebody refuses to hear it.
This is where law, health, and morality have to meet.
Establish what happened. Look at what happened to the human beings involved. Hold people responsible for their choices. And examine what we have learned to excuse.
These are the people who will be running the world when I am 80 years old. The behavior we reward today is helping shape the judgment they will bring with them.
And that frightens the fuck out of me.
But I do not want to leave this at fear or outrage.
I want somebody in that room to have enough courage to stand up and say, “No. We’re not doing this.”
I want a woman who has made a terrible decision to encounter somebody who makes a good one.
I want her vulnerability to call forth care.
I want somebody to help her get home with her dignity, her body, and her life intact.
I want to live in a world where women and children are safe.
We have to participate in making that world.
Next, the Crone is taking the machete to the energetics of sex: what we bring into an intimate encounter, what we exchange, and the damage we can do when sexual energy is used to manipulate, dominate, or abandon ourselves.
For now, somebody has to interrupt the party.
Somebody has to walk her home.