I Don't Have To

I don't have to.
I don't have to let you buy me a drink.
I don't have to laugh in that shy, feminine way
as you feed me a line about what I want for breakfast tomorrow
I don't have to stare at you, feigning interest
as you tell me all about your ex girlfriends.
I don't have to agree to dance.
I don't have to let you put your hands around me,
reaching, touching, feeling, groping.
I don't have to let you kiss me,
because your breath smells like bourbon
and your tongue tastes like tobacco,
and anyway, I don't need a reason. I don't have to.
But I do.
That's what they told me, anyway.
They said, "Here's what a bad touch is" and "Here's what a condom is"
and "Here's how to say 'no'" and "Why are you still single?"
And my friends and I talk about how stupid the boys all are
and which ones we want to date;
and the lame ass shit he said, or what another one did
and how we wish we could get "a good one."
But we don't have to.
We don't have to get dressed up
in the skimpy clothes they wear in the magazines
and spend an hour primping our hair and applying our makeup.
We don't have to go out to the clubs,
borrowing fake IDs and stealing wristbands.
We don't have to. But we do.
Nobody told us there were any other options.
Paris Hilton never informed us.
Lindsay and Nicole never shared with us
that a club is full of dirty, sleazy guys
looking to score a date for the night
and naive young women
who don't know they don't have to.
They don't have to give out their phone numbers to whomever asks.
They don't have to try to say no in that nice, unsure way
that makes the guys think "yes."
They don't have to leave with a stranger,
only to call their friends in the morning
begging for a ride, giggling, groggy, shame-filled.
They don't have to.
But we tell them to.
We encourage the behavior with our reluctance,
our own past indiscretions, our lack of self-esteem.
We don't have to.
But we feel incomplete, incompetent, unworthy,
and we tell each other to feel the exact same way.