unsafe sex and unsafe drinking

cw: this poem discusses sexual assault, rape, and unsafe drinking habits.

in college i attended a seminar titled "safe sex and safe drinking," something that would have made my mother gasp if i had told her. (i didn't tell anyone where i was going.) it was located in an underground room in which my professor sometimes read slam poetry, beside a sandwich shop. the girls trickled in first, trying to seem confident and collected. the boys followed slowly, heads down. the presenter wore a pantsuit and carried a clipboard. there was free pizza, free condoms, free pamphlets detailing the symptoms of alcohol poisoning. we took one of each. she cleared her throat, said "let's talk about consent." by this time, my body felt like a timebomb. men's touches left greasestains on my skin, a sheen i could never wash off. "if one of you is drunk," she said, "it's not consent. if both of you are drunk, it's not consent. if one of you is pushing, the other like a scared rabbit in a fox's jaw, that's coercion." you could have heard a pen drop. comprehension dawned on faces– how many of us lived in bodies like tombs defiled? how many had been dug up and plundered? how many of us felt stolen? two times i sought him out, mouth on his hot and sticky like the summer. no one ever taught me how to spot a wolf. i never learned my lesson until he bared his teeth. the presenter saw our faces, said "our school offers counseling, please come see us if you need to talk. i want to facilitate a discussion– if you're comfortable, please raise your hand if you answer yes to any of these questions." my hand stayed in the air like a battle flag. another one later claimed i had wanted him, teased him for so long when i accepted that cup, i accepted everything. vodka killed my voice but it could never steal my shame. i found a boy that night, after the seminar. we were sober when i kissed him. he smiled when i asked him to touch me, paint over my past with something i had chosen myself. remodel this body, let myself live here at last. i would like to say this has a happy ending, but we fell apart at the hands of the bottle. i stayed home– sober girl found him at the party, on the edge of unconscious. "that wasn't consent," i told him as he left me, but i know what it's like to live in a body undone by unsafe sex and unsafe drinking. i can't tell the story without a self-appointed judge and juror condemning him for infidelity, unfelt. when spring comes, our bodies lie abandoned. in the winter, we opened the doors, rabbits in a wolf's mouth. my, my, lover. what big teeth you have.