Is He Man Enough?

If she was the one who unbuttoned her blouse first, who closed the door, who whispered “Come on, don’t be shy,” and still—he said no. If she was the one who laid herself bare, threw herself at him like a dare in a quiet room—was he man enough to say he didn’t want it? To say, “I froze.” To say, “I said stop.” To say, “She kept going.” Considering the history. Considering the weight of men who have done terrible things to women. Is he man enough to speak against the tide and not be drowned by it? Is he man enough to sit in a room where everyone’s already made up their mind? Where “men like him” have always been guilty—even when he’s not? Is he man enough to say, “Although I am a man with the power to cause harm, she is a woman who caused it first”? Is he man enough to out her? To say, “She touched me first.” “She crossed the line.” “She said no one would believe me.” And would anyone? Is he man enough to survive being called a liar, a coward, a threat—while she gets to cry in court and call it regret? Is he man enough to be told, “You’re a man. Take it.” “You should’ve liked it.” “That’s not real assault.” Is he man enough to be laughed at while choking on a memory he never asked to keep? Is he man enough to carry her crime on his own name because the world still sees it as a favor?