You’ve probably all heard that some no-goodnick in New Jersey has introduced a bill to make the definition of “rape” include any form of lying or subterfuge designed to get into a woman’s pants. We should all thank Troy Singleton, a Democratic Assemblyman representing Burlington, NJ.
Read the article in Slate for more information but here is the original announcement from nj.com:
Earlier this month, state Assemblyman Troy Singleton (D-Burlington) introduced the bill (A3908), which would create the crime of “sexual assault by fraud,” which it defines as “an act of sexual penetration to which a person has given consent because the actor has misrepresented the purpose of the act or has represented he is someone he is not.”
Oh Dear: that’s going to seriously cut down on the number of professed movie producers and directors in this country. But let’s zero in on that idea of misrepresentation.
So if you bragged in an email that you were packing nine inches, when she realizes in the throws of lust that you are neither a shower nor a grower but more like a no-er, she will have legal grounds to accuse you of rape. Now I know that almost no man would stoop to profess love just to round third base and head for home and afterwards never call the woman again, but if a man ever does that, there may be a knock on the door and he will soon be doing hard-time leaning over a table in Rahway. Remember, if she asks if you’ll call her and you say yes … you better call!
I wonder if the final law will be gender neutral? I once dated a woman who insisted she was going to fuck my brains out: I can hereby attest that she was unsuccessful (but her techniques were a wonder to behold). So my question is: should I cry “rape” and have my date thrown in jail just because my world didn’t rock?
But it goes even further: what if I make a well reasoned, logical argument portraying the benefits and pleasures of having sex with me, using a few of those time-honored rhetorical tropes I learned reading Aristotle? Does the cogent and well-balanced argument turn me into a craven sex-monster willing to rape and pillage my way to carnal satisfaction? Is nine inches hyperbole?
What if I’m lying to myself and when I tell a woman that I’m an excellent lover, I really believe it’s true. Just because she’s disappointed in the depth and breadth of my lovemaking shouldn’t be grounds for crying “rape!” Remember the old joke that even a lousy day fishing is better than a really good day at the office? Sex is like that too.
By the way, do they still make pudding pops?