I Was Groped, But Then Again, I Did My Share Of Groping–Memories Of Yesteryear And An Era Of Individual Responsibility

Patty Zigger flicked every boy in Mrs. Linder's 8th grade.  They learned to steer clear of her, to stay close to the bannister on the stairs to the biology lab, and to eat at the far end of the dining hall, but they still wondered at her marvelous sexual ambition, and what she would be like in bed. 

Now, this being the mid 50s, no 8th grade boy had even gotten close to the sexual act itself.  At best all they could hope for was a brush against one of those tempting breasts of Nancy Boone.  The rest would have to wait.



So what to make of Patty Zigger? She was not as seductive as Nancy Boone – no girl in fact could match Nancy’s perkiness, lightly lipsticked lips, and especially her pert, inviting, and irresistible breasts – but still, there was no mistaking Patty’s sexual interest.

In this, a more sexually sophisticated age, her gestures might have multiple meanings – her neglect and desire for sexual attention being the last among them.  A transsexual perhaps, a closeted woman whose desire for a penis could only be expressed in a frustrated, aggressive way.  A fully mature woman in a young girl’s body for whom any touch of the male was a signifier, a sign of fulfillment to come.  A lesbian who, even at her young age, understood the nature of male predation and insult and who, while still inhibited from showing her true colors and to immature for serious political conviction, knew that there was something wrong with men.


In that, a much less evolved and more innocent age, boys were simply and uniformly concerned with what was under Patty’s shirtwaist and Nancy’s blouse, and what they would do once they found out.

Sex was on their mind all the time, from morning to night; in Mr. Smith’s math class and Mrs. Taylor’s English grammar. 

The girls in the Muirland Country Day 8th grade were no different.  They wondered what ‘it’ looked like, how it would feel inside them, and especially when they could find out.  The sexual reticence of the times and the moral strictures of both church and community inhibited any resolution to these questions, but they were on everyone’s minds night and day.

Bobby Parker did indeed grope Nancy Boone in the backseat of his Ford Galaxie, parked on the service road along the 8th hole at Mountain Meadows Country Club.  She kept pushing his hand away as he drew her closer, kissed her, and caressed her shoulder.  She knew exactly what he was after, wanted him to continue, but needed to dictate the pace.

She like all girls in New Brighton understood that boys were incessant and irremediable in their pursuit of sexual favors but were so naïve and inexperienced that they could be deterred and, if necessary, ridiculed.  There was nothing so fragile as the male ego, they learned from an early age, and that knowledge was power.

Of course there were those boys who couldn’t take ‘No’ for an answer; but all the girls knew who they were and most were attracted by their male assertiveness. There were those who got into the backseat of the coupe willingly; and those who had no interest in being tempted, romanced, and enticed, and who simply went home.

There were plenty of girls who wanted to be touched, caressed, and loved; and who knew precisely what they were doing when they accepted ‘his’ offer; and plenty more who abided by the censorious rules of the day and demurred. 

These latter were more willing to go out with the inexperienced boys because they – the girls – could always be in control.  They would be the arbiters of pace and rhythm, and if a blouse was unbuttoned or a belt loosened, it was they who decided when and how.



These young girls learned about male sexual behavior before it got twisted, frustrated, and difficult.  Boys simply wanted to touch them, to feel them, to kiss them, and ultimately to make love to them – nothing offensive, predatory, abusive, or disrespectful.  They were acting according to the way God made them.

The girls also understood their own sexual nature and how it fit in with or rubbed up against social norms.  They were to be the pursued, never the pursuing.  Always diffident and reticent, never eager or passionate, but temperate, accepting, and patient. 

They of course knew how to game the system just as their sisters and brothers in previous and future generations had and would.  Male sexual pursuit is a given – an obvious, simple, and uncomplicated one – and women have always known how to dismiss, deflate, and ignore it.

The attractive girls in Mrs. Linder’s 8th grade were never frustrated, for they knew that they would always be pursued. There were no social, religious, or community injunctions which could stop them.  The Darwinian sorting which started in the 8th grade would continue until mating, and girls would always be the determinants, boys the dependent variables.  Boys were helpless in the thrall of their hardwired, unfairly riveted sexual desire.  Girls could always use this impossibly vain and naïve desire to their advantage.

One had to look no further than the works of Shakespeare to see how savvy, smart women bested men all the time – Portia, Rosalind, Beatrice, Goneril, Regan, Viola and many others used men as their playthings, tricked them, conspired against them, and always won the day.



The more confident girls were aggressive.  When they found the right boy – not too demanding, cute, promising, and attractive – they did the fondling, gave the sweet inviting caresses and soft kisses all to remove his inhibitions and reticence.  ‘She who initiates controls’ was their motto.

So groping went on every Saturday night on the service road along the 8th hole at Mountain Meadows.  Girls were tempted, boys enticed, a delicate sexual balance sought, and by midnight most issues had been sorted out.

No one reported Patty Zigger to the principal or to the school administration.  No boy tattled to his mother about her behavior.  They felt in no need of protection or alleviation.  They were quite happy either to avoid her, to meet her, or even to pursue her.

In the same vein Nancy Boone, who could never keep boys’ hands off her, never went home crying, disconsolate and put upon.  She knew precisely who she was, what she was, and the effect she had on boys.  She was in control; and even at her young age knew precisely how to puncture a soft male ego.  It didn’t take much, she knew, to pop the inflated sexual balloon.

So what is one to make of the current groping hysteria? Men and women both are reporting incidents that happened thirty or forty years ago.  What is going on here?

It has been well-known for years that Hollywood is an intensely competitive, highly sexed place.  Starlets sleep with producers to get the roles they want, and producers take liberties with the most impressionable and hopeful among them.  If not exactly consensual, these liaisons were at least contractual.  Both parties knew what they were giving and getting.

It should be no surprise to learn that given the star culture of Hollywood attractive young actors try to bed the beautiful women and men around them? Are there cases of actual abuse?  Of course.  There are boors in every industry, men who will never understand what’s what, and who are so arrogantly self-centered and entitled that they will do anything to anyone at anytime.  They, however, are not the issue.

The only relevant issue is contractual.  Who agreed to what under what circumstances with what level of agreement or complicity?

An ancillary issue is individual strength, will, and resolve.  What woman has not repulsed an aggressive male advance? In most cases, except when dealing with the most obtuse, ugly, and deformed male personalities, rejection works.   Women are not the victims that feminists ironically claim.  Strong women are the descendants of Tamora, Volumnia, Margaret, Hedda, Hilde, Laura, and Dionyza.  We can take care of ourselves, thank you very much.



The culture of victimhood is infectious.  It has extended beyond reasonable assumptions of sexual discrimination to include sex itself.  The sexual protocol mandated by the State of California  (ask permission every ten minutes) is absurd in its notions of safe spaces and assumptions of total individual irresponsibility.  All men are predators say the radical feminist Left, and every measure to protect women from their malign intent is justified and called for.

Such abnegation of individual responsibility has spilled over into racial and ethnic arenas.  Blacks can and should be understood and exonerated for their antisocial actions because they are the victims of white supremacy and oppression.  They are given a bye for dysfunctional families, a culture of disrespect and questionable street creds, and an ethos of hostility towards any established white authority.

Individual responsibility; honorable, intelligent behavior; respect, compassion, duty, and courage all play second fiddle to the airing of any and all grievances in a culture of blame.

It is time to return behavior to a more private sphere.  To consider it as an expression of individual character, not social arbiters.  In other words, time to woman up.