She took a sip of her grape juice, slid her sunglasses down an inch, and said, “I just hate it when men charge at me in the gym, reeking of sweat.” My first reaction, filed away in the pantry of my mind, was Yes, I feel the same. Yet at the same instant something sizzled behind my eyes. So she’s telling me not to be that guy. Right there lay the problem: a snake began to coil up the forbidden staircase, and my temperature rose.
The Scalding Perfume of Her Refusal
I’ve always been like this. Whenever my girlfriend tosses out, “That’s way too patriarchal,” my hips answer before my brain does. My mind flushes with shame while my blood rushes in the opposite direction. The sharper her point, the more I ache to press my flesh against the blade.
I want to say That’s absurd, but the words swell to the back of my throat and sink again. Because when her unapologetic voice rings in my ear, I harden. Harden where I should not advance, yet precisely where I yearn to trespass.
Case 1: Jun-yeong’s “No” Was a Dare
At twenty, Jun-yeong first saw Yujin at the campus festival, tending a booth labeled “Gender-Free Market.” Her hair was streaked blue and green; her placard read, “A society where only men suffer does not exist.” When Jun-yeong stepped up and said, “I agree,” Yujin narrowed her eyes—What’s a guy doing here?
I’m against misogyny too… She cut him off. Agreeing is easy; doing something is the hard part.
From that day on, Jun-yeong haunted Yujin’s KakaoTalk profile. Each time she posted, Another day of male excess, he drained a beer to the foam. The thought that male excess might mean him made his chest blaze. Strangely, the more she seemed to despise him, the closer he wanted to stand.
Case 2: Ji-hoon’s Long Road to a “Yes”
Ji-hoon, thirty-five, an ordinary salaryman. His girlfriend Sujin had once gone straight from overtime to the in-house sexual-violence hotline after nearly dislocating her shoulder from overwork.
When she muttered, I’m exhausted, Ji-hoon swallowed his rice mid-chew. Then let’s… take a break. I’ll put in for leave too.
Sujin knocked back a shot of soju. Men think vacation fixes everything.
That night Ji-hoon opened and closed the fridge door until the light whimpered. Why am I the one who feels guilty? And why is that guilt so scorching?
Sujin lay on the living-room sofa. Ji-hoon crept over and brushed a strand of hair from her face. When her eyes opened a slit, he read a “no” in them—more precisely, not now. His body slackened while everything inside him boiled.
Her no strips me bare. Guilt and aroused blood clasp hands and descend, and I want to bite their joined wrists.
The Mirror of Taboo and Desire
Why do we burn hotter in front of a wall labeled impossible? The answer is simple: taboo is the most lethal fuel for desire. Feminist discourse tells men, Don’t do that anymore. Yet men catch the whispered aftertaste: until now, perhaps you did.
Fine, maybe I did. Could I act differently now?
That question may secretly be self-confirmation: I still possess the power to do it. When the choice not to use that power is mistaken for power itself, a man crowns himself benevolent sovereign—and the coronation breeds fresh heat.
To the Man in the Mirror
Tonight someone will read a feminist text and vow, I must change. Yet beneath the vow a small voice will murmur: Do I want the version of me that changes while remaining the same?
The day she says yes, will I still be on fire? Or was the fire lit only by her no?
Even as you read this line, aren’t you dipping a toe into the fantasy of being forbidden?