She wants to see herself as the cool, feminist punk-girl. She wants to feel tough, independent, strong-willed… She wants to feel like the sort of girl she respects.
…And that’s why she doesn’t go out looking for men to fuck her and use her. She doesn’t actually seek out the sort of men who see a teen girl as ‘fresh meat’.
She just happens to….drink more than she should. She just gravitates towards the sort of men with chemical surprises to slip into her drink. she just wakes up in strange houses, covered in even stranger bruises. She just spends the morning wincing and flinching as a man twice her age, whose name she doesn’t know, presses her down and insists on fucking her one last time…
And that way she didn’t really want it, she wasn’t really asking for it… it just happened. Every morning, as she walks home, she tells herself she doesn’t actually want it.
(Written for an awesome person I met on Babblesex)
The presence of a playpen in the background only adds to the whole tomboyhood-subversion element here, of course.
[OOC: I am not, of course, endorsing any real-life equivalent of the victim-blaming inherent in this fantasy.]