Chernukha, or: this does not happen
I wanted to tell a funny story about Dimka-bass player, but, perhaps, I'll tell her later: after reading the comments to "Different Goddesses" I want to write something else. In the same subject.

Someone said: "Yes, well," disrespect "- this is a female counterpart, has nothing to do with men. So about the "mudla" - it's insulting even. "
Very good. It is very good that now it is a female chip. Probably, the relic is probably empty reflection.
Only nothing, nothing appears from scratch, just like that.

Fear of a young woman that she was "humiliated", sending in the morning by the gate, grows either from personal youth experience - or from a common information field. Do you know what cereals are ripening on this field?
We - people well-read, advanced, we live in our big cities, and even if we live in a residential area where cheerful folk customs and standards do not go away - it's not our business, does it? What difference does it make to us how these marginals live?

In fact, it's Our Rush to deeply care how these nerds, fucking intellectuals live there. That is, we. Our Rashi has his own laws.

Yes, gender stereotypes change. Yes, women increasingly act on male standards of conduct. But this is here, with us. We have a dedicated Internet, a selection of photos of ridiculous naked people who protested, than they could, at the zoological museum, we have brains in our heads, not stereotypes, and we already admit that a woman is also a person.
Our Russia is a vast territory. Throughout this territory, the dense and cruel laws of behavior for females and males still work.
It's happening right now. Maybe in your yard. When you go out to your car in the morning and decide to smoke and admire the fresh spring morning, a company of several men and one woman may pass by you, and you will never know what's the matter. You do not need to know.
Who wants to know - go under the cut.

What can and can not be done by a woman?
For a well-educated and well-read minority - almost everything is possible.
For the majority that sits in their provincial villages and factory districts near TVs - a woman can be tolerated. And do not stick out.
And yet - resign.

Ninety-fifth year.
I and my first, a long time ago, my husband came to visit "to Peter on the hut." Such a bachelor's cabin, where this same Peter spent his leisure time. It was his property, but Petya preferred to live with his mother. And if you want to sit, not disturbing anyone - everyone went there. I was about twenty years old ... Twenty-one, to be exact.
I knew Petka, I thought, well. He was a witness at our wedding. He was his own. He never offended me. That winter Petya hit something in religion: he went to work and talked about the monastery. As usual, showing off.
The bench near the table where it was supposed to take shelter was frozen through - for a long time they did not heat the hut. Petya said: wait, I'll put the mattress on. And he pulled a greasy striped mattress from the cot. The mattress rolled over and I saw blood.
Narrow strip, similar in shape to a long boat.

"Sing, who cut himself?" - I was surprised. "Do not tell me you've got a knife in here."
- And ... do not look at this - Petka was confused for some reason. "It's the one fucking left."
- Did she have critical days? - I asked maliciously.
I knew that girls come to this hut, let's just say, easy behavior. I'm not sure that my first spouse did not participate in these orgies - but then, of course, I did not doubt that he - did not participate.
- No, Lenya Kislyi asshole tore it up - calmly and mundanely responded Petya.

Quiet and ordinary.
... I used to know that with girls crowned with such a dubious title, they are often brutally treated. And she did not understand: why are they going to these dubious drunks? The boys languidly explained that "to drink and have a snack for free to everyone is a hunt," and they were silent. Seeing the bloody "boat" floating along the strips of a worn mattress, I realized that again I did not understand anything, I decided to clarify:
"Sing ... how was that?"
I write in memory. I have a good memory. I write without remarks like "Petka squinted" or "Petka grinned." Draw his throne speech yourself. He squinted and grinned all the way.
- Yes, they brought one with the boiler room. Well, how "how did she get there?" Someone brought it there, too. And who will ask her? She's the fucker. By fucking his foot, that's all. Well, we thumped, and began to take it to the queue. But Sour Vaseline drove himself to the end. He now has an end, like an elephant. And he is such a break: give, I'll put her in the ass! Well, my ass is not rubber. Then she was poured, like nicho. The next day released.
... No, but who will ask them? We called youngsters here: girls, dick-my, we'll sit well and clean. These fucking dunce came. And we already knew that one in Lazarevka took her friend's mouth. A Th friend? Once with such a friend, then, too, whore. I tell them: or calmly now you remove the panties, or I'll wake Sourish, do you need this? They are dick, my, but ... but where to go?
... Nataha, well, for whom do you intercede? Then you - you are married, all nishtyak. And these are whores. No, well, you do not horo. Who is the fascist? You choose the words. Listen, calm your wife, huh? Do not you think. He does not go here.

This girl, who was brought from the boiler room. There was originally a stupid teenage story. It's about how it has managed to become public property. In the village she lived, in Tyutkino, for example. Well, she was invited to a birthday friend. She was fourteen then. She came, but the guests do not. He says: I without a gift. And he said to her: well, you will be my gift.

And then ritual resolution: "Well, he told the sidekicks that it's already possible to type."

Once, at the station of the village, we were in the same waiting room. She sat down and began to talk to me. "I'll go to Tomsk, today I'll go by electric trains." In the rubbish, a worn-out girl of seventeen, a blackened face, skinny, hair like a bast in a dirty pink down jacket.
In the train she also sat next to me. And then two boys came up to us.
- Alyona! How many winters! So. I got up and went to the lobby.
She got up and went to the vestibule.
One went after her, and the second looked back at me:
- Are you sitting here? I got up and went!
You see, it's the pressure. When you are raped for three years by three or four districts, you will rise and go wherever they say. I was not under pressure. It was easier for me.
"Who are you talking to, boy?" You shut your mouth, do not see who you're talking to? I'm older than you, by the way!
It does not matter what to say, tone is important.
- You Th, tries? You sit with her, and you think, you're decent, are not you?
- Young man, I'm married and have a daughter. I'll give you cops and I will not ask you a name. Go ahead, not the one turned.
He understood everything,
Apologized and went to catch up with Alain and a friend.

Alena returned in half an hour, I almost arrived.
"I'm going to Tomsk. I will live in Tomsk. "

A little kid, silly.
A woman of fifty, clever, village teacher. She divorced her husband from drinking. Six months later I let him go.
- What for?
"The walls are eating me." I do not even cook - what can I cook for myself? And, you know, there will not be a man in the house - they will go.

This is such a chernukha. These are the orders. "A friend has blabbed" - and all the cases.
I am seventeen years old.
Hostel building technical school. Drunk on the door.
"Open up, slut!" Dorm, fucking! Whore, open up!
He does not know anything about me. He is a correspondence student, or a business traveler - there were many who lived there. It's just that he has a standard in his head: whores live in hostels.
I'm frying bacon, and he's still beating and yelling, knocks and yells.
I take a hot skillet with melted fat. Fat pleasantly kvikrit. I open the door and poke the pan in the muzhik.
"Got out before I poured out my bald head."
"I'm sorry, little sister!"
The question is settled.

I stand at the bus stop and wait for the tram. Directly a song: "I'm not like that, I'm waiting for a tram!".
I'm really "not that", so when two drunken hoodlums evaluate positively my short skirt and tolerable legs in black pantyhose and begin to take me by storm, I feel nothing but rage.
Moreover, I'm not just waiting for the tram. On a tram three familiar young men will come to me, cops on sergeants' gatherings. One of them has been taking me to a disco for a week. No debauchery, which is interesting. I'm for him, apparently, some kind of funny toy: he buys me a cake, hands a "happy nickle" and smacks on the cheek. Why he needs it - I do not know until now.
And now this schmuck drags me by the hand, and I restrain, and the schmuck condemns: Nuuu, Tanya, you're making blaspheme, you're half a South f ... t, everyone knows you.
Do you think he mixed up with some Tanka? No. It's still the same pressure. Create a feeling of insecurity for the victim. (And if the truth with someone in the area slept, then the more easily it will break).
Well, my finest hour came immediately: while this type was dragging me by the hand and promised to kill on the spot for refusing to love, a tram came.
To my tram window my Kolya's friend stuck tight, and behind him Oleg and Nyrochek loomed. The door opened, hard lads came out on the platform, two in uniform, and Kolka in a cap and a truncheon of convincing rubber.
All the way to the disco Kolka sawed me for a skirt, make-up and black pantyhose:
"How did he know you were not a whore?" And suddenly a whore!
"Does that really matter, or what?"
- Legally - no, but in the law - yes!
(How do you like this phrase, and even from the cop?) I wonder what kind of law it is? I think I guess about which one.)
- So that tomorrow I can not see it on you!

Well, it's all gopniki accursed, right? We are different ...

A young man, my good friend, a perfect sun, really, a big fan of fighting ...
Two higher educations at the moment. Lawyer.
Then - a student of philology.
The role-playing toy has ended, the inter-city has remained: the people who should somehow be placed for the night. One girl really wants to go to the bathroom. He takes her to him.
Next day:
"Natasha, can you imagine?" I went to the bathroom after all! It includes boiling water: do not come near me, I'll scald it! I'm telling her ...
"So, why are you telling me this?" Do you understand that this is disgusting?
- Oh. Sorry. What I tell you about every whore, really.
- And where did you get that she was a whore at all?
- And where did you get that she was a whore at all?
- Hehe. Well, in the end, she gave me something!
- Yes? And how did you convince her?
- At night he said that I will expel.
- Well…
"Well, you would have gone if you were in her place."
- I? I would swear.
- Well! So you're normal. And she's all a whore.

Male conversations after a couple of beers sound too loud to not hear them ...
"Who's decent?" Yes, I'm with her ...

Male conversations are too simple to understand: a woman is still humiliated.
- Listen, all the night it broke! I broke it all the same. I made more of myself.
"Slava, you're a gondon."
"Natasha, what are you trying to climb into something you do not understand?" A man's conversation.
"Slava, why did you break it, if you do not want to?"
"Well, here's why!" And suddenly, after all, he wants to, but he is shy!
- Until morning?!
"And you, bab, you will not understand."
"But this is disrespectful, you tell such details."
- And why should I respect her? For what she gave?

Not the yard. Not settlement "hut". Not gopnik, not cons, very decent guys. Long. Now with me on such topics do not say: at last a number of really decent men. Or just do not open my mouth?

It seems to me that my behavior, which, as noted by the commentators, corresponds to the male standards: I chose-took ... This is probably a protest. I hate them, and their rules. For crippled girls, for example. For the stupid self-righteousness of "the right of the strong." For this Gopa BDSM. I do everything so that - they are out of spite, right? Although they are on my swing of the psyche deeply on.

And I'm even ready to believe that I just was not lucky: around some freaks. Men write in LJ about the lyrics and destinies of the state, and do not discuss with their friends the physical details and moral principles of their random girlfriends.
I'm just happy, if I am.
And as for the ancient folk customs, trample into the chernozem a young woman who stumbled - what does this have to do with modern educated men who argue that lack of respect for a woman is a purely female glitch.
But I will remind you about the global information field. And then, maybe, it will become clearer why and what women are afraid of, and why words: "giving", "taking", "planting", "trimming" and so on, have a clear and disgusting negative connotation. Someone was told something, somehow she got herself in her youth, TV and newspapers can not be discarded from the accounts, and most importantly - the rules of the behavior of "a decent girl in the neighborhood" and what happens to dishonorable maids, almost every young girl knows, Which goes to high school.
And then the protection is triggered, and the memory wipes these blackies. And only the fear of a man remains.
It's nobody's fault?

How much more afraid?