When does a
hug become a grope?
Is a grope ever acceptable?
Is it more acceptable for a
woman to grope a man?
Does groping a person in a more powerful position than
yourself let you off the hook in terms of unacceptable behaviour?
Can you be a
gropee and a groper?
These, and any questions like
them, have been occupying me in recent weeks as the furore (quite rightly) over
the late Jimmy Savile’s abuse of young people has hit the headlines. Suddenly, however,
it is not just a sexual abuser who is under the microscope, but media men in
general, the latest being the historian Adam Hart-Davis, who, it is reported,
was admonished by the BBC for “inappropriately” hugging a woman, who complained
about his behaviour. He said his actions were misinterpreted.
In my younger days, I confess to
having groped men in what, by today’s standards, would be considered
inappropriate places. Some of those men worked for the BBC, many did not;
interestingly (and this is only an observation), every man I ever groped
received promotion shortly afterwards, a sign not, I believe, of my ability to
influence, but my good taste in my choice of gropees (you know who you are).
I groped one prominent politician
at a very senior BBC executive’s Christmas party. The man had that week been
named as one of the sexiest politicians in Britain, so, in a bit of fun and in
full view of everyone, including his wife, I grabbed him and made light of the
survey. The following year, he arrived at the party and, out of view of other
guests, put his hand up my skirt and groped me with some vigour. The executive
wrote me a letter of apology, explaining that much as he tried to control his
guests, he was not having much luck (a senior BBC female presenter had also
tipped a glass of wine over someone’s head).
I confess to having been
surprised at the nature of the grope, although I fully accept responsibility
for it – what’s sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander and all that. But
whereas my groping was always done in full view of everyone (it became a sort
of fringe to the fringe at the annual Edinburgh TV festival), the politician
had targeted me away from the crowd and, yes, it felt more invasive.
I cannot remember when I
conducted my first unsolicited grope. I was not a promiscuous teenager – in
fact, when my first boyfriend took me to Porthcawl fairground, my screams when
his hand ventured near my top could be heard far above those of the people on
the Roller Coaster; it was, perhaps, the strictness with which I was brought up
about sex that led to a curiosity for and fascination with, exactly what it was
that lurked so sinisterly in men’s trousers.
My first grope – definitely
unsolicited – was with a schoolteacher, and that, maybe, is where it all began.
I had no idea what my hand was being led towards, much less what I should do
once it reached its destination, but the thrill of the unknown was perhaps what
stayed with me.
Did I, the victim of a groper,
become the gropee in the way that the abused often turn abusers in later life?
Was I just having a laugh and, for the most part, not receiving a negative
reaction to my behaviour (well, for the most part – Kevin Whately was a very
unwilling victim), carry on because it was just a good way of breaking the ice
with men?
Who knows. But the world has
changed. My groping days – at least, in public places – are over; I am too old
for such displays of affection, and also, today, I would probably be behind
bars.
I am glad to have lived in the
era of the innocent groper, though; and while I would not in any way condone
anyone who abuses their position to gain any sexual favours, we have to
remember that there was a time when sinister motives did not lie behind every overt
(or covert) sexual expression.
Sometimes, a grope is just a
grope.
No comments:
Post a Comment