Children are taught that you don't enter someone else's living space without an invitation.
That just because you might possess a battering ram or a set of lock picks, this doesn't mean you should use them.
That walking into a house that isn't yours will not only make the inhabitant unhappy, but you're also highly likely to get into trouble.
States maintain that you can lawfully kill an intruder.
This even extends to siblings: don't go into your sister's room. Don't mess with or take her stuff if she hasn't said it's okay. But, no, she can't actually kill you.
So why can't we use this same rule when it comes to bodies?
Why can't we teach boys that the person you want to play with will be much happier if you ask for permission to enter?
That permission explicitly says they want to be near you.
That permission is a validation of your own excellence.
That permission means they will reciprocate.
But we don't. We draw clear lines between houses and bodies.
Houses are sacred.
Bodies are expendable, they heal.
What we don't say is that a home invaded is more easily repaired than a body.
Replace a window.
Change a lock.
The house doesn't remember.
Doesn't carry the echoes of its own pleas down through the years.
Doesn't repeat the story to each subsequent generation to live within its walls.
Bodies have brains.
Brains have memories.
Memories bear pain.
Pain seeps into those who surround
Like a slow leak infiltrating walls
Black mold growing
Teach the law of houses to children. Inform them that their body is the only home in which they will ever always live. Inform them of the need of invitation.
Can I come over?