Bill Cosby, let me say this: I believe you.

I believe you when you say in a 2005 deposition that “yes,” you give women Quaaludes.

 I believe you when you say you knew it was illegal to get the prescriptions. (I also believe that the gynecologist who gave them to you knew you really shouldn’t be his patient in the first place.)

I believe you when you describe your version of what consent means, one that isn’t so much based on “yes.”

“I don’t hear her say anything,” you say during the deposition, describing your encounter with the plaintiff. “I don’t feel her say anything. And so I continue, and I go into that area between permission and rejection. I am not stopped.”

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