When I was 14 or so, I was walking along a path along some railroad tracks about five miles from home. We lived out in the country. It was a secluded area. A guy who was probably in his mid-20s was riding his bike along the path. He asked me if I wanted a ride back to the road. I was tired and said sure. When he “helped” me onto the bike he grabbed me in the crotch to lift me onto the bike and then held onto me. I was just confused and stunned. Now looking back on it I feel fortunate he didn’t have the nerve to be more aggressive.
I also remember a male babysitter when I was about eight years old exposing himself to me and my brother. I only remember making the comment that he was really big. My older sister says he molested us too. I have no memory of that.
I was 13 years old, a dishwasher at a restaurant, and it was my first job. I loved my job, I had been going to the restaurant every Tuesday since I could remember with my mom. We knew the owner and his family, we knew the chefs, waitresses, and cooks. Then one night, the owner became way too drunk. He kissed one waitress and grabbed another by the butt. Then he came to me. First, he uncomfortably made me hug him in the hallway, and then later came and groped me from behind, all parts a 13-year-old should never have felt. I never did anything, I didn’t tell my mom until I was 19 when we went to a new restaurant in a different city, and we had to leave because that old owner was now a chef there.
I was three, and desperate to go to school. I LOVED school, so my mom put me in nursery school. Every day, at recess, a boy from the other classroom came out the door onto the playground, walked over to me and punched me, hard, in the stomach. Every day, I cried. Every day, the teachers thought it was cute. Boys will be boys. He likes her. He’s just trying to get her attention.
In order to get this to stop, my mom had to withdraw me from the school. I cried about that, too. Because I was being punished because he was hitting me. It wasn’t the last time I was harassed or assaulted. It was merely the first.
I moved from Maryland to Niagara Falls when I retired in 2012. The house is wonderfully secure, and I look forward to being here the rest of my life.
One of the 10 windows in my house was open a bit to air out the guest room, and I had not engaged the little prongs on the upper sash to prevent it from being opened from the outside.
I have a propensity for staying up too late, sitting at my laptop in the kitchen. One night, I got to bed after midnight and, as usual, finished reading the daily paper. I noted the time at exactly 1:30 a.m. when I turned out the light to sleep.
Within a minute, I heard rustling. I assumed it was out on the front porch, then realized it was coming from the guest room next to mine. I saw a short man in full silhouette against the yellow window curtain across the room. I shouted.
He came around to my side of the antique double bed and leapt full-sprawl on top of me. That made me angry. I shouted for him to get off me. He rolled off to the other side of the bed beginning immediately to get between my legs.
What little reading I had done in the 1970’s about the realities of rape came back to me clearly. Locked my ankles across one another. He could not penetrate the block either with his groin or his hands. He started to touch a breast. I realized I’d better lock my arms across my chest, because having anyone touch my breasts is too emotionally intimate. He stopped trying to touch me there.
He then took my hand and directed me to masterbate him. I acquiesced in the masterbation for a bit and his penis became erect. I withdrew and resumed the lock across my chest. He spent TWO AND A HALF HOURS mostly trying to use my body to reach ejaculation.
The man had obviously showered before coming to my house. He smelled fresh and he was perfectly clean. No sign of tobacco, alcohol, or marijuana. He wore a navy T-shirt, no underwear, and those long ugly nylon-ish basketball shorts with elastic waist. He’d clearly planned the whole thing.
He said very little, always directly in my ear, “Where your purse? Where your purse?” Very deep, very soft. Although at one point I had a long opportunity to study the profile of his face against the street light coming through the yellow curtain, I recognized neither his face nor his voice.
But I’d recognize that torso again: He had two long scars, one very straight and “clean” directly from the naval toward his genitals, the other parallel but off to one side a bit and with a rough scar. His arms were distinctly muscular and well-defined. He was a little taller than I. I still did not recognize him.
When he left, I called 9-1-1, and report an attempted rape. He was arrested on Tuesday morning outside the house of my lawn man, where he was reporting for work. He never made bail. He pled guilty. I hope I never see him again. But if we cross paths, I’m going to be so damned angry, I may not contain myself.
A man in a car threw a glass bottle at my face and broke my nose. He then yelled faggots burn in hell and drove away.
A few years ago me and a friend were walking to another friends house at 3 in the morning. A car honked as it passed us, and not being one to take that, I flipped them off. They stopped their car, turned around, rolled down the window and pulled out what looked like a real gun. They started shooting at us what turned out to be paintballs, and hit my friend a few times which left huge bruises all over her back and butt. I understand that the ridiculousness makes this situation objectively hilarious, but it was also legitimately terrifying.
I was walking home from the park and out of nowhere some guy on a bike slapped my rear-end really hard. Without a word, he kept on riding. I was so surprised, by the time I’d even registered what happened, he was too far away for me to do anything.
My first groping. I don’t remember where I was, it was 11 years ago, but the rest is clear. I was 6 years old, walking with my mom and I fell behind as I often did. It was very crowded and people were everywhere. One man walked by me with the creepiest smile on his face. “Hey, baby girl, nice ass” He said, then groped my butt very harshly and laughed. I was shocked and froze for a moment before turning around to see him disappear into the crowd. I ran ahead to catch up with my mom and didn’t fall behind for the rest of the day, but I never said anything.
While walking down my block next to a bar, I noticed a tall man coming towards me. He then abruptly blocked my path and mumbled something to me. I ignored him and tried to go around him. He then pushed me hard against the building. I screamed and yelled, “What the hell! I didn’t do anything to you!” He then backed away and started running away. I was shocked but I dialed 911 right away. The cops took 15 minutes to get there but he was gone. There were bystanders all around (this was around noon) and they didn’t do anything. Only later, when I walked home did someone stop me to ask what had happened.
I wish I would have known what to do. It was broad daylight and I didn’t have my pepper spray with me.
As usual, i was going home after closing the bar i used to work at, it was around 4a. So i was (a little bit) drunk, heading to my flat, at a 2mn walk away, walking on a big lightened pedestrian street when a groupe of 4 or 5 young men joined me. One criticized my low waist jeans saying he sees everything and the others laughed when i stammered a multiple excuse “you don’t see anything / i’m wearing a boxer/it’s not my fault my button gave way sooner”. last thing i remember, the guy who adressed me put a hand against my throat, pining me against the church’s wall. They all left laughing. I ran back home. I don’t want to blame myself for being tipsy, i don’t want to feel guilty about an outfit, but i do feel bad about the explanation i gave them : we shouldn’t need any.