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A group of young boys on bicycles was blocking the path where I usually run — this is a wide, safe path by a river.
As I ran by, two of them touched my butt. I turned around and yelled at them “hey! that is not acceptable. You cannot do that.” I then ran away but I still want to cry. It made me so upset and angry.
Je rentrais chez moi le soir avec une copine, et deux hommes nous ont abordées. Ma copine et moi, on ne lui a pas répondu quand il nous a demandé, dans un premier temps, si on pourrait “faire connaissance” et après si on “voulait baiser”. Moi et ma copine a continué notre chemin sans répondre, alors il a crié qu’on était des grosses putes en nous suivant quelques mètres. Puis lui et son copain ont quitté la place.
I went home at night with a girlfriend and two men approached us. My girlfriend and I, we did not answer him when he asked us, at first, if we could “get to know them” and then if we “wanted to fuck.” My girlfriend and I went on our way without answering, then he shouted that we were big whores and they followed us a few meters. Then he and his friend left.
Walking down 14th with two of my friends, a man walked toward me in that way they do, where you know they’re about to say something disgusting. He didn’t say anything, though. He just passed by me extremely close, then turned and started following us. He threw out some “baby… baby”s and we ignored him. His comments became more disgusting, “I love your pussy. It’s my favorite.” He kept following. He followed us to our front steps (by the time we realized he was still following, we were already on our deserted street), though we told him to stop. We told him no several times. My friend got out her phone to call the cops and the guy finally left. My friend spoke to the 911 operator for a few minutes. We’re still seething, and worried about him knowing where we live.
Printemps dernier. Je monte dans le bus bondé. Il pile, une main touche furtivement ma jupe au niveau de mon pubis. Je remarque que c’est celle d’un homme et place mon sac devant ma jupe, de sorte qu’il ne puisse pas réitérer -à cet instant je lui laisse encore le bénéfice du doute puisque je me dis c’est peut etre la secousse du bus qui l’a poussé contre moi. Sa main cherche mon entrejambe. Je le repousse, essaie de me dégager. Les larmes montent mais je reste muette. Il change de place.
Last spring. I get into the crowded bus. It stops suddenly, a hand touching my skirt at the level of my pubes. I notice that it is of a man and put my bag in front of my skirt, so it can not happen again -to this moment I let him have the benefit of the doubt because I think maybe the shaking bus drove him against me. His hand looking for my crotch. I push him, trying to free myself. Tears come but I remain silent. He changes position.
A series of ongoing incidents has left me feeling isolated and hesitant to socialise. I am often followed home by a person in a car who will use very degrading language (shouted out of the car window,or a series of hoots to alert my attention) it seems that they want me to know that they are following me as they are in cars and i am on foot (there is often more than one person or different cars),it is difficult to identify then. On a regular basis the car will hoot outside in a neighbouring street always within an hour of me getting home.
the same group have also been spreading rumours within my social circle referring to me with discriminatory references to people who are then discouraged from communicating or socialising with me to the degree that my entire social circle have become misinformed about me (with gossip and lies). For some time now i have been living an isolated existence which consists of receiving verbal abuse and being told i am unworthy of being helped . They often use ethnic and sexual references and paint a picture of ‘dirty’,’slut’ and many other references to make it unappealing to reach out. As i cant identify these people they just continue to getting kicks out of making my life like a prison.
After attending a house concert for a collective in my city aimed at improving representation of women and non-binary people in the local music scene, I was unlocking my bike from the tree it was chained to. Two men in a sedan drove by and yelled “Bend over, baby!” at me. I was shocked at their rudeness and cowardice and especially discouraged after being in such a positive environment. Oh, the irony.
This happened on the street in NY, a fairly deserted street, walking home from the World Trade Center in the 1990’s. I was at the beginning of my 6 mile walk home, and a male followed me about a block and a half, and then started talking about “that ass. That’s a big ass you got there. Yeah, baby, that’s some ass, how’d you get that big ass.”
I believe I eventually told him to “leave me the fuck alone,”; in all likelihood, I told him I’d go to the police.
Such was the entitlement of all sorts of men back then!
My roommate and I were walking, when two (drunk?) men in their twenties (we’re both 19) were being rowdy around the intersection of Tremont and Boylston. My roommate and I ignored them–city life, right? Until they started running in our direction. We huddled a little closer under her umbrella, but the footsteps got closer and then began slowing down. She stood in front of me, since I’d had trouble with harassment in the past, and shot them a look.
“Hey,” the guys said. “So, what’s up?”
“Are you drunk?” she asked.
“We’re not weirdos,” they said, out of breath, looking us up and down.
“So,” one said. “What’re your names?”
“Nope!” my roommate said, grabbing my hand. We immediately ducked into Piano Row, since it’s an Emerson building and we’re both Emerson students. We were safe there, since the doors lock unless you have an Emerson pass key. We decided to stay there for a few minutes before continuing our journey home.
Two minutes later, the men were at the door, pressing their faces against it and looking at us. The security guard looked to us and asked if they were students.
“No,” I said. “They’re drunk, I think, and were harassing us on the street earlier.”
The security guard told them non-students weren’t allowed in the building, especially not at this hour (it was about 11, 12 at night). The men went away for awhile. My roommate and I had to get home to our room down the road, but were sure they were still outside.
A group of Emerson students, all female, approached the door, with the guys following them. The guys are telling them they are students and to let them in. My roommate yells to the girls, “Don’t let them in!” One girl actually has to push one back with her elbow to get him to back off. The guard calls for backup and two of them go out to really get rid of them. The group of upperclassmen girls walked us home.
The worst thing is that this happened on my campus. In my home. Where I live.
It is not an isolated incident.
Man walking by makes kissing sound I flipped him off.
I was on the PATH train home during my daily commute from work in NYC to NJ. The train lurched quite a bit and people were jostling. At first, I did not think the man meant to be so close to me or that he meant to touch my butt. I inched closer to the bar I was holding away from him.
A couple of stops later, the ride was smoother, and the touch was unmistakably real. I turned around to see a man twice my size. I frowned and move even closer to the bar. I only had one more stop before I could get off the train. He did not stop getting closer to me. Then, another man said, “How about you stand over here? I notice it too.” This man helped me move away from him in the crowded train, and I knew I was not imagining it.
I took a photo of him from behind and tried to catch a photo of him as I got off the train. He got off too. He lives in my city. I took another photo of him from behind with a PATH camera that would have captured his face. I tried to find a police officer on my way out of the station and could not find one.
I was angry and worried that he might mistreat another woman. I was not sure of what to do, but I knew I needed to let someone know. I searched the PATH website to find an email address to send the photos. Unable to find the address, I decided to call the PATH police department. The officer who answered asked me why I waited two hours to call about the incident (I was still shaken and could not find the information easily). I was told I could go down to the station to file a report. I get the feeling I am not going to be taken seriously.