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My friend and I (15 and 14) were walking from Panera around 9am when two large men came out of a bank and said “Hello beautiful ladies.” We kept walking and again one of them said “can we party with you?” I said “no, thanks,” and we kept walking.
Finally we were almost away when he said “do you not like big dicks?” as if we would know their penis size from looking at their clothed bodies. Later, I went into CVS and my friend waited outside. The two men came by again and she ran in with two coffees and breakfast in her hands out of fear. We were both wearing athletic shorts and t shirts.
On my way home from work a man in the seat next to me rubbed the inside of my thigh as a way of “thanking” me for giving him directions.
Saying “nice titties” to a girl you don’t know as you walk by her isn’t a compliment or appropriate in anyway.
It creeped me out.
On my way home yesterday walking through town (at 7pm, in daylight), a group of three middle aged, fat, balding men passed me and one of them decided to casually pinch my skirt, lift it and grab my skin. I immediately saw red, turned round and punched him in the bridge of his nose. This angered the other two, they got straight up in my face shouting “What did you do that for?” at me, I shouted back and one of them pushed me by my shoulder so hard that I fell into the road. I’m fine, but shaken.
I was suffering from sciatica and scheduled for spinal fusion surgery; in the meantime I was walking with a cane. A shop I loved downtown was closing and they were having going-out-of-business sale with a contest to earn points for prizes. I was on of the top contenders. One of the ways we could earn extra points was to carry a sign advertising the sale in front of the shop. So I signed up to do this, despite my pain.
Now, I am not a young girl. I was, then, in my later forties and a bit plump. It was summer, so I was wearing sandals. As I walked back and forth in front of the shop with my sign in one hand and my cane in the other, a young man of about 16 came up to me. He at first asked me if I wanted to buy a video game console. I said “No, but you can try up the street in the campus district. A lot of college students play video games” and continued my task. He walked away for a little bit and then came back and began to make remarks about my feet – how pretty they were, what kind of nail polish I was wearing, etc. I shrugged it off but he persisted. Then he began to try to touch my feet and offered to kiss them and suck on my toes. He actually bent down and tried to grab my feet, which nearly threw me off balance. I let go of the sign to catch myself and told him to leave me alone. He started to follow me, apologizing, but I went back into the shop early, willing to give up my prize to get away from him.
I told the shop owner what had happened, which naturally shocked them. They gave me my points anyway, but I went home and never returned to finish the contest. I felt violated. All he touched was my feet, but I still felt violated. Despite the heat, I wore socks and tennis shoes for a week before being willing to wear sandals in public again. I’ve been cat called and had passes made at me in my younger days, but this was the most bizarre and creepy thing that has ever happened to me. I still regret not calling to the police to at least give them a heads-up on this guy.
It was about 4 years ago now which would of made me 22. I was getting a tram back home during rush hour and felt something touching me from behind. I turned to see a man looking me straight in the eye and decided to move away from him. Moments later I feel it happening again but now the tram was so cramped I couldn’t move away. I turned my head and the same man had followed me and was groping me again. I didn’t know what to do as he smirked at me when I began to panic.
I was once walking down the street with my sister, and two men on a rickshaw said “Smile baby, come take a ride!” and they both started snickering.
Around 8pm last friday, I was on my way back from fabric sourcing in Manhattan with my business partner. My dad was picking me up in the car a block away from the train station. As soon as I exit the turnstile, I see this twenty-something guy in a basketball jersey leaning against the wall of a bodega that sells flowers- I knew he was gonna say something as soon as I saw him. Mind you, I was literally wearing pants, converse, and a collared shirt- business clothes, that no one would find “provocative” in the slightest, and I looked like shit since it was a long day. So as soon as I start walking past the bodega, this guy starts making all these suggestive noises and calling me “baby”.
So I flipped him off. And kept walking. Quickly. How does he respond to that?
“Suck my dick!”
“I’d rather not.”
“Suck my DICK!”
“You’re the one who catcalled me, so no. Fuck off.”
I sped up my already quick walking and didn’t turn around. Thankfully, he didn’t follow me. By the time I got to my dad’s car, I was shaking.
And the whole experience really pissed me off, because I should have the right to walk around my neighborhood without fearing for my safety. Not that I don’t need too- it’s obvious that I do need to worry- but it shouldn’t be a necessity. No one wears a bulletproof suit to avoid getting shot. Women shouldn’t feel like they have to wear a certain type of clothing to avoid harassment- but the kicker is, no matter what you wear, it’s gonna happen. And that’s just plain wrong.
I was walking home from work and was cat-called by a man in a car. I ignored him, until he whistled at me. I turned, pointed at him, and said loud enough for him to hear, “I am NOT a dog. You WILL NOT whistle at me.” He got upset and yelled something back at me but he was in a car and I just kept walking.
I was walking down Colfax, and stopped in front of a new restaurant to read the menu. A man who had been watching me before said “I like your dress.” I was wearing headphones, so I just pretended that I didn’t hear him. He stopped and stood staring at me and repeated himself. I tried to focus on the menu. Then he touched my arm, and it was just so disturbing. I pulled away and said “please don’t touch me.” He continues to stand by me and tell me he “just wanted to tell me he liked my dress.”