This is based on the article of the same title by Jessica Shortall and I'd encourage readers to check hers out before reading mine. In the current media climate, it feels important to share stories.
Content warning for both pieces: abuse.
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When I was fourteen, my sister and our friends were playing a game (it involved our thumbs getting married -- we were kids) when we found an older boy messing around in the stream at the bottom of our property. The boy came up to us and told me he was looking for a girlfriend, tried to start up a conversation, asked us for juice. Our dog started barking aggressively -- he was a big dog and very protective, and we were four girls all alone with some stranger. We tried to control the dog because it was "rude." All we wanted was for the boy to go away, but we also didn't want him to feel uncomfortable. Eventually, we left our game and went inside. I told my friends at school and they admonished me for not agreeing to be his girlfriend.
When I was sixteen, I was being driven home from school by a family member who did lift club with a bunch of different kids. On that particular day, her son was riding in the front while I sat in the back with two other boys. When the car pulled up to my house, I moved to hug both boys to say goodbye -- a pretty standard highschool greeting. Because I was seated at the left window, I had to lean over the middle boy to get to the boy on the right. The boy on the right took advantage of my lean and put a hand on the back of my head to slam it down into the middle boy's lap. He was uncomfortable. When I told my mom about it, she laughed.
When I was seventeen, the boy I had a crush on and one of our mutual friends started making fun of my breast size in front of me. I was more busty than others in my friend group. The two boys pointed out my "rack" and giggled. I pretended not to know what they were talking about.
I also started dating for the first time. I didn't feel able to tell the boy that I wasn't interested in being physical, so just put up with it.
When I was nineteen, I helped an ex-boyfriend's family move. There was a thirty-two-year-old man there that I hadn't met before. He asked if there was anything between my ex and I. He asked me out.
When I was twenty-one, I started dating my abuser. He admitted he'd been accused of rape before, but said the women had gotten the wrong idea and explained what had really happened in each situation. I believed him. He abused me.
When I was twenty-three, I began dating a very caring, very sweet boyfriend who repeatedly ignored verbalised physical boundaries ("I'm not in the mood for X but we can do Y"). Once, after doing exactly what I asked him not to, he turned over and said, "You didn't really seem into that."
When I was twenty-four, I won a trip to the States. I've never encountered so much street harassment under the guise of friendliness (I met a lot of very friendly men. No friendly women, oddly enough). It was winter and snowing hard. One day I was wearing a long coat that covered my knees, jeans, tall boots, a fluffy hat; and a scarf would around my shoulders and face. My nose and mouth were covered but my eyes were free. A man stopped me to tell me that I was beautiful and intelligent, and that I should go to a club with him.
On the same trip, I was leaving a museum when a man asked if I was there for an event that was taking place. I said no, and told him to have a nice day (a polite way of indicating that the conversation was over). I walked down the sloping stone steps at the entrance, down to the crossing area, waited for the light, crossed the road. I'd begun walking down the street when I was stopped by the same man, inviting me to have coffee. He'd followed me all the way from the museum foyer.
But the worst was a pickup artist I met on the way to a comedy club. He asked for directions and swiftly changed tack, asking me about my unfamiliar accent, if I was a student, talking about how he'd just moved to the city as well. He kept making strange overexcited shrieking noises, like a pterodactyl. I thought he was an overblown caricature of a twink and felt him odd but harmless. He kept holding my pinkie, promise style, and swinging my hand around. I said I would have coffee with him and gave him my email address. His message to me was very suspicious so I Googled his name and found a dating profile that led me to his website, where he posted pictures of the girls he'd had sex with and described his pickup plays. One of them was to initiate non-threatening touch to assess how comfortable a girl was with being touched by strangers. His favourite trick was to link pinkies.
When I was twenty-five, I began dating a bearish man. He told me that he was thinking of taking up some kind of martial arts to protect me. When I laughed, he said "Do you know how many people look at you? I've seen you get followed around stores."
When I was twenty-six, I was staying with a friend's wedding party in a beautiful apartment after she got hitched. It was the married couple, a male friend, a female friend, and me. The male friend kept flirting with me harmlessly during the stay, but I didn't take it seriously until he tried to make a pass the night before I left. I went to my room and locked the door and he came to apologise. When I opened up, he tried to get into my room and touched my butt. I pushed him out, slammed and locked the door. He pounded on it, calling and begging to be let in, until the bride made him go back to his own room. Before I left the next morning, he secretly put money in my backpack.
When I was twenty-eight, a group of boys catcalled through the school fence despite my partner being with me. We didn't know what to do.
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And these are just the ones I remember.
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