srsly tho this is absolutely a thing that dudes do all the f***ing time
like where if he knows a girl doesn’t necessarily want to give him a hug, he will trap her in this position in front of witnesses where she has 2 options- both of which are undesirable for her, while simultaneously desirable for him
if she doesn’t want to hug him, whatever she does, it will suck for her.
she can 1. say nah and be the fucking asshole in front of other ppl or 2. forsake her corporeal boundaries and allow unwanted intimate contact
F***ing hate dudes forreal.
too many f***ing times ugh
Story time.
One day I was on the MAX (basically a giant street car that goes all over the metro area) on my way to meet up with a few friends. I didn’t look at anyone, I didn’t speak to anyone, I just stood to the side on my phone making sure I wasn’t going to be late to my meeting.
Out of no where, this guy comes up to me and starts to chat me up. Me, being who I am, am absolutely terrified to tell this guy to f*** off. He was at least half a foot taller than me, and was way too bulky for me to fight back. So I suck it up at humor him, say hello. Before introducing himself or asking me for my name, he asks me out on a date. Not wanting to piss him off I try to make light of the situation and I laugh, telling him that my boyfriend wouldn’t like the idea, but thank you for the offer. He just shrugs and says, “He doesn’t need to know.”
At this point I’m scared out of my mind. There’s this guy who, after seeing me run two blocks to catch the train, comes up to me and has made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to leave without getting something out of me.
I deny him a second time, saying, “I don’t even know you’re name. We’re strangers, I don’t know you.” He finally introduces himself and asks me for my phone number. I tell him I don’t give my number out to people I’ve just met and he says, “Fine, but at least take mine so we can meet up later.” So he watches me plug his number into my phone (which I deleted as soon as I knew I was safe and away from him) as we’re pulling up to my stop. I tell him I need to leave and switch trains and he tells me, “Oh, I’ll wait with you. I don’t have any plans, so I’m in no rush.” It’s important to note what at this point he had previously told me that he was late to a job interview, but he has all the time in the world because he still hasn’t gotten what he wanted from me; a yes.
I get off of the train and he follows me, and waits at the platform with me for over ten minutes until my train arrives, asking me all sorts of personal questions about where I live and where I was going that day. As soon as the train pulls up he grabs for me and says, “Do I at least get a hug before you go?”
I was terrified. I was embarrassed. This dude, who before even asking me for my name asks me out on a date and then continues to harass me after I tell him I have a boyfriend, asks me for a hug only fifteen minutes after meeting. People around us were staring at me, as if I was being rude for denying him, and every inch of me was mortified. I wanted to run, but I felt like if I had done that he would have chased after me and things would have gotten worse. So I did, and he squeezed me so tight I felt like I was going to burst. It took me a good ten seconds to get him to let go and I ran to the train car just as the doors were closing. He was trying to get me to miss my train so I would have to wait with him even longer. I would have been stuck there for over a half an hour until the next train came by, and the platform (aside from the few buses coming by) was now COMPLETELY EMPTY. He knew EXACTLY what he was doing and he knew EXACTLY how to get me alone with him.
People, if you are in a situation like this do not feel obligated to give in. If someone is making you uncomfortable and asks to touch you in any way, YOU DO NOT HAVE TO SAY YES. Make excuses, be blunt, just straight up say ‘no’. If possible, go to someone else near by who you think can help you and ask them to help you. It’s important for guys to learn that they can’t get what they want just by asking over and over again.
I got lucky. But not everyone does. Please, everyone, Be Safe.
SECOND STORY TIME
So I was on the transit bus alone one time. This was my first time riding, and so already I was PETRIFIED. I sit down, pull out my ipod, and begin to play some games. This guy sits down next to me, and begins trying to have a conversation. I don’t really respond, I don’t even look at him, just give half-hearted “mhm”s and “oh”s, as I don’t want to be rude if he was just striking up a friendly conversation. He then asks me on a date.
Now, as I stated before, I already was absolutely petrified. My heart stopped and I didn’t know how to answer. So I just didn’t. He didn’t let up and I could feel his eyes on me. I quietly stammer out a “no thanks” and my stop HAPPENS to be coming up, so I pull the string thing to let the driver know I want to stop there, and once we stop and the doors open I get up and he asks me, “Well, can I at least have a hug before you go if you won’t go on a date with me?”
This makes me break. There are now people staring, as we are the only people standing up and not getting off… So I just start crying. Hell, I am bawling almost instantly. He looks so fucking freaked out and people are now getting up to come over and comfort me/question him. I don’t stop crying, and he keeps trying to comfort me by touching me, and people are yelling at him for that.
AND THEN. AND. FUCKING. THEN. THE GOD DAMN BUS DRIVER. A VERY EASILY 6 FOOT BURLY MAN. COMES OVER TO US. PULLS THE GUY AWAY. AND KNEELS DOWN. HE THEN ASKS, IN THE MOST CALM VOICE, “Did you request the stop?” I very slowly and shakily nod, as I am still crying my eyes out. He then asks, “Do you want to get off?” I give a quiet “mhm” and nod once again, and he offers me his hand. I take it, he stands up, and he escorts me off the bus. He asks me questions such as where I was going next, if I was going to meet someone shortly, if I was going to transfer buses from there. He was very polite and waited for me to answer the entire time, and my friend (who I was going to be meeting there) showed up. He asked me if this was someone I knew, I said yes, and he said alright, have a good day. He then told me- and this is something stuck in my mind forever, so it is word for word-
“If some guy EVER starts harassing you like that again, do exactly what you did there. Cry. Cry and scream and have a temper tantrum. Not only will it throw him off, but it will get others to notice. They might not interfere, they might, but you will have gotten their attention and if you happen to go missing the next day the search for you will be a hell of a lot easier because everyone in that location will have seen you screaming and crying with a guy now very awkward with his actions. They will know. That is what my daughter did, and three days after she went missing she was back in my arms. I pray for you and every other person like you who has this done. You stay safe now, okay?” And after I began blubbering again, I nodded and he left.
So this is the second lesson for yall. If you can not have the courage to say no or make an excuse, cry. Let out those sobs and tears and cry your heart out. Because it is going to make people notice and make people aware.
Ugh. When I was 13 I was at a convention with my mom. It the beginning of the “Free hugs” trend. At the end of the day, we were starting to walk toward the exit, this man, in his 30s, came to me, pointing at his “free hugs” sign. As I didn’t want to seem rude I accepted to hug him. He then held me, not too violently as my mom would have noticed, but enough to make me understand he didn’t want me to go away, and tried to kiss me, still making sure my mom wouldn’t see. As I said, I was 13 and he was over 30. At that point, I finally pushed him away, and left with my mom, who noticed something was wrong but that it wasn’t the moment to ask, so she just walked a bit faster. When we were out of the convention center, I burst into tears, and told her exactly what happened. Even after she did all she could to comfort me, said it wasn’t my fault, that the guy was an asshole, I felt dirty, humiliated. For the whole ride back home, all I could smell was the stench of this man’s aftershave on the collar of my dress. Please, please don’t let thoughts like “I don’t want to seem rude“ make you do things you don’t want to. You don’t owe a guy you’ve never met anything.
This is rape culture.
This is why whenever a strange man tries to approach me in a way that makes me uncomfortable, I shut it down immediately with a firm ‘NO THANK YOU.’ I do not care if people think I am rude. I would rather be rude than have to feel dirty, humiliated and victimized ever again. It is never your fault when this happens–you should do whatever you need to do to feel safe.
“Intention,” she said suddenly with whispered intensity.
I felt the hair on my arms stand on end, and little tingles go down the back of my spine. That always seemed to happen when she spoke like that: with that tone of voice. We were lying down next to each other on the mezzanine floor, looking up at the painted ceiling of our college recital hall. It was a normal Friday afternoon, and we were killing time before our next period. I turned over on my side to look at her.
“What do you mean?” I asked coyly.
She positioned herself to face me. I could feel her warmth, just inches from me. She smiled and looked into my eyes with mischievous intensity. I had seen that look many times before. It started over a bottle of gin one night in her dorm room after her roommate had passed out on the floor. She had used that look and that voice as she told me that she fantasized endlessly about control, and that she was honing her skill as a hypnotist. I had volunteered to help her practice without a second thought. She was my friend, after all. I wanted to help her, and my curiosity was piqued.
“You’re so well trained. Even now. Even if you don’t realize it consciously, your whole body is tuned into me, reading my intention. You’re so wonderfully suggestible to me.”
There was that word again. Spoken like taffy: soporific, and sweet. I felt the corners of my vision soften, and her voice stick to the recesses of my mind. I wanted to resist. I wanted to tell her that I hadn’t been trained, and that I wasn’t suggestible, but the words couldn’t move past my lips. She was too compelling, and my body ached to let her words become my truth.
“Your truth is my intention,” she purred.
“My truth is your intention,” I answered in reflexive monotone.
“Such a good toy. Be my mirror.”
Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her hand. As she did so, I felt my hand lifting as though completely out of my control. As she lifted it higher, mine rose higher in tandem. Higher and higher until we respectively reached our own faces. I watched her caress her cheek seductively, and was helpless to stop my hand from doing the same. She brought her fingers back and forth over her lips and I felt my fingers mimic that motion. She walked her fingers around to the back of her head and grabbed a handful of hair before gently pulling. My eyes flickered as I did the same, but I maintained her gaze; her dutiful toy. She brought her hand back around, in a gentle sweeping motion and I followed. Up and up our faces simultaneously till I felt my fingers touch my forehead, right between my eyes. She blinked at me, her eyes growing heavier. I felt my eyes grow heavy too. She let her face relax, and I felt my jaw go slack. She slowly dragged her fingers down the bridge of her nose, and my fingers followed, taking my eyelids with them, and descending into a hypnotic trance.
“That’s my good toy,” she whispered, and took me gently into her arms.
The number of hands that have been wrung and fingers that have been wagged at girls who dare give voice and name to their interior lives suggests that the written history of the world is absolutely awash in the stuff. But the female voice, and the girl’s voice especially, is characterized mostly by the deafening silence it emits from the canon.[…]
Those who dare to document their lived experience as worthwhile are brave new girls indeed. As brightly as these girls shine, there remain wet blankets around every corner attempting extinguish the flame in their hearts. They are dismissed as excessively feminine and juvenile, two words that mean the same thing in the hearts and minds of critics who would sooner praise a six-volume gaze at a Norwegian man’s navel than consider the possibility that there are treasures in the hearts of girls.
Alana Massey, from All The Lives I Want: Essays About My Best Friends Who Happen To Be Famous Strangers (via shakespeareandpunk)
