I was 16 and my 23 year old Co worker would constantly make sexual remarks to me. He dropped me home once after work and asked me such sexual questions and said he wanted to be the seat I sat on, I never got a lift from him again. I’m 24 and I still think about this.
I was about thirteen, dating a guy in the year above at school and we were hanging out at a park with some friends when he tried to put his hand down my trousers to which i told him i didn’t want to and he assured me it was ok and nobody was looking. The next week at school, suddenly everyone knew and was spreading it around and i was taunted about it. People even told my older brother. It took me until i was 19 entering my first relationship since then to understand why i felt uncomfortable when anyone touched me. I still have only ever told two people about this.
I was assaulted by a friend at a party even after saying no, he was dating a friend at the time and I felt bad because I felt like I went behind her back. But I was taken advantage of.
How many words do I have? I’m approaching 60, so there’s a fair bit in there, at least, until I became invisible… maybe a benefit of menopause after all. From being propositioned, age 15, by a famous musician in his dressing room (I didn’t reach 4’10” at my tallest, nor did I wear make up, or make any effort to look older, so I don’t think there was any doubt I was underage), to the daily battle of being ‘frigid’ within a 20-year relationship, with a truly kind man (pre-#metoo; perhaps if we’d survived long enough, that may have helped me to explain in a way that would’ve left me feeling that I had a right to say no?). Having just heard about this site, an hour or so before International Women’s Day 2024, I read a little about sexual assault on public transport, which led me to two of my own memories; each of which has an extra part to it, that compounds the initial ‘assault’. In the first, I was in my late teens, on a train, and the man opposite me, I’d guess in his 40s or 50s, decided to wank all the way from London to Birmingham. Being young, and naive, I believed that the best way to manage the situation, was to completely ignore him. To read my book, look out of the window, anything but show any sign whatsoever that I had noticed him, much less understood what he was doing. On my return home, I told my brother what had happened, and was told in return that I was clearly enjoying it; I must have been, or I would’ve got up and moved. My protests and arguments that I believed I was doing the opposite of what he wanted; that I was not showing any fear, or anything at all, not even acknowledging his presence, were belittled and laughed at. For years afterwards, I kept asking myself, was this true? Was there some hidden part of me that wanted to encourage this man to masturbate in front of me? The second event took place a couple of years later, in my early 20s, interrailing in Europe. The train was going from Brindisi to northern Italy. It was one of those old-style trains like the one in the Harry Potter film, with carriages made up of compartments, and finding an empty one, I managed – standing on a seat – to get my rucksack into an overhead rack, and sat down to enjoy the journey. Shortly after the train left, a man came in, and with 7 vacant seats, he sat right next to me, between me and the door. Within moments, his hand was on my knee. I lifted it and removed it. He put it back and I decided it was time to leave. I got up to retrieve my bag from the rack opposite, and he came up behind me, grabbing both of my breasts. Luckily, I was able to reach the bag; I think a strap must have been hanging down, and grabbing it, and using the gravity in my favour, I was able to swing it down onto him, pushing him back into the seat, at which point, I held the bag firmly, and kicked one (or maybe both?) of his shins, maybe 10 or 12 times, as hard as I could manage before leaving the compartment in search of one more favourably multi-occupied. For many years, I would, on occasion, tell this story with a certain pride in my swiftly enacted, and effectively aggressive and defensive actions (remember, I’m not and never was Amazonian in stature). And I always ended it with the same sentence… it was only a couple of years ago, that a friend pointed out to me how shocking – and wrong – that final sentence was; ‘it was my own fault for being in an empty carriage’. I had spent over 30 years, blaming myself, certain in my conviction that I should bear responsibility for what had happened, because I had dared to think, at the tender age of 21, and a few inches short of 5’ tall, that I should be allowed sit, alone, un-harassed in an unoccupied compartment of an Italian train carriage. And in all those years, I had never recognised that despite kicking his shins, I was still colluding with that man’s appalling and vile belief that he had a right violate my body. And nor had anyone else I’d ever told that story to.
An hour after matching with someone on a dating app, he asked for my phone number. I said I don’t give out my number until I’ve met people in real life. His response was “Really?”. He was obviously annoyed by this boundary. I gave him the Margaret Atwood quote: “Men fear being laughed at; women fear being killed”. I thought he was smart enough to understand the reasons (explicit pics, harassment, stalking, scams), and we were already communicating perfectly well through the app on our phones. We met for a date which went well until he pushed me to go into uncomfortable detail about a recent sexual assault I had experienced with another date. His response blamed me for not stopping it. I also mentioned that it happened after 15 dates which caused him to remark on the long wait for sex. I decided to go home. His parting words were “I’d ask for your phone number but I’m not going through that rigmarole again”. He called himself a feminist.
I took my dad out for dinner for his birthday. At the end of the meal, I got the (male) waiter’s attention and asked for the bill. He returned to the table and presented the bill straight to my dad, then came back and offered the card reader to him too – after I asked to pay by card. My dad told him it was presumptuous to assume he was paying when it wasn’t even him who asked for the bill – he just laughed, and I didn’t leave a tip.
I sometimes walk my dogs on an old forestry rd where I never see anyone else. Usually it’s just me and my dogs, sometimes hunters drive by but they never bother me. A few weeks ago I was walking my dogs and a man turned up with two dogs. I knew he was someone who lived nearby (but he doesn’t know who I am) and I stopped and chatted with him for a moment about his dogs. After exchanging a few pleasantries I said “ok, have a nice walk” and was about to continue on my way alone when he said he would join me. He didn’t ask, he just said “oh I’ll walk back with you”. Then things started to get weird. He asked me where I was from, where I was going. Sometime ticked in my mind and I lied about both. He told me he saw my car and realized it was a chicks car because of the hair tie on the dash (wtf?) and decided to walk further down the rd. He talked about how one of his hunting dogs was a real killer. All of this didn’t really register until I was well and truly safe. Once I got back to my car he asked me if I wanted to go back to his place to which I ofc said “no thanks”. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough, and now I’m afraid to walk down that rd by myself. 🙁
A few weeks ago I was walking down the street in a town centre and two men walked towards me. I could feel them looking at me, and as they got closer one of them started shouting random names at me. I felt intimidated. I often ignore this type of behaviour in the belief that reacting and giving them any attention would reinforce it. But I wish that I had asked them why they think it is acceptable to shout at a woman in the street.
I was sexually assaulted at my Christmas party, when I reported it to my manager he took all my shifts away to keep me from working with my attacker. I left in the end and now I have no income and I see my attacker working around young girls and women. I’ve reported him 4 times and still waiting for a response.
In a pub chatting to some people. I’m with friends. We’re talking to a small group of middle aged men next to us intermittently. One guy asks me what job I do. I say “guess”. His friend says, “high class prostitute”.