What did I do wrong?
Nov. 12th, 2009 09:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sorcyress"What did I do wrong?"
Nothing. I did nothing wrong.
I sat on the bus, in a modest brown dress that went to my ankles, was not particularly low cut at the bust, and anyways, I had a scarf on over. My legs were crossed, my hands at the knee. I was not provocatively pulling up my skirt. I was not flouncing, flirting. I was sitting, daydreaming, and listening to my ipod.
When he sat down at the seat next to mine (I was in a forward facing seat, he sat in the sideways one that almost blocked mine), I gave him a fleeting smile, the kind I give to strangers on the bus. It was not an invitation, it was just the briefest of things.
He responded by rubbing at his crotch. My smile faded, and he sat. Okay. Maybe his balls itched. I hear it happens. True, most guys I know know not to rub themselves so blatantly on the bus, but it's still relatively early morning, and maybe he's not ready for proper social protocol yet.
Except then he looked at me. Stared at me. Maybe once at my face, then more often, towards my crossed hands, my legs, my crotch. Every once in a while, he would take a few moments to rub himself. He pulled out a newspaper, which he read. In between looking at me, leching at me. In between rubbing himself.
I did not look back at him. I looked straight ahead, my muscles tensing. I did my best to ignore him entirely. I did not encourage him. I did not respond to him. I didn't want him to know he had unnerved me, but the way I launched from my seat when my stop was called might have been enough.
And as I walked to the school, shaking with fear and sleaze and sketch, I found myself asking of the sky "What did I do wrong?!"
Nothing. I did nothing wrong. I dressed like a good girl --professional, for school. I was not wearing make-up. I was not sitting like a slut. I smiled at him, brief and polite, but that was all.
Almost immediately after I asked the rhetorical question, I realized with a start just what I was inadvertently supporting in the back of my brain. I did nothing wrong. Even if I had dressed down, even if I was posing provocative, I would have done nothing wrong. Because oh hey. It's not my fault he was being a creep.
It was his.
There wasn't anything I could've done better, except maybe have a big burly man on my arm to protect me. And it doesn't fucking matter what I did or didn't do, because I am not at fault for his bad actions.
So dear creepy guy on the bus. Fuck you, a lot. I hope someday you get a chance to know how unpleasant it is to feel like that.
~Sor
MOOP!
Nothing. I did nothing wrong.
I sat on the bus, in a modest brown dress that went to my ankles, was not particularly low cut at the bust, and anyways, I had a scarf on over. My legs were crossed, my hands at the knee. I was not provocatively pulling up my skirt. I was not flouncing, flirting. I was sitting, daydreaming, and listening to my ipod.
When he sat down at the seat next to mine (I was in a forward facing seat, he sat in the sideways one that almost blocked mine), I gave him a fleeting smile, the kind I give to strangers on the bus. It was not an invitation, it was just the briefest of things.
He responded by rubbing at his crotch. My smile faded, and he sat. Okay. Maybe his balls itched. I hear it happens. True, most guys I know know not to rub themselves so blatantly on the bus, but it's still relatively early morning, and maybe he's not ready for proper social protocol yet.
Except then he looked at me. Stared at me. Maybe once at my face, then more often, towards my crossed hands, my legs, my crotch. Every once in a while, he would take a few moments to rub himself. He pulled out a newspaper, which he read. In between looking at me, leching at me. In between rubbing himself.
I did not look back at him. I looked straight ahead, my muscles tensing. I did my best to ignore him entirely. I did not encourage him. I did not respond to him. I didn't want him to know he had unnerved me, but the way I launched from my seat when my stop was called might have been enough.
And as I walked to the school, shaking with fear and sleaze and sketch, I found myself asking of the sky "What did I do wrong?!"
Nothing. I did nothing wrong. I dressed like a good girl --professional, for school. I was not wearing make-up. I was not sitting like a slut. I smiled at him, brief and polite, but that was all.
Almost immediately after I asked the rhetorical question, I realized with a start just what I was inadvertently supporting in the back of my brain. I did nothing wrong. Even if I had dressed down, even if I was posing provocative, I would have done nothing wrong. Because oh hey. It's not my fault he was being a creep.
It was his.
There wasn't anything I could've done better, except maybe have a big burly man on my arm to protect me. And it doesn't fucking matter what I did or didn't do, because I am not at fault for his bad actions.
So dear creepy guy on the bus. Fuck you, a lot. I hope someday you get a chance to know how unpleasant it is to feel like that.
~Sor
MOOP!
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2009-11-12 02:35 pm (UTC)"Is it so small that you have to keep reassuring yourself it's still there?"
no subject
on 2009-11-12 02:45 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-12 02:59 pm (UTC)*nods*
*hugs*
no subject
on 2009-11-12 02:59 pm (UTC)I wholeheartedly second the "fuck you, a lot."
no subject
on 2009-11-12 03:05 pm (UTC)It takes some people YEARS, and sometimes not at all, to realize what you've just grokked.
You are so getting rib-crushing-monster-hugs when you come back to MD.
no subject
on 2009-11-12 04:33 pm (UTC)Nice thought, but...
on 2009-11-12 04:51 pm (UTC)Yeah!
on 2009-11-12 04:48 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-12 04:50 pm (UTC)"It wasn't my fault, regardless" is a hard conclusion to come to. I'm glad you did, and very sorry you had to.
no subject
on 2009-11-12 05:01 pm (UTC)'Course you din't do anything wrong and congrats on realizing that! It's one that never came up for me in in public but in private and still is one that the negvox like to gnaw at my self-esteem about, so i'm delighted that you caught this one good and early!
Don't forget it either. Ever. 'Cause it stays true. Forever.
*hgugles*
no subject
on 2009-11-12 06:08 pm (UTC)For future reference, the MBTA is cracking down on harassment on public transportation, and they have cameras on the buses. You would have been well within your rights to get up and tell the driver, "Hey, that guy who sat next to me is rubbing one off through his pants." He would've been thrown off the bus, if not arrested.
no subject
on 2009-11-12 10:11 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-12 11:06 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-12 09:59 pm (UTC)In the future try to remember that it is perfectly OK to start yelling, "That's disgusting! Why can't you keep your hands off your crotch?" and embarass the hell out of him. He might call you a crazy bitch or something in return, but the looks he get from 98% of the bus will be well worth it.
no subject
on 2009-11-13 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
on 2009-11-12 11:10 pm (UTC)So, hmm... what would it take to make the mental shift to reacting (in your head) to something like that by being upset at him right away, without the long detour through "is this man's jerky behavior my fault? hmm.... nope, not my fault."
no subject
on 2009-11-14 09:21 am (UTC)Yeah, as I have been having recent flashbacks re some of my creepy guy experiences, I wholeheartedly agree that it fucks with your head, and it's frustrating that you need to actually sorta force-reboot your thinking. It is not your fault, it was never in any way your fault, and it is his creepy gross creepy fault, not yours.
*hugs*