Me, too.

Me too, for the time I was out with some friends at a bar downtown and I refused a drink from a man who then followed me into the bathroom and wouldn’t let me leave.

Me too, for the times I had to have a close male friend pretend to be my boyfriend to avoid unwanted pursuits of males.

Me too, because of the way I dress and make sure that my chest isn’t too exposed or that my shirt definitely covers my butt.

Me too, for the man who tried to hike my dress up while I was dancing my heart out with my friends on a Saturday night.

Me too, for the one at the party who thought I would give him a hand job in the middle of the dance floor.

Me too, for the one who thought he could corner me and make out with me, just because of my friend jokingly called me a “slut.”

Me too, for the unsolicited pictures of body parts that I had no desire to see and for the number of men who have “drunkenly” asked me to send pics. And the number of times I’ve had to still say no in the morning.

Me, too.


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