All your life you are told not to talk to strangers. But what do you do when strangers are always talking to you?
Men; tall, short, ugly, fat, handsome, kind of handsome, drunk, sober, homeless - they ruin everything for me. A simple stroll down the street, a trip to the supermarket or the Laundromat, my quiet train ride; all of these activities become an opportunity for men to bombard me with unwanted approaches. Some of them sweet and uplifting, others downright insulting and offensive.
Men are always on the prowl so I am full aware that I am definitely not the only woman privy to this behavior.
It doesn’t help that my body is of the voluptuous making. I exude sexiness even when I don’t want to. In an attempt to remedy and repel these unwanted advances, I used to wear larger clothing to cover up my body. Life is too short and I like fashion way too much to be walking around in frumpiness. So I had to let that solution go, embrace my body and accept that men are always on the hunt. They will never cease in offering women their penises multiple times during the day. Because that’s all this is really about. If men can manage to hold a woman’s attention and the woman agrees to go out with them, the end result is always to get us into bed.
I have a gangsta face reserved (although I am very un-gangsta) for when I am walking down the street to deter men from trying to talk to me; but my gangsta face doesn’t work. It actually has the opposite effect of men feeling compelled to speak to me. Telling me to smile and stop looking so mean.
One thing I’ve learned while walking these mean streets of hungry men, is that eye contact of any kind, even the mistaken eye contact of a man who is in your line of vision, is an invitation for an approach. For example, I could be looking into a store window at some shoes and a guy who just so happens to step into that space, will turn his attention to me because he has convinced himself that I am looking at him.
I could be standing at the street corner waiting for the light to change and there is some dude on the other side of the street giving me the eye. Or some old, pot-bellied guy across the subway platform giving me the 'come hither' glare. Like seriously. Do YOU really think you have a chance with ME? And it’s not even that I’m God’s gift to men, just I’m so different…out of the age group or, dare I say, league, of some of these men.
Some men slow their cars down and yell out of the car windows at me as I walk down the street. Driving alongside me as I walk is not flirtatious, it’s creepy. I feel like they try this method, because it has worked for them with a...different type of woman in the past.
Other times, if men are walking towards me, they edge themselves into my walking path in an attempt to box me into a conversation. Standing in my way does not make me want to give you my phone number. It makes me want to knee you in the balls.
The worst is when someone tries to hit on me in the morning. I am not a morning person so I have no desire to spend my hour long train ride being harassed by someone who decided to invite themselves into my personal space. I WILL switch train cars if the dude doesn’t read body language very well.
Men try all different kinds of tactics to begin a conversation with you. One man hovered around me waiting for me to end my phone conversation and one stopped me in the Arts and Crafts store to ask me if I knew a place where he could find cheaper needles. Seriously?! Needles?! He followed up by telling me, “Um, you have nice eyebrows.”
Some men even have the nerve to get catty with you when their egos get bruised. I was in the middle of a conversation with a friend when a man approached me and said hello. I said hello back, but because I was already in the midst of a conversation, which he rudely interrupted, maybe my words blended together and he thought that I didn’t address him. So he interrupted my conversation again. This time to reprimand me.
“You don’t speak when people speak to you?”
“I SAID, hello!” I replied. I actually felt a very, tiny bit sorry for him at my cutting reply which was a simple sentence, but was delivered with venom. Conversation over.
On these mean streets of hungry men, there have been outbursts of obscenities in what I could call an uncontainable passion for the female species. There have been many, many nasty-ass comments screamed out pertaining to my flashy bottom. “Tig-ole-bittiesss!” (Big old titties) was yelled at me as I was walking in Central Park. And “My cum will fill you up.” is a phrase that was delivered to a friend of mine. Some men seem to have absolutely no respect for us and this is what angers me.
Going out dancing can be a nightmare within itself. I love music and dancing and when there is a good beat that gets into my limbs I like to let loose and sway, shake and shimmy freely to the beats. My friends know this about me so on one occasion, when I became stiff, dancing an unenergetic two step, my friend asked what the hell was wrong with me. I was surrounded by a group of friends, but outside of that group, men were circling like vultures.
My friend reminded me that we were there as a group and that no one was going to get through the group to me, so if I felt like dancing I should dance. But two vultures managed to slip through anyway.
One vulture proceeded to rub one of his butt cheeks on me in a failed attempt at getting me to dance with him after I’d already told him thank you, but I did not want to dance with him. I mean just because you want me to rub my butt on you doesn’t mean I want yours touching me.
There is butt, as in buttocks, and there is ass. I have ass. Ass like donkey. And sometimes, my ass gives men the impression that I want to talk to them. Black men love the ass and they cannot lie. The sun rises and sets on the ass. As with the wild kingdom where animals stick to animals of their own species, most humans are usually attracted to those who are of the same race. With that being said, the majority of the men who hit on me are black men. Latin men come in at a close second.
The second vulture of the night followed me outside of the club as I was leaving to remind me that I promised to dance salsa with him. I made no such promise and I almost (unwisely) pointed out to him that I wasn’t there with him in the first place so I didn’t owe him anything. Instead I kept walking and thankfully he didn’t continue walking with me.
Men can get downright creepy as I have been followed on more than one occasion. Some man even pulled his penis out for me on the train. I mean, I’m flattered that he felt so strongly about me in his loins, but I wish he would have kept his hard-on to himself. I’m kidding; flattered is not what I was feeling as that disgusting event unfolded before my eyes.
I should be thankful that men are even trying to talk to me in the first place because one day when I’m old and saggier than I am now, no one will even turn to look in my direction. But with the way they come on to me, sometimes I can't help but wish they would leave me the hell alone.
Men can be so aggressive in their approach, and what they don’t realize is that they could get so much further by toning it down a little...a lot. I mean, I can’t knock these men for trying. What I’ve learned in life is that if you never try, you never know how far you could get. If you don’t ask the question, you will never know the answer. This is the positive message that I am going to take from having my breasts and ass talked about as if I am not present and for being undressed by the eyes of the hungry men.
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