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Two Breasts, One Creep

By Gloria Diaz

Check out Gloria's Blog — Edge of Gloria!

Fort Wayne Reader

2015-05-04

Had another creepy encounter with a guy. It pissed me off, but it pissed me off even more that I didn’t have pepper spray, or started screaming at him.

It’s funny how a classmate can go from someone you just share a room with for a few hours a week to someone you really don’t ever want to see again. But it happened to me, and the depressing repetition makes me want to become a member of the witness protection program. I guess the good thing about the encounter is that I hardly interacted with him the entire semester, so it’s not like I had to awkwardly avoid him for months. I just had to put up with him for one more class session. He’s graduating and moving, so I won’t have to see him again. But the incident made me realize how clueless, unfeeling and creepy men can be.

Men’s rights advocates would say I brought this upon myself. You be the judge.

On a recent Monday, I decided to wear a shirt I’d purchased when I went to the University of Cincinnati to present a paper. I originally wanted a Cincinnati Bearcats hoodie, but while shopping, I couldn’t find one in the thrifts I visited, or the Target store I stopped in. What was available to me were women’s cut Bearcat t-shirts. I normally don’t wear these. With my weight issues, I usually buy men’s extra large. Crew neck, decent sleeves, plenty of room. But somewhat reluctantly, I purchased the women’s shirt, which of course, had a v-neck, small sleeves and fit better than the men’s shirt. Translation: my full, natural breasts were on display. I looked in the mirror and didn’t exactly cringe, but the image was a bit unnerving to me. I looked like I had a woman’s body. Paired with sweatpants, I thought I looked casually shlumpy, but the cleavage bothered me a bit. But I liked the shirt— to me, it was a souvenir of a really good trip that I had earned.

After class ended, I asked one of my classmates if he wanted to go somewhere and vent. He’d been grumbling, as I think a lot of us had been, since day one, and I wanted his perspective.

The first hour went okay. We talked about the class, school, possible career paths. The second hour didn’t go so well. We talked about more personal things, stuff we’d had to struggle with in our lives, and that’s when the conversation tanked like a stalled airliner.

I know now not to bare my feelings and insecurities to a guy. That’s like taking your clothes off and spreading your legs. It’s not an invitation to actual rape, it’s an invitation to emotional rape. I said some things I probably shouldn’t have, putting me in a vulnerable position, and the classmate responded by complimenting me on my breasts. Guys, please don’t. Even if you think you’re making the woman feel better by complimenting her on her body, it makes us feel that’s all we are. Saying something nice about a woman’s breasts in a coffee shop is creepy. That’s not going to cheer us up. I had to gain 60 pounds to get these things, and if I had a choice between losing 60 pounds or keeping my current cup size, I’m taking the weight loss.

But I wonder if I’d not worn that shirt what would have happened. And see, that’s why a lot of women are hung up on clothes. If I’d worn a normal t-shirt, would the creep have complimented me on my breasts anyway? And Jesus, if you guys are so attracted to breasts, how the hell do you get anything done all day, what with Internet porn and television commercials and female co-workers?

It also didn’t help that he said I should have had sex with the jerks who wanted to have sex with me. Sorry, but it doesn’t work that way. Maybe with some women, but not me. They were jerks to me, if they are going to assault my feelings, I’m pretty sure they are not going to make sure I have an orgasm. Instead of calling to see me again, they will probably call their friends to brag that they made me cry and I STILL slept with them.
And there’s more. After telling me I needed to get some self-esteem (something I’ve struggled with for years), after leaving the restaurant, he yelled at me, “did I make you feel like shit?! Did I make you feel like shit?!”

And he forced me to hug him.

Part of me wishes I’d kicked him. Or yelled at him. Or basically hurt him in some way. But I didn’t. And I’m angry at myself for that.

Of course, he emailed me twice, and asked me to call him. Well, why wouldn’t he do that? If a woman bares her soul to you, you do what men normally do. Play it for all it’s worth.

Instead, I just felt dirty. It’s bad enough getting this kind of reaction from a good-looking man; when you get it from a guy who looks like your worst nightmare, it makes you not ever want to leave the house again.

It’s enough to make me reconsider concealed carry permits …