Don’t. F*cking. Touch Me.

I was scrolling through Instagram this morning when I came across a post by one of the artists I follow. She was posting about how when she was out in town today, a man approached her directly and aggressively, so he could grab her arms and “look” at the tattoos there. As I read through the comments, almost every person that commented was a woman, talking about her own similar experiences. And naturally, I couldn’t help but think about mine.

The artist in question mentioned how she was disappointed in herself for “standing there like a lost lamb” instead of reacting, and I got angry. Not because she was disappointed with herself, but because some guy, some creepy random dude, had made her feel that way. The scary truth is that this shit happens every day. People get assaulted, accosted, inappropriately touched without their consent. And it happens each and every time, because someone has taken it upon themselves to intentionally invade another person’s space and push their boundaries.

I have had many experiences in my life where I have been touched by someone, stranger or friend, when I didn’t give my permission. One of the most notable of these had quite an impact on me. As a teenage girl, waiting at the local shopping centre for a friend of mine one day after school, I noticed an older man with long hair and a beard. I didn’t pay him too much attention, right until he came up to me from behind, stood close, buried his face in my hair and took a long, audible sniff. I nearly screamed, and ran. I was young, I was uncomfortable, I had been touched by a stranger in a weird and inappropriate way. To this day, I can’t stand to have people touch my hair.

I remember another night, a few years later, sitting at a bar with my best friend. I was wearing a dress that had a low back because it was cute, and it made me feel pretty, and it really went with my shoes. I was having a drink and a laugh; listening to the band and having a good time. Suddenly I felt a stranger’s fingers run from the top of my spine down to the back of my dress. I turned, realizing I had raised my hand. The man who had touched me tried to explain away his actions by saying “I just wanted to look at your tattoo”. Shaking, goosebumps covering my entire body, I told him to get away from me. When he again tried to tell me that he just liked my tattoo, I told him that his poor excuse didn’t give him any right to touch me. I saw him return to his friends and say something to them, after which they all turned to stare at me. I spent the rest of the night on edge. I didn’t wear that dress again.

But, don’t get me wrong here, it’s not just men I have experienced this behaviour with. A couple of years ago I was in line at JB Hi-Fi, waiting for some paperwork for the purchase of a tablet. Out of nowhere, I felt two hands grab my shoulders and physically spin me around. It was so unexpected, I nearly fell over, having to grab hold of a nearby display to keep myself upright. Seemingly oblivious to my near fall, was the woman who was grabbing handfuls of my dress and actually running her hands over my waist, my hips and my thighs. I yanked the fabric out of her hands and stepped away with what I imagine was a look of combined rage and shock. She then had the gall to get angry at me and said “I only wanted to look at your dress because it’s so nice. I was giving you a compliment.” I snapped. Long gone was the teenager who would run away from strangers. I told the woman to get away from me, and that if she touched me again I would hit her. I told her she had no right to touch me without my permission. I said it calmly, but I meant every word. She left, muttering obscenities under her breath, and I went back to me paperwork, acutely aware of the stares I was getting from the people around me.

The thing is, in all of these situations, the people who touched me didn’t seem to understand, or want to admit, that they were in the wrong. They each tried to justify their actions. Y’all, if you “only want to look” you don’t look at people with your hands. That’s now how looking works! I mean, I grew up being told “you can look, but don’t touch”. It was a mantra drummed into us as children, and where I once knew I wasn’t allowed to touch that Ballgown Barbie on the shelf, I know now that I’m not allowed to touch another person without their consent. So why is it such a foreign concept to some people? No one, and I do mean no one has the right to accost you. Not because of the way you are dressed. Not because of the tattoos that you have. Not because they like your hair, or your jewelry, or your fingernail polish, or your shoes. I’ll say it again for the people in the back; NO ONE HAS THE RIGHT TO TOUCH YOU. WITHOUT. YOUR. CONSENT.

No ifs, no buts, no excuses.

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The C Word (No, Not That One)

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I know this guy. He likes to hug me a lot. And kiss my cheek. And blow me kisses, and pick me up, and generally get very much in my personal space. But I’m not an affectionate kind of girl. And that aside, I don’t like being pawed at or having my personal space invaded without my consent.

The other day, I stopped by his shop for a quick chat on my way to get my morning chai. He came over and, despite my obvious protests, wrapped his arms right around me and held on to me. Tightly. It was the first day of my period, I was very grumpy and even less affectionate than normal. I not very kindly told him to get off me. So, as is his penchant, he only held on tighter. The young kid he had working with him at the time was quick to sense the mood and said “uh, I think that’s a big lack of consent there, man”. And his response? “I don’t need consent”.

I’m just going to say that again, let it really sink in; I don’t need consent.

Those four words are the reason I, as a young woman, feel the need to keep a pen in my hair as a weapon when I go for a walk at night. Those four words are the reason men think it’s ok to touch me, or make crass comments about me when I’m at a bar with a friend. Those four words are the reason there were ‘21,380 victims of sexual assault recorded by police in 2015’ (Recorded Crimes – Victims publication 2015, Australian Bureau of Statistics).

My situation should be a simple one. If I don’t want to be groped, I shouldn’t be. I should be free to say hello to someone without being worried that I’m about to have my personal space invaded by that someone. Just because one person wants to hug, doesn’t necessarily mean that the other person does. But that’s the thing about consent. You have the right to give it or not, and yet people seem to simply assume that’s it’s freely given in any and every situation. Because if they assume consent, or alternatively, that they don’t need it, then they believe have carte blanche to do whatever they want. And therein lies the problem.

This guy is kind of a friend, but the truth is, he’s sleazy. Whenever I am around him, I feel objectified and icky, to be honest. Aside from the unwanted physical contact, he freely stares at my chest and my ass, makes sexual jokes and inappropriate comments about me and on more than one occasion, has suggested that we get drunk together. Of course, my answer has always been no. I don’t know that he means any malice; in fact I think that’s just the way he is with a lot of young women. But that doesn’t make it right, and it doesn’t make me any more comfortable to be around him.

There are only so many times you can say no before it becomes clear that that answer simply won’t be accepted. And what then? Am I entitled to physically defend myself against unwanted advances? Am I within my rights to introduce my knee to his balls in order to stop him from grabbing at me? It shouldn’t have to get to that point. He should have respected my personal space right from the beginning. And he definitely should have backed off when I told him to. Consent is one of the most important words in the English language. And it’s about time people started paying attention to it.