One-shot Compilations

What it Takes to be a Woman

It's tough being a woman. Yes, one often sees a beautiful and charming lady. Everything about her just screams confidence and perfection, but have you even taken the time to discover what she went through to have this confidence and strong personality. In a world full of male chauvinists, narcissists, self-centered, egocentric maniacs, us, women must finally find our voice to stand our ground.

In my 23 years, 11 months and 3 days of existence, I have experienced sexual harassment on numerous occasions. Some, I  certainly said something about it, but for the most part, I was quiet about it.

Why? Why would you stay silent if you feel harassed by someone? Why would you let them go? Well, one of the reasons is that guys are generally stronger than women when it comes to physique. Most offenders are those men who seem so respectable and well-mannered. Speaking against those kind of men is so frightening on your part and most of the time you will be gaslighted. What's worse is that saying something about sexual harassment would label you as crazy and delusional.

I still remember when I was 11 years old. I was riding a bus alone from my grandmother's house which was three hours away from my parents house. It wasn't my first time I was sexually harassed, but this one is something I remember so vividly. I still remember how afraid I was. How, after that, I was drowned with anger, not only to the perpetrator, but to myself for not talking and allowing that to happen.

The bus was filled with passengers and there is no seat available, so we need to stand up. I want to start by telling you what I was wearing. I had jeans on and a white blouse. Nothing sexy, nothing seductive. I had a mature body. My body developed earlier than most girls my age. I looked like someone who was in her high school even though I was still in my fifth grade.

The closer the bus heads towards its destination, the more crowded it gets. People were so close to one another. I was trying to hang on so I wouldn't lose my balance when I felt it, a hand on my right chest. Someone is touching it. He was brushing his fingers on my chest so he could do it subtly. I thought maybe he did not mean that. Perhaps, he didn't realize it, or maybe it was just an accident. I still remember what that man looks like. Based on his clothes, he was a pastor, he wears a white collared shirt that pastors wear, with black trousers and shiny black leather shoes. He was old. I think he's in his late 40's or early 50's. He looked like a nice guy, so I thought he did not do it on purpose.

I angled my body away from him, but the bus kept moving and taking passengers. He moved closer to me. I was so uncomfortable. I wanted to cry at the time because I could feel his fingers rubbing my breast, but I can't find my voice to speak. I was terrified, I was in shock, and I have no idea what to do. It had never happened to me before. Even though, I was  catcalled at that early age as well, you will never be prepared when it happens to you physically. I tried to get away. I was avoiding my body so that he wouldn't reach my breast, but he always had the opportunity to get closer to me. Nobody seems to notice what was happening.

As the bus approaches the destination, the number of passengers decreases. That man had a chance to sit down, but he did not. I was so afraid at that time. That kind of fear that makes your body tremble. I knew he sensed it. I knew he could see that I was desperate to get out. I took the opportunity to get away from him when a seated passenger reached their destination.

Oh, I was so relieved to finally sit down, but more than that, I was so relieved that I got away from him. I sat by the window. I had my peace. I was so relieved that I managed to fell asleep, but it didn't last long. I sensed someone touching my breast again. I was foolish to fall asleep then. I never realized that the woman next to me had reached her destination and the seat next to me was vacant.

How I wanted to cry when I saw the man seated next to me and that's how the torture started again. I can't go anywhere. I was trapped in my seat. We were in the back seat of the bus. He was boldly touching my breast.