Feeling Unsafe on Home Soil

I have never felt unsafe in Brighton, but last night I was walking the three-minute walk from the pub to the taxi rank and a bloke called after me.  We didn’t know one another but he caught up with me and we shared a conversation.  He asked where I was going.  Home.  Can he come?  No.  Do I want to go back to his?  No thank you.  Am I sure?  Would I at least like to go to his car?  I am sure, and no thanks.

“Fine bitch, fuck you then,” he said.

I wonder how often he has done this; approached a woman with the hope she’ll willingly get into a stranger’s car.  I wonder why he thinks it’s acceptable to call her a bitch and swear at her when she rejects his advances.  It ought to be the other way around – he’s the one being rude and creepy – but what might happen if a woman told him to fuck off or run away?

This doesn’t mean I won’t walk back to the taxi rank alone again.  This doesn’t mean I won’t wear a dress and heels again.  This doesn’t mean I’ll resist male advances because of fear they only have one thing on their mind.  Whilst this man’s bad attitude doesn’t manifest in all men, I worry it festers in more men’s minds than we hope.

Photo by Kai Bossom on Unsplash.

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