Stalked

I acquired my first stalker recently. It happened at an open house I attended last week, a social mixer for the local GLBT Chamber of Commerce hosted by one of the member organizations. A man came up to me and started telling me how beautiful I was and how he’d love to get together. Umm, not interested. Unfortunately, my innate inclination to not be offensive misled me in my initial response, which was too mild. I did not try to lead him on or indicate real interest, but my expressions of disinterest were clearly not enough to dissuade him. I drifted over to sit with some friends, hoping to indicate that I wasn’t interested. But no, he followed and sat down next to me. Eventually I indicated that I needed to be leaving, stood up and prepared to depart, at which point he finally drifted away. I hadn’t actually intended or wanted to depart at that point, but my pretext at least freed me of his unwanted presence. I lingered and talked with my friends, who had all been aware of what was happening, all the time keeping a watchful eye on the man’s location in the room and staying close to a friend so that at any point I could place them between me and him if necessary.

I felt frustrated that none of my friends had more actively intervened. Apparently, they figured I was wise enough to know how to handle the situation, not realizing that I’m pretty much a rookie in this regard. I really would have appreciated one of them taking the lead and rescuing me. They were sympathetic and after the fact offered lots of helpful (sincerely!) advice that I shall store up for the future. One transgender female friend quipped that I should be flattered by his interest. She meant it in humor but I let her know that I didn’t find it funny. As someone who has no attraction to men, having a male stranger rate my physical beauty will never be a welcome compliment.

Afterwards I felt dirty, violated, icky. I had not wanted this man’s attentions. I had not invited them or encouraged them. What gave him the right to approach me in that way? But I also felt ashamed that I had not done more to draw my boundaries more strongly and clearly, that I hadn’t asserted myself. I felt like I was to blame for his violation of my personal space. Thankfully, as I chatted about the experience with a friend, she reminded me: “We are not responsible for the way men treat us in public! Being attractive women does NOT mean we deserved to be harassed!” She helpfully encouraged me to not be so hard on myself and not to allow myself to feel like I was to blame for his actions.

Now my stalker has started calling me at work. I have no intention of answering or responding to his calls. I talked to my office manager about it and she promptly showed me how to block his calls on our phone system. She also assured me that if, somehow, he should find his way to our office and start harassing me, she would act decisively on my behalf. I appreciate that kind of support. It’s nice to know that other women have my back.

I keep coming back to the thought that my reaction was one of shame, that I felt responsible for this situation. What a messed up world we live in, in which we women are made to feel that we are the guilty ones when someone violates us. Having largely put the shame behind me, now I’m pissed off at the men of this world who feel entitled to our attentions, as if we exist only to please them. Next time I hope I’ll be bold enough to say what I should have said this time: “Fuck off.”