I've got a story I'm going to share.
As a woman, I get harassed. I'm used to it. It's barely even upsetting anymore, which in of itself deserves an essay. A pinch, a lewd remark; back in the day when I regularly took the T, men trying to rub off on my leg or ass.
The other night, however, something happened in Central Square that scared the shit out of me.
I was with my roommate, a curvaceous girl, when this man walking towards us reached around and behind her and touched her ass. It was so disturbing that my roomie just yelled something at him and fled halfway across the street.
I did not. I stopped and confronted him, an ugly and goose-pimplingly creepy experience I hope not to repeat unarmed.
The attacker - I'll call him this - was young-looking, but was older than he looked. He looked very effeminate; I took him for someone transitioning, actually, to female.
And the look in his eyes was dead. He stared, unblinking, into my eyes. He repeated everything I said back to me and mimicked my motions. He didn't shy away like mocked perverts do. He didn't run. He didn't show shame.
He was, in my opinion, escalating. He was testing his limits. This wasn't his first action, and it was in broad daylight on a crowded streetcorner without the luxury of anonymity. He was testing - and he won. No one stopped him. Nothing happened to him besides anger. He's not going to stop with that, either. He's going to escalate to a stronger offense. Next time, he might assault a woman sexually with violence.
We went to the police station, but they dragged their feet and didn't go to the corner in question - within even my poor eyesight's easy stone's throw from the front door of the station - for about 20 minutes. We explained how this was different from other offenses we'd both suffered before, how scary his eyes were and how he was clearly practicing.
Whatthefuckever. We reported it. One day maybe he'll hurt someone and our report will be on the books to be found.