Behold: an old man with legs spread open, gun cocked tight, touching himself over his pants and eyes staring apathetically at me. My long skirt and turtleneck concealed breasts was not masking this man’s perverted imagination.

I looked at him with no emotion, because I knew if I would show my feathers being ruffled by his public lewdness, it would only make him harder. Completely sickened, I took a picture of him straightforwardly so he would know. I was at a local coffee shop working on pieces for my upcoming art show that was going to be displayed in the upcoming months.

I ended up drawing the man, exactly how he was sitting, with his penis erupting through his pants and displayed it at that coffee shop two months later with the following description:

This thing, this salacious slithering snake, with legs spread out, physically cocking at me. Licking my turtleneck, concealed breasts with eyes hiding behind glasses blurred from a glare that came from no where and a mustache magnifying its lusting actions. No such thing shall trespass my civil liberty to sit in a coffee shop, and must I add it was the middle of winter, I was dressed in sweaters from head to toe! What shame, people would have put me to blame if it would have been July. This sexual harassing man, please be aware of him and don’t hesitate to call upon his lustful endeavors; like a child he will runaway, if done in a mother to son reprimand.

It felt so good to display this sadistic behavior that threatened me in that same place. However, revenge was the sweetest when I received a picture of the public lewder sitting in front of the painting of himself one morning, from an employer.

Caution: Don’t public lewd or the next one will be you.

– Greta

Location: Normal, IL

I took the bus every week to come back home from my regular music lessons. It was just another day but this time the bus was unusually empty. I didn’t bother much because my stop was just a few minutes away. Just then a man (not more than 25 years of age) took a seat on the row to my left. He kept staring at me for no app aperture reason. It was really uncomfortable so I looked away.

After about a minute or so, I heard shuffling noises from his seat and just cast a casual glance at him. The sight disgusted me out of my wits. He had his pants down and was frantically masturbating while looking at me. I felt violated.

I simply took my bag and moved to the front. It was so disturbing that I started to get disgusting dreams about it and I was afraid to enter the same bus again fearing that the man would be there. It would be ‘just another shag’ for him, but for me, it was the first time I was harassed. I thank God that nothing more happened. I would never be able to come out of it otherwise.

I’m just 16 and this is an experience that no one should go through. Street and public harassment like this should be completely stopped. No one has a clue how disgusting and disturbing it is other than the victims.

– Anonymous

Location: India

A girl with a guitar. Opens up a whole other vein of street harassment by men. I often walk around the city on my way to some venue or a practice with my guitar on my back. Many guys see that as an easy opening to try to talk to me. To be fair, I have on occasion met a fellow musician or two who actually plays or is in a band, and that is always legit. But the rest of the guys….. ayy.

“Do you play?” they yell out at me as I walk past. Um, I think it’s safe to say that anyone you see walking around with a soft cased guitar on them does play it.

“What kind of music do you play?” they shout as I quickly hurry by.

What does it matter? What if it’s a type of music you’re not into? You wanna become my newest fan? I seriously doubt it. I just keep walking hoping to put as much distance between me and this person shouting questions at me as possible. I used to yell back “yes”, and “everything” to the second question, but after a few times of that I realized that it’s really not about music at all – it’s about getting and trying to hold my attention by these guys.

This is evident by the follow up questions/comments: “Wanna play for me sometimes?”, “Hey honey, I got a gig for you” (said in the sleaziest way possible), “I wish I was your guitar, I’d let you play me all night”, “What, you too busy to stop and talk to me?”, “Oh, you think you’re a star, huh?” and the inevitable diss when I keep walking, “Ah, I bet you suck anyway!” and “I bet you can’t REALLY play!” and “Stuck up guitar bitch”.

One guy even said “I hope you break your fucking hand, bitch!” when I continued on past, ignoring the barrage of questions like I usually do when one of these guys starts up. It really is a f’d up thing that you find yourself having to go through on far too many occasions, and I can bet you that guys walking around the city with their guitars don’t go through ANY of this shit. It sucks and it’s not fair. Why?, I often ask myself. Why?

I have taken to wearing my headphones around my neck when I hit the streets with my axe in tow. And when I spot one of those guys, and you know what I mean, you can always spot them – the ones that get you on their radar and lock onto you immediately with that 100 yard stare – I quickly slip the headphones over my ears before I get within earshot of them. I make sure to keep something running on my Ipod so that I don’t have to hear one f*cking word or even begin to acknowledge their bullshit. Me walking around with my guitar does not make me an instantly accessible attraction or device. I truly and honestly wish that guys would grow the f*ck up. That is all.

– Kayla

Location: Manhattan/Queens

I wanna share something with Stop Street Harassment. I started following your page recently and in the past months I have also been an active feminist. There have been hundreds of times I have faced street harassment, I have been stared, touched, whistled and commented on badly and I never had the courage to do something about it. I live with a very conservative, misogynist family whom I broke ties with a few months back, the time I started doing my duties as a feminist.

After a very tough day on 15th April when I was climbing the stairs of the pedestrian’s bridge, this guy (he was young) touched my hip from behind and tried walking past me. Believe me, I have never had the courage before to do anything about it but to sit and be disgusted at myself. But that night I actually slapped the guy’s back really hard and screamed ‘Beghairat’ (it’s Urdu for ‘Shameless’ but is a negative word).

I was surprised at my courage and I have nothing but identifying myself as a feminist and your page to thank for. Maybe subconsciously but your message reached out to me. I did something about street harassment. After all these years, I finally did it tonight. I took a stand.

Thank you, so, so much! I don’t only feel more confident on the street now I also plan ahead if I see someone suspicious.

– A. Siddiqui

Location: Karachi, Pakistan

I live in Chicago and despite all of it’s flaws Chicago is my home and heart and soul. In my city you get people from all walks of life; you get the full spectrum of colors, creeds, and cultures. You get the men and women who help you selflessly and the men and women who will turn up their noses to the plight of others. Chicago is home to the best of us and the worst of us.

Last summer I spent a great deal on my feet and on public transit. Through Old Irving Park, Albany Park, Roscoe Village, and the Lake Shore I was always going somewhere by foot or via bus and train and for a while, and for the most part I had felt safe and secure. I enjoyed my Chicago summer except for one reoccurring event.

I would either be waiting at a bus stop or walking down the street and a car would pull up besides me and whatever man driving said car would roll down his window and try to convince to join him inside. On more than a few occasions I would be coaxed with handfuls of bills. But mostly it had just been men with the audacity to pull up besides me and try to sweet talk and seduce me into the passenger seats of their vehicles.

I found this terrifying but not in the way you might expect. I was insulted and rather ashamed because I had never been solicited for prostitution until last year. I would constantly ask people if I looked like, or walked like, acted like, or gave off a certain ‘air’ that would make men think that I would exchange my body for monetary gain. The answer was always no. But still the thought remained that I had an essence about me that screamed that I was dirty.

That happened countless times last summer. It seems like there was a constant barrage of solicitation and predation. It seemed almost inescapable. I can honesty say that I no longer feel as safe and secure in my home town as I used to.

– DK

Location: Chicago, IL