I was walking towards my friend’s home, it was around 6 p.m. on February 14th, Valentine’s Day.  I was visiting the guy I had a crush on. I was wearing a short skirt, black tights, a perfecto and high-heels boots. I was feeling gorgeous and sexy.

Then, as I passed a basketball field located in one of the main streets of my town, a guy came out and started following me. I didn’t pay much attention, I pretended to be on my phone and just hoped he would go away. But he did not. He went walking next to me and told me I was pretty. I mumbled a “thanks”, without looking at him. He then asked me where I was working, calling me “madam”.

I said I was still in high school. That’s when I noticed he was actually a kid. Around 14 years old, not older. He was already ready to harass adult women in the streets. I kept walking, faster. I heard his voice behind me, saying, “Hey – seen the way you’re dressed? That’s a bit hot.”

“The way I dress only concern myself thanks,” I responded, still not looking at him.

I knew he was looking at me from behind. I felt sick. I was only an object for him. “You got a fat ass.”

“You know that’s not something people actually want to hear in the streets.”

I hid my shaking hands in my jacket and made my voice as firm as possible. I felt ashamed. But then every feminist article about street harassment and slut-shaming I read, every advice, every testimony came back to my mind and I began to feel angry.

I was repeating to myself that I had nothing to feel except anger, and that he was the one at fault. I turned left to the street where lives my friend. He had been following me for 5 minutes now. “I have a boner.” That was too much. I turned around, faced him and looked at him straight in the eyes. “Shut the fu** up.”

My voice trembled with both fear and fury. “Why?”

“Go away.”

My heart was pounding in my chest, I was ready to punch him if he ever tried to touch me. As he didn’t move, I took a step towards him. I was threatening, the adrenaline overflowed me and I was so ready to kick his ass for the past minutes he made me live. And then, as he saw my determination, just as I took a step, he ran away. He ran, scared, a little coward.

I turned around and walked as fast as I could to my friend’s. I was scared he might come back. When my friend opened the door, I was shaking. I told him, half-smiling and laughing nervously, trying to catch my breath, mixing words together: “Oh my god, I-I’ve just been harassed”.

His answer was the cherry on top: “Is it good or bad?”

I’m 17, and I should not fear to go out in my town because of coward dumb 14 years old. I’m 17 and I should not have to imagine the consequences if that guy had been 30 years old. I’m 17 and I should not feel grateful that I knew how to react only because one day I discovered what feminism was on the Internet, and got informed on street harassment and slut-shaming thanks to websites. I’m 17 and no one should ask me if it’s “good or bad” when I tell them that I’ve just been harassed. That is one of the many reasons why we need feminism.

– Leah

Location: NYC

Share your street harassment story for the blog.
See the book 50 Stories about Stopping Street Harassers for more idea.