It was a day like any other. I woke up, slothed around, and then decided to take advantage of a free morning and trek to a bookstore. I immediately found a book that appealed to my inner political science junkie, found a fairly secluded section of the store, and started devouring geopolitical predictions for the next 100 years.
Out of nowhere, a gentleman sat down next to me, and immediately started his lame flirting game. I tried to blow him off with talk of a boyfriend, but he persisted in trying to engage me in conversation. I buried my head in my book. Rather than walking away, I had made a conscious decision to assert my autonomy and stay where I was. After all, I was there first. I felt I had an inalienable right to read wherever I wanted to.
While talking to me, the man laid his hand on my knee and I flinched and glared at him. This didn’t deter him. He then asked me if I wear thongs (hello, flashback to AOL chatrooms in the ’90s), and proceeded to elaborate on his freaky sexual proclivities. During this, he slid his hand up and down my leg, and I completely froze. I was shellshocked. I knew that I was being violated, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. He then asked me for a handjob – “it would only be quick,” he sleazed. I died inside. He touched my thigh for what felt like an eternity, though it could have only been a few seconds, and then he left me.
I almost fell out of my seat when a friend told me about 
How to Screw Up the First Date
Why Jennifer Lawrence is the Coolest Actress Ever
Men in Black Take on The Avengers
Jeopardy Without Trebek?!
Stop Sleeping With Your Ex!
