If you’re watching Winter Love Island at the moment, you’ll be familiar with this lovely quote:
“If I wanna put my hand there, I’ll put my hand there”.– Mike Fucking Boateng
Actually, you won’t mate. This guy is supposed to be a police man as well.
A few weeks ago I went clubbing with my old flatmates. We were all dancing in a circle, with one of the girls directly opposite me. A guy behind her starts holding her waist and dancing. He carries on like this for a good sixty seconds – bearing in mind that she has not turned around to show any interest, ask what his name is, no eye contact, nothing. She stares at the floor with a nervous face. It is very obvious what her vibe is – it’s a no from me babe. He doesn’t care, though, because he hasn’t got what he wants yet: in a blur, his hands have gone from her waist to her boobs. He gives them a good squeeze, like he’s trying to get the last bit of juice out of a lemon. Were you thirsty for some breast milk mate, because you certainly act like you’re still a child? Maybe head to the bar if you’re a bit dehydrated, not one of my best friends nipples.
I froze for a split second, not quite believing my eyes. She’d made an obvious unapproving noise by this point, but he held on to them like they were the last pair of decent tits in the world. I threw my arms around her, pulling her towards me and away from him in an awkward hug.
“Thanks, babe,” she said. I guess I was slightly drunk, so my responses weren’t the fastest, but looking back on that night, I was pure fuming at myself for not kicking him in the balls (I have a good aim and a strong kick). If I could go back to that night, I’d yank each of his balls off their hinges, feed them to him, and then hijack the DJ, shouting ‘he sexually assaults people’ down the microphone. Then I’d inform his mum of his doings and contact every single employer he ever sends his CV to for the rest of his life, explaining how he likes clinging on to strangers tits for his dear, shit life.
If you or one of your friends, whatever gender, is in a similar situation to this, please #AskForAngela. When there’s no other option, turn to literally anyone, preferably a bar tender or a security guard, and ask if Angela is working tonight. This is a well known, subtle indication that you are in some sort of vulnerable situation. As long as the bar tender or whoever you’ve asked catches your drift, which they should be trained to do, they will get you a taxi, or into a safer environment, away from the threat.
Luckily, I’ve never had to use this tactic. However, I have been touched at a club a few times. I shake them off me like they’re an ant infestation. I’d really rather an ant infestation to be honest.
I’ve had two separate guys physically pick up my hand as if it’s not mine to control, and shove it down their pants. Another guy grabbed my hand, again as if I didn’t have the ability to move it myself, and lay it on his overly large crotch. I ran for the hills. That thing felt like a miniature fucking lamp post rather than a penis. I’m 5 foot 5 (ish, that’s a guess). What about my height makes you think I have space down there for your ten incher? His bellend would probably reach my kidneys, but I doubt he’d care, after all, I’m just there to make him cum, right?
No hunni. I went back inside to the party and informed my friends that the blonde big dude outside is likely to be an experienced, qualified rapist, and is probably looking to annihilate a few vaginas tonight. We left the party and walked to the nearest McDonalds. I got an apple pie and chips, and it tasted a lot better than his cock would’ve.