Taboo Panty Stories

Taboo Panty Stories

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These women are tired of being groped

Filed under

sexual harassment

women's rights

8/9/17

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The other day I was driving on a busy freeway when I noticed a car near me trying to get my attention. We were driving fast and this driver seemed desperate for me to notice him. I was worried: “Are my lights on? Is fluid spilling out of my car? What the hell is he trying to tell me?” As his car pulled in line to me, I looked at him — a middle-aged guy with glasses and a goatee. Next minute, with aggressive hand gestures, I immediately understood his message. Cupping his chest he was using the universal sign for breasts, and then following that up with a thumbs up. Yup. So gross. Of course, he did it a few times just to be sure I had seen what he was trying to say, then, he sped off.
It’s been a few days since this disturbing incident but I can’t let the rage go — and not just because of his dangerous driving. No, what makes my blood boil is the thought that this guy has managed to get to about 40 years of age and has likely spent a lot of that time being a creep. And what annoys me further is that I know many people reading this are going to roll their eyes and think I should get over it rather than chastise him.
I’m fully aware Creepy Driver Man (CDM) did not murder anyone in this scenario, but he is guilty of sexually harassing a complete stranger and that’s not okay. And I’m not being dramatic when I say that this kind of entitled, predatory attitude towards women escalates to more serious things like rape.
I should point out that the recent driving incident happened in America but casual sexual harassment is a global problem that I personally have experienced in every country I’ve been to, and some of the worst of it at home in Australia. Not so fun fact: Australia has some of the highest rates of reported sexual assault in the world, according to the United Nations , and the Australian Bureau of Statistics reports that 1 in 5 women in Australia will experience sexual assault at some time in their life.
For me, it happened on a train in broad daylight where a stranger forced his hand up my skirt and grabbed at my “p—y,” as one world leader might say. Perhaps more shocking was the fact that I did nothing. I made no attempt to attract attention, I had no desire to make a fuss. The train doors opened and I rushed out onto the platform without looking back. Why? Because of our cultural obsession with raising girls to be “good.”
From birth, we are told not to be rude, or bossy, or difficult and above all, not to be a bitch. And it’s this obsession with “being nice” that is getting good girls into bad trouble.
Now, in my late 20s, I’m less of a “good girl” and more of a “nasty woman” becoming more and more incapable of pretending to smile when a man does something slimy. And it seems it might be a right of passage for females approaching a certain age.
In a January episode of her Women of the Hour podcast, Lena Dunham, 31, was in conversation with author Mary Karr when they discussed this very phenomenon. As the “sweet” and “nice” girl grows up, Karr said, “everything she’s thinking and not saying is going to rush to the front of her face and she will not be able to stop herself.”
Lena agreed, adding: “The things I would tolerate coming out of male mouths specifically, but human mouths generally, when I was 18, 19, 20, even until I was 28, I was just kind of like ready to let anyone say anything to me and then all this rage flooded to the surface.”
I can totally relate to that. Nowadays, I will happily tell strangers to “get f—ked” when they disrespect me.
But as women, when it comes to casual sexual harassment we do pick our battles. Going back to CDM, I have his number plate. I could shame him on the Internet, or try and find his wife and tell her she unfortunately married a grade A-creepasaurus, but I don’t want to engage in that because I don’t think the outcome will reward the effort.
Instead I’m going to change my battle cry — we need to change the way we raise boys. I know not all men are handsy-creeps but there are some members of their sex severely letting the team down. Too many men are silent bystanders to sexual harassment which is too often seen as a women’s issue, when it’s clearly a human issue.
I firmly believe empowering men to call out harassment when they see it from fellow blokes is one of the best weapons we have of ending this epidemic of sickos who think they can do what they want to women.
My new challenge is to ask the fellas to call out blokes who are guilty of “locker room talk” that objectifies women and reduces them to beings that only exist for sexual gratification.
And if that happened perhaps the ladies might not feel they have to pick and choose their sexual harassment battles but have allies in decent guys raised to be equally invested in making bacon out of chauvinist pigs.
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Here Are The Best Underage Stories You Submitted
PSU news by
Penn State's student blog
Last week, we asked for your best stories from getting cited with underage drinking , and you did not let us down. We received dozens of stories, including some from alumni, ranging from sad coincidences that landed students in trouble, to raucous nights that clearly went awry. We picked our favorites, and we are happy to be able to share them with you.
I don’t know how I got there, but I was woken up by the University Park Police as I was sitting in the second row of 100 Thomas. The best part was that I had gone back to Pennypacker to get my backpack and class materials.
The real question here is, did you get attendance points?
I was tailgating two years ago at the UMass game. I only had a few drinks because others had told me stories about how many cops are out during football games. As the morning turned to afternoon, I still hadn’t seen a cop so I decided to grab a beer. I had no problems, finished a few beers, and after, my friends and I were about to walk to the stadium. On our way over, my friend had a beer in her hand and she saw a puppy, so she gave the beer to me. Within 30 seconds I heard “can I see your ID,” and almost died inside. I tried to explain to the cop that it was my friend’s beer (who was 21) and that she was having me hold it while she was petting a puppy. My friend tried pleading to the cop as well, but long story short, I received an underage, and was told by the cop that if I want to lie to get out of something, I need to come up with a more believable story. As he walked away he stepped in a pile of crap the puppy left behind.
Was the poop there on purpose as some cool form of pet justice? Probably not. Am I going to believe that anyway? Absolutely.
It was late August 2003 and my parents had dropped me off as a freshman two days prior. We were out drinking Carlo Rossi jug wine with an older friend of mine from home who was in a frat. As we stopped at College Pizza for my first late night drunken slice as a 17-year old college student, I realized I really had to use the bathroom. Seeing how long the line was, I decided to take some back stairwell up to what I thought was the safety of the back of the building. Without a care in the world, I unleash the contents of my bladder on the side of the building (which I now realize is just an empty lot that opens up right onto Locust). I turned around when I was all finished and there were two cop cars boxing me in. I did not realize the gravity of the situation, or the seriousness with which the State College Police took underage drinking/public urination, until the cops called my parents at 3:30 a.m. since I was only 17. I still have the summons stowed away for safe keeping — and my family still makes public urination jokes to this day. God bless that town.
I guess you could say he really “pissed” off the police.
I went home for the weekend and came back Saturday night to go to this big party. I got back to State College around 10:30 and realized I needed to catch up before I went to the party so I took three shots (background info: I’m a lightweight who used to black out at four shots). When I finally got to the party, my friend made the whole party all take three shots together. That’s when the night got blurry. I know I had some more jungle juice and then the next thing I know, I wake up in the hospital. I woke up in a hospital bed, naked, with an IV in my arm. I was still completely hammered and had no idea what was going on. I thought the fact that I was in the hospital was the funniest thing ever and the thought of an underage didn’t even cross my mind. I took a cab ride home and later received a call from the campus police. I had to go down to the station and the cop told me all about my night. Apparently I was wandering around near Blue Course Drive and ended up hanging out in some field. The cop saw me and asked me where I lived and I told him West Halls (even though I lived off-campus) so he graciously took me there. When we got to West he asked me where we were and I responded “in the middle of Pugh Street” and then he called an ambulance for me. With a BAC of 0.28 it’s really great I survived with only an underage and more than $1000 in fees.
The saddest part of this, for me at least, is that all this person had to do to avoid an underage was know his/her own address. So close, yet so far.
I was walking back after a night of getting totally wasted at the frats on campus, when this a**hole cop wrote me up for no reason. At least that’s what I thought. As it turns out, I had stopped a traffic cop, stolen his vest and baton, and was directing traffic in the middle of College Ave at 2 a.m. There was an underage and a ticket that said ‘directing traffic while intoxicated.’
And they say college doesn’t adequately prepare you for your future job.
1) Got absolutely sloshed at my fraternity before the Ohio State football game in 2014.
2) Left the house around noon to go to my parents’ tailgate.
3) Kept slamming fireball until about 1 p.m.
4) Apparently, I went to the porta potty to let my innards loose and a cop saw me and approached me to make sure everything was alright.
5) I told him I was “f***** fine” and stumbled away.
6) He came back with his assistant cops and they cuffed my sorry ass.
7) Parents hated me for about two months because I threw up on Grandma Josephine apparently when she told me I needed to take a nap.
8) Here we are today!!
Freshman year I had a biology lab and my friends wanted to drink after. It was a Tuesday, but I was trying to live college to the fullest. I went from my lab to drink with my friends, and the next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital with my brother and roommate by my side. I was unconscious for about seven hours. I later found out I was hypoglycemic and my body was shutting down because I didn’t eat. An officer gave me an underage when the ambulance was called. My mom thought I had a drinking problem for a while because this all happened on a Tuesday, but I learned my lesson. Now I always eat before drinking because I never want to wake up in a diaper again.
There are so many bad jokes I could make about the irony of having a medical condition you don’t know about, and only finding out because of non-biology related events after a biology class, but I can’t seem to find the right one.
Early freshman year, I made it all the way from the frats to East by myself, very drunk. I got so excited that I navigated my way home that I physically jumped for joy, straight into a stop sign. As in, I literally smacked my head into a stop sign and fell down directly next to a cop. Ninety days later, with my license ban coming to a close, my friends threw me somewhat of a mocking “congrats you can drive again, you moron” party. That night I stole a bike from a frat and got pulled over by a cop. You guessed it. BUI.
This person may have been just a bit too excited to drive again.
This underage is a two-part story here. It was LEAP 2014; I had just come home from a picnic hosted by my local Alumni Association and I returned to Penn State with a trunk full of enough liquor for me and my 10 buddies. That night I mixed 100 proof Mr. Boston straight into one gallon of Hawaiian Punch, had a few drinks, and the next thing I remember, I’m at a party, though I don’t know what party. I don’t know how long we were there but then we were sitting at Canyon and I was begging my friends to get me water; they gave me raspberry tea and my nausea increased exponentially. We’re walking back to our dorm rooms now on Beaver Ave., and I start throwing up in the bushes at Cedarbrook just as a cop drives by. The cop then goes in reverse and he’s pushing me into the curb. His partner and he decide that if I can stop throwing up, they’ll let me go back to campus with my friends without getting an underage. I keep drinking my water, and keep throwing up, so they call an ambulance and do a breathalyzer test — I blew a 0.156. They end up sending me back to my friends dorm where I had to sleep (P.S. Reid, I pissed myself on your blanket but Mark threw it in the wash so you wouldn’t know).
Fast forward two weeks. My desire to drink and go out has returned. My buddy Mark and I break out the bottle we had been looking forward to since I bought the liquor — Everclear. I have no idea how much I drank, but I ended up crying at one point during the pre-game. Mark and I go to the Collegian because we knew of a kid who had a sweet setup and we had friends there all the time. We walked out the door, and I blacked out. (The rest of this story is what Mark told me the next day). Mark and I got to the party and I continued to drink and whenever someone tried to talk to me I found it necessary to finish my entire cup before I could speak to them. I then proposed to Mark (neither of us are gay) and when he said no I threw a freaking tantrum in the middle of the dance floor, like a 3-year-old, so they kicked us out. Mark took me across the street to a parking garage where I started throwing up and wouldn’t stop. He called the rest of my buddies and they decided to call an ambulance. The cops show up and it’s THE SAME FUCKING COPS FROM MY FIRST GOD DAMN UNDERAGE TWO WEEKS AGO. They stepped out of the car, looked at me, and the first words that came out of one of their mouths were, “not this douchebag again.” They’re flipping through my wallet trying to find my ID; passed my student ID, learners permit, junior license, fake ID, motorcycle permit, regular license (luckily, through their confusion I still have that fake ID). I wake up the next morning in the hospital with buttons and wires connected to me, I’m stark nude and there’s a tube taped to my foot because I stopped breathing in the night. I had a 0.251 when I came in.
All I want is for Mark and Reid, whomever they may be, to see this story.
On Friday night of Halloweekend, I accidentally drank an entire fifth of tequila by myself in about 45 minutes. I then proceeded to run to the nearby white loop stop, throw up everywhere, and have the police called on me. I woke up in the hospital at 8 a.m. the next morning confused as hell, then made a friend in the same hospital room as me who had apparently shit her pants the night before because she was so drunk. When we were released we were still drunk, so I was singing and dancing in the hospital lobby while waiting for the taxi to take us back to our dorms. When it arrived, we went outside (in our oversized scrubs and diapers the hospital put us in) and I puked all over the hospital driveway and left. Once I got back to my dorm room, I saw the empty bottle of tequila on my desk and puked again. According to the detective who later met with me, I had to be hauled into an ambulance by five people because I was trying to run away screaming, “I am MEGAN!” When I got into the ambulance, however, I projectile vomited in the ambulance the whole way to Mount Nittany Medical Center, so much so that I got it on the roof of the ambulance, all the walls, and drenched one of the EMTs in my puke. I ultimately put the ambulance out of service because I had left it in such disarray. At this point in hearing about what I had done, the detective took off his glasses, looked at me sternly, and said, “Young lady, in all my years here at this university, I have NEVER seen someone put an ambulance out of service for the amount of puke that was in the back of that ambulance.” Later on, when I went to my court hearing for the underage that I got, I was unaware of how serious this hearing was and showed up in jeans and a sweatshirt while every other person with an underage was in a suit. We then went in as a group, and the judge read all of our stories out loud to the group. Of course, mine was last. He started with, “BAC .28…,” and then took a look at me, which did not lead to a good outcome. The best part of the story, however, is that I did all of this dressed up as Louise from Bob’s Burgers: green t-shirt dress and pinky bunny ear hat included. So the real lesson here is never dress as Louise for Halloween — her spirit is just too much
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