More than ten years ago I was part of an amateur dramatics group in Australia as a young twenty-something. We would hold after show parties following each play when there was much drinking and merriment.
One year, a group of us decided to dress up a bit for the party. I had a nice long black dress, a bit slinky, which I decided to wear. As a normally self-conscious girl, I was aware it was a bit clingy so put a change of clothing in my friend’s car as a back-up.
At this party, one of the older men, probably in his sixties and a well-respected member of the amateur group, decided he couldn’t keep his hands to himself and decided to grab hold of me as I was walking past him and put his arms around me as if to cuddle me. He pulled me into his groin making typical dirty old man noises. After I wriggled free, another of the older men in the group, who was married to the play’s director, decided that would be an opportunity to grope my bottom. Upon turning around, he blamed the man next to him, who I knew was not the type of person to do that.
A friend of mine, who saw what happened, asked if I was okay, while another friend, after I told her what had happened said to me: “The reason they do that is because they don’t get any at home.” I fled to her car and got changed straight away. I didn’t report it because I was shocked and thought either no one would believe me or would tell me it was my fault because of the way I was dressed. If I had my time again, I would have said: “If you do that again, I will knee you so hard in the groin you will have to explain to your wife why you can’t get it up – if you could in the first place.” Oh well, #MFIF.
KH, Milton Keynes, UK