Men, check in if you've ever been groped unwillingly

In My Humble Opinion
81

Twice on different occasions by women at parties; they were flirting with me while dancing - lots of rubbing against me, and then the hands came down and got a handful. Problem was that they had no idea that a squeeze should be gentle. These two ladies were told firmly that I didn’t like it. From this, I learned not to be rough with “lady parts” of various types unless “requested”.

I have experienced more gentle undesired groping, and while it was pleasant, was wise enough to extricate myself from the situation while remaining friendly.

82

The lady was (understandably) emotionally distraught and was fishing (hoping?) for a ‘pity poke’? :wink:

83

Too early to be hunting for quotes, but it seems to me as if some of the guys posting seem to confuse “unexpectedly” with “unwillingly”. And then you guys wonder why women won’t take the initiative! If we’re already flirting or dancing, how does it matter who makes the first physical move?

84

(bolding mine)

I’m usually fairly perceptive to a woman ‘flirting’ with me, and I’m also quite aware of the difference between “unexpectedly” and “unwillingly”.
The problem (as I see it) is, some people may not appreciate or even realize that others may differentiate between ‘flirting’ and physical ‘groping and/or touching’. Just because a woman is dancing with me, and even if she has progressed to ‘recognizably flirting’* with me, I would hesitate to automatically assume that that is a signal that it’s okay for me to touch her in an overtly sexual manner. (ie: groping or fondling breasts, buttocks, crotch, etc.) YMMV :wink:

*recognizably flirting… Flirtatious behavior is widely varied and can be so subtle, as to not be recognized as such, IME.

85

I completely agree on both points. I went out of my way to not say he was gay. As said, he flatly denied both being gay and, later, that his his advances even occurred. I do think he was struggling and, if I’d only ever seen him drunk after the switch toggled, there’d be no reason to doubt he is gay. I haven’t seen any of that crew in years so can’t really say how things ended up.
And on the threatening comment, I wrote that to draw a distinction between what I’d experienced (mild annoyance) and the scary back alley, precursor-to-rape type aggressive cornering imagery that the phrase ‘groped unwillingly’ may otherwise bring to mind.

86

When I was in my 20’s, I worked for three old insane brothers in NYC. One was a married, closet case and knew I was Gay (no secret to anyone in the office back then) and was always grabbing my ass or trying to grab my crotch.

I hated that job and tried to quit several times, but they kept throwing more money in salary and I was/am somewhat of a money whore and can keep working at a job I hate if you pay me enough.

The old dude was relentless…and I was equally relentless in fending him off. Geez…when I think of the lawsuit I could have filed, if only they had had sexual harassment laws on the books back then! (But they didn’t.)

87

Groping as being discussed here is an ambush tactic. Groping right out of the gate and is always unwilling - you couldn’t consent beforehand because nothing indicated that’s where things were headed. In fact, when that’s your opener, you’re pretty much forcing a negative response even if the person was interested because that’s treating someone like crap and few people are into that.

However, to address what you’re talking about: If someone has already initiated physical contact without using their hands (rubbing some portion of their anatomy against the other person) or with hands outside the bikini area without receiving a negative response/reaction, her reaching down my pants might be unexpected and perhaps startling, but they could reasonably assume I’m not unwilling. In part because my typical response is to throw the person over my shoulder and leave the premises, excusing myself to our companions.

88

I’m about as sensitive as a brick when it comes to flirting. I don’t pick up on hints or body language short of actual physical action. If a woman’s interested in me, she’s got to clearly say it.

89

Flirting is like a game, if I like what is going on, I will join in and, umm, raise the ante. Sometimes it is just fun and you play with each other for a while, other times it escalates until she eithers folds or lays them on the table. Should be done very cautiously if you are at work, though.

90

No.

91

From what I have seen in the workplace and how HR departments handle things, should never be done at work AT ALL. (If you are a man).

92

I’ve had my ass grabbed a few times in crowds when I was in college. Obviously, I can’t speak to the gender of the grabbers.

93

Umm… can you elaborate?

94

Thank you. If anyone went straight from flirtatious banter to grab-and-squeeze-the-boob with me, he’d get a punch to the face.

Just a reminder to all that flirtation is not necessarily an invitation to more. It’s a social amusement, not a serious declaration of interest. If you’re confused, try having a deep, serious conversation with her and see if she continues the approach, so to speak, or maintains distance. Or, you know, just ask.

95

Interesting, when a woman grabs a man’s ass it’s flirting. When a man does it to a woman we call it sexual assault.

96

Let’s see:
When I was 19, I was walking down the street. A trio of women about twice my age walked up behind me, and one grabbed my ass while another did a catcall. I didn’t like that at all - it seemed like some sort of power play.

The week before my wedding, my friend took me to a topless bar in West Virginia. Two women (not particularly attractive, and somewhat older) came up and asked if they could accompany us into the bar, as the bar had a policy not to admit women without male dates (probably an anti-prostitution policy). Once we were in, one of them turned to me - gave me a “titty twister”, and they went elsewhere. It was quite unpleasant; I think she felt compelled to “repay” us in some way. (The rest of the bar visit was no improvement - it was so dimly lit, even on stage, that they could have had male dancers up there for all we knew - probably on purpose to make up for some less-than-gorgeous dancers.)

A couple of years ago, I was playing bar trivia alone when a waitress came up and asked me how the game was going - while rubbing my back (in the middle, not the shoulders). She wasn’t trying to improve her tip, either; she wasn’t my waitress! That one was clearly a flirting situation.

97

Well, this dredges up an old memory…

I was a few weeks into my residency program in Miami, still trying to acclimate to the steamroom-like climate of South Florida, when our residency director invited me to the wedding reception of his daughter at the famed Fontainebleau Hotel. This was not an invitation to decline; the director, Dr. K, was a very fastidious, serious man who was used telling people what to do and having them do exactly as he asked, no questions allowed. Besides, I was already on his radar, having leaned on and broken the galley table from its hinges on his 60’ Hatteras, during his resident meet-and-greet the week before.

“I’d love to attend, Dr. K, thank you for the invitation.”

“It’s for you and a guest; will you have a date for the evening?”

  • “No, sir, I’m still new in town. I haven’t met anyone, yet. I’ll come alone.”*

“Hmm, well, alright then. There’ll be an open chair at your table if you need it.” We then continued onto Grand Rounds and I figured all was well.
I was on friendly terms with a co-resident named John. We had similar senses of humor and we liked to bust each other’s chops often. He was a good fellow…or so I thought. He was a Miami resident and had an established girlfriend to bring to the reception.

“You’ve gotta bring a date to this affair, Tibby, you don’t want to look like a loser!”

“I already told Dr. K I was going stag, no problem, John.”

“I have a date lined up for you, real cute. She’s a friend of a friend of my girlfriend…I told her all about you and she can’t wait to go to the reception as your date. We’ll pick you up at your apartment on the way to the hotel.”
“Cute, you say? Well, sure, ok. Dr. K did say there would be an open seat if I needed it. I accept your offer.”

So, the evening of the reception arrives and there I wait at my apartment, uncomfortable in my rented tux (black tie event, of course), having a glass of Scotch, wondering how cute my date will be and if we would hit it off (that would be nice). Then, I hear the doorbell ring. I open the door, and there before me stands a very tall, attractive, impeccably dressed young lady—a hop skip and a jump from what I would call “stunning.” I had my doubts, but John truly came through for me tonight, I thought. Then, I notice John standing beside the stunner in the doorway.

“Tibby, this is my girlfriend Bethany”, said John.

Crap

“Pleasure to meet you, Tibby”, said Bethany.

“Nice to meet you, too”, I replied.

Then, John pointed down and to his left and said,* “this is Bethany’s friend, Suzi, your date for this evening…we think you both have a lot in common.”*

I looked down, way down. I’m 6’3”; I estimate Suzi was ~3’6”, or so it seemed. But, that wasn’t the worst part. To my relief, Suzi appeared to have a relatively tasteful long black dress on…but, it was hard to tell, because over it, she was wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket, complete with riveted silver studs. Her hair was in some sort of a killer-beehive doo and her garish makeup would make a street hooker proud. We exchanged pleasantries, and realizing I’d need to put a seat-belt on for the bumpy ride ahead, I excused myself to the kitchen for a quick shot of Scotch. On the way to John’s car I snuck a glance to the back of Suzi’s jacket, expecting it to be emblazoned with, “Hell’s Angles, Miami Chapter,”, but I just saw more silver studs. John had a big shit-eating grin on his face the entire time—I wonder why? It was about a 20 minute ride to the hotel. When we arrived at the valet parking, I started to help Suzi off with her jacket for safe keeping in the car (and away from guests eyes), but she declined the offer. “I’ll keep it on, it’s a little chilly tonight.” *Oh, lucky me. *

It would take me many paragraphs to describe the total opulence of the wedding reception inside, but let me just give a cursory description of the event in a few sentences: Three large ballrooms were reserved for the event: one for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres: one wall of this room was cascading with ice from ceiling to floor, embedded with more types of seafood than you’d likely find at Tokyo’s Tsukiji fish market, including my favorite—fat succulent stone crab claws. Another ballroom was reserved for an “impressionistic re-creation” of the wedding ceremony held earlier in the day: the wedding party was standing on a circular stage in the middle of the room. Just when I was about to comment that it was difficult to see them, the stage elevated many feet toward fake clouds suspended from the ceiling. The last ballroom was reserved for dinner and entertainment. Every four tables had their own magician and mime. World class chamber musicians played Mozart, Beethoven and Bach. I lost count of how many dinner courses were served. In this room, I was seated at a large round table with Suzi seated to my immediate right; John and Suzi seated across from me and two other Thurston and Lovey Howell type couples seated to either side of me. A couple more drinks tempered my embarrassment concerning my leather-clad date and I was actually beginning to enjoy her company, even though the conversation centered around subjects like carburetors and pistons.

Then, things went from mildly weird, to fucking weird…

When Suzi excused herself to “powder her nose”, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see who the tapper was and was pleasantly surprised to see it was an attractive, quite distinguished looking woman who made even John’s girlfriend seem a little like Ellie May Clampett, by comparison. She said, “are you Tibby?”

“Why, yes, I am. Do I know you?”

“I’m Vanessa, your date. I’m Dr. K’s niece, he said you needed a date tonight and you were someone I’d like to meet.” She then stole an unoccupied chair from another table and sat down to my immediate left. Then Suzi returned, looked suspiciously at Vanessa, and sat back down to my immediate right again (awkward seating order from left: Vanessa, me, Suzi). I was expecting to have no date for this event…and now I have two. When it rains it pours, I suppose. John’s shit-grin appeared even larger than before.

I learned within the next 2 minutes that Vanessa was drunk, she had the subtlety of a Mongol warrior and the venom of a pit viper. She pulled my head towards hers (that’s when I smelled the gin), flicked her eyes toward Suzi and whispered, “who’s the motorcycle mama?”

I whispered, *“uh…she’s…uh…my other date. Dr. K didn’t tell me anything about you, I’m sorry.” *Then I spoke up and introduced Vanessa to the rest of the table, including Suzi. Suzi shot daggers at Vanessa from her eyes. Vanessa pulled me in close toward her again (the smell of gin was overpowering) and tongued my left ear. For one of the few times in my life, I didn’t have a clue as to what I should do next. The Winston Howell couples were staring at me with stink eye, Suzi was turning red in the face…and John was barely keeping from falling over in delight at my embarrassment.

Then, making this story relevant to the OP, the grope occurred. Vanessa grabbed and caressed my package from under the table and slur-whispered into my ear, “I can tell the men from the boys by the size of their toys.” I don’t believe anyone else at the table saw the grope—it was hidden by the table and the napkin on my lap, so I’m thankful for that, at least. It wasn’t a quickie grope either, it was slow and deliberate. I can’t say I hated it, but it was awkward to the extreme. Then things degenerated further.

Vanessa pulled me in close again and whispered, “what the hell is someone like you doing with a slut like her” (eyes again flicking toward Suzi). The only problem now was that Vanessa wasn’t so much whispering anymore, she could be heard by others at the table…including Suzi. This occurred about a quarter of a century ago, so I don’t recall the exact exchange of words that followed, but it went something like this:

“Who are you calling a slut, bitch?”

*“If the leather jacket and whore makeup at the fancy wedding reception fits, wear it, slut!” *

I excused myself to the men’s room and also called my beeper service (we still used beepers in those days, young’uns), asking them to beep me in 5 minutes. When I returned to the table, I was grateful the situation hadn’t turned to fisticuffs, but tensions certainly remained at code red between Vanessa and Suzi. I engaged in a little small talk for a couple minutes, “you girls have to try this bread, it’s to die for.” When my beeper beeped and I excused myself to the payphone (we didn’t have cell phones in those days), I returned to tell the girls that I was sorry, but I had an emergency to attend. I told them that John would see to it that they got home safely. Before I left, I whispered into Johns ear, “paybacks are hell, fucker.” His grin didn’t falter one iota.

It turned out that John was just responsible for Suzi and had nothing to do with Vanessa. On Monday, Dr. K asked what emergency I had that made me have to abandon his niece at the reception. I don’t think he believed my excuse, but he didn’t seem to mind. Turns out, Dr. K also had a sharp wit and a nymphomaniacle niece who was rather notorious in South Beach at the time. But, alas, fate had the last laugh, Dr. K’s daughter’s marriage lasted less than a year. Her next wedding was even more expensive.

98

Once when I was hitch hiking in Holland an old gent picked me up and we rode along for a while and he was being very chatty. he offered me cigarettes and chocolate bars, both of which I took. After that I started nodding off. I came to suddenly when I felt something rummaging around my crotch. It was him, one hand on the wheel, the other going for the gold. I pushed his hand away and he persisted for a couple more feeble tries, saying, in German, the language in which we had been conversing, “Don’t you want that?” I told him I appreciated the ride, but that’s all I wanted. He desisted. We rode on while longer in silence. He dropped me where our ways parted. He gave me a few more smokes for the road. I said danke. He said bitte. And that was it.

Then there was that period in my life when I grew my hair out really long, about three quarters down my back. It was long, luscious and shiny. I got compliments, always from women. (My secret, or so I told myself, was washing it in cold water. That, and a lot of marihuana. Or so I told myself.) At that time I went out to bars quite a lot and occasionally I’d go to some real meat markets. There was one place in particular, called Dakotas I think, that was notorious. That place was always packed with panting 20 somethings, and you had to walk sideways to get through the crowd. It was a pretty constant thing that I’d get groped from behind by random hands out of the crowd landing anywhere from above the knee to the lower back. At first I couldn’t figure out what was going on. This place was not supposed to be a gay bar. Then I mentioned it to a friend of mine. she said it was probably because the gropers, seeing me from behind, thought I was a woman. It happened to her all the time.

99

At school, several times by other boys grabbing my balls.

Early 20’s groped by my best friends girl friend, this happened twice, neither time was she drunk, nothing else happened, and we never talked about it. :confused:

Mid 20’s in Japan on the street outside a club, I was grabbed hard by the balls, dont know if it was a man or a woman.

100

Butt touched by girls several times in high school, and also about a handful of times in nightclubs (once by a guy).

I can’t say it ever bothered me at all.
(NB: I’m not saying other people shouldn’t mind being groped, or that having your butt groped is equivalent to genital or boobs).