Assault.

Just as a heads-up, this isn't going to be a cheery post. I'm really angry and that's going to come through. If you're looking for an upper, read a few entries back.

I was assaulted last night. I should probably define what I mean. I'm in agreement with Essin' Em that assault - sexual, specifically - is any kind of contact you don't want. The moment you say no and someone doesn't respect that choice, it becomes assault. And that's not fucking OK. I don't think this definition is too liberal, although I'm sure some people would say that it is. And, of course, it goes without saying that victims (and offenders) can be any age, orientation, identity, etc etc etc.

With those logistics out of the way now, on to what happened.

I was out with my roommate in the city last night. We had a few drinks, but I was by no means stumbling or drunk. I was in jeans and a tank top, with wedge sandals. No little black dress, no copious amounts of skin showing. I looked pretty, but not especially provocative. Just for the record.

After we left our friend's restaurant at about 3am (in this city, that's still early to call it a night), and were wandering around looking for an open bar. I needed to use the restroom, so we stepped into a discotheque, which was disgustingly smokey, so my roommate told me she'd wait for me outside. When I came back out, she was sitting on a bench, talking to a pair of Spanish men. Fine. We do this relatively regularly, since we both speak Spanish, and thus far, everyone we've met has been pleasant - some have even become friends who we've seen again. I sat down next to her and joined in the conversation (in Spanish, of course).

Suddenly, there were 15 men around us. I still don't know where they came from. They were fellow 20-somethings, and were obviously drunk. They all started talking to me at once, asking where I was from, what my name was. Before I had time to answer, two of them took my hands in theirs, ostensibly complimenting my nails. Then each one took my hand and tried to stick it down their pants. I pulled away and pushed them off, telling them no, I wasn't interested. In Spanish and then in English. (Granted, "no" is the same in both languages.) At the same time, some other guy had put his hand on my chin, trying to get me to look up at him or stand up. I shook my head to try to get him off me. He persisted. The hand-holders took my hands again, and held them fast. And then there were arms reaching through the group, touching my chest, then progressing to grabbing my tits. And pulling, and pinching. Hard. There were men behind me with their hands in my hair, starting to pull. I kept repeating no, don't touch me. I don't want you to touch me DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME (in Spanish). I stood up trying to get away, and was met with even more hands grabbing and smacking my ass. I brought a knee up to try to break through the wall of men that had entirely surrounded me and effectively separated me from my roommate. (Who was still engaged in conversation with her Spaniards, none of whom were touching her.)

The hands followed me, focusing on my tits and ass. I broke through enough to reach out and grab my roommate's hand. She stood up, and told me she had just told the guys we'd go to a party with them. I told her they were touching me. She didn't get it. I told her they were fucking all over me and we needed to leave, immediately. Then she got it. And screamed at them in Spanish not to touch me, trying to push them off me as well. I held on to her hand and we took off running. They didn't follow us with anything except their whistles and catcalls.

We ran for a few blocks, and ducked into a doorway. She asked me if I was OK, told me how sorry she was for not realizing sooner. I told her it wasn't her fault and sure, I was OK. I kept my hands crossed over my chest, hands clasped on my shoulders. I asked for the bottle of wine we had in our purse, and she opened it for us. I drank it straight from the bottle. I didn't really know what else to do. I didn't want to go home, strangely enough. I just wanted to sit. And drink.

She wanted to talk about it. So we did. She asked why they didn't go after her, and I said I didn't know. We weren't doing anything we weren't supposed to. We weren't alone, we weren't shitfaced, we weren't being loud obnoxious Americans, we weren't dressed slutty... We talked some more about why they went after me, when we were clearly together. "I bet it was your accent," she said. I asked what she meant, and mentioned that I'd been speaking Spanish just like she was. "Yeah, but I'm dark-skinned, and Latina. I don't look like I'm American. You, with your light skin and brown hair and green eyes, well, you do look American."

And I suppose she had a point. There's only so much I can do to integrate myself into this community, this culture. I don't have olive skin. I'm Scandanavian, for fuck's sake. I dye my hair much darker than its natural dirty blonde, but I still don't look Latina or anything close. It's frustrating, though, because I make a concerted effort NOT to be the stupid stereotypical American. I speak Spanish. I follow regional social customs. I never expect people to speak English to me, and if I don't know a word, I'll explain it IN SPANISH until the person I'm speaking with understands what word I'm looking for. I don't get stupid-drunk and wander the streets. I was doing everything right, and I know that life's not fair and whatthefuckever, but this, this was really shitty.

I still have bruises on my tits.