Men scare me

It scares me that when I was 7 years old I had to start covering my chest even though I didn’t have breasts, because it may be deemed inappropriate while my brother and dad continued to be topless. It scares me that when I was 12 in a school uniform, adult men used to look at me like a piece of meat and make comments about me as I walked past. It scares me that when I was 14, I was chased down my own street by a man who had been following me. It scares me that when I was 15, a boy claimed to be in love with me despite my reluctance and his persistence was viewed as endearing till he brought a knife round to my house. It scares me that when a man spiked my drink at a club, my mother’s first reaction was to scold me for putting my drink down. It scares me that when men discover that I am a lesbian, many of them make it their mission to find out why. Is it because I’ve never been with a man? Is it because I’ve only been with one man? It scares me that when I kiss the woman I love, men form a crowd watching us for their own pleasure. It scares me that when a man openly stares at my breasts, I will look like an ‘angry lesbian feminist’ if I ask them not to. It scares me that I don’t know which men I can trust because all of these men seemed nice on the surface. It scares me that when I tell people that men scare me, they look at me judgmentally as if I’m a horrible person, when in reality I just don’t know who I can and can’t trust and I just want to be safe.