The Fork in the #MeToo Road

January 30, 2018January 16, 2023Leave a comment

By Heather McNamara

If you’ve been paying attention to the backlash after the story on Babe.net wherein a woman named Grace describes a very unsettling date with Aziz Ansari, your feelings on the #MeToo movement may recently have muddied a bit.

The original article is difficult to read. Grace met Aziz, gave him her number, agreed to a date, and ended up at his apartment. He made some pretty bold moves, grabbing her hand and putting it on his genitals and sticking his fingers in her mouth over and over. She never said no, but she did move away and ask him to slow down. She said “next time.” But he kept pushing and eventually, she relented. Grace never called what happened “rape” but she made it pretty clear that Ansari’s advances were unwelcome.

Photo by Sean Kong

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The Evil We Can’t See

November 3, 2017January 16, 2023Leave a comment

By Kylie Kinsella

Photo by Volkan Olmez

You can’t believe that this could happen.
You can’t believe it’s been going on for so long.
You can’t believe the evil lurking behind the silver screen.
You’re disgusted and shocked and telling everyone you’re appalled.

But I recall a time when you didn’t believe the ones you claimed to know,
to trust,
to love.
You didn’t believe that this happened.
You didn’t believe they’d been doing it for so long.
You didn’t believe the evil lurking in your circle.
Maybe you forgot, but I assure you
we remember.

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Scarred by a Stalker

October 22, 2017May 14, 2018Leave a comment

By Kelcie McKenney

Many things in life can be considered scary, like bugs with lots of legs, horror movies that leave your skin crawling, or hearing weird noises when you’re alone in the dark. But these things are predictable or easily solved. It wasn’t until recently, when my safety was at risk because of another person, that I discovered the feeling of true fear.

Over the past year, I have been trying to live my life around a constant fear, one that permeates my job and career, my personal relationships, my home life, and even my plans for the future. Every aspect of my life was changed because of one thing: a stalker.

This person, let’s call him Jack, taught me true fear. Now, I’m not hiding his name to protect his identity, but rather I want you to know this story doesn’t have to do with him and his actions—it’s about how it affected me.

Photo by Nicole Mason

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When you SEE someone who might need help, you DO something.

June 13, 2017May 14, 2018Leave a comment

By Nicolette Clairmont

Yesterday on the bus, a drunk guy kissed me on the neck. He was in the process of being kicked off. Once off, he yelled something at me through the window and licked it, leaving a 4-inch-long saliva streak in the dust.

Prior to that, he had sat next to me and bothered me for 30-40 minutes.

This dude was a 44 year old (he told me), 6’5 (he told me), ex-convict (17 years in prison, he told me) with a large scorpion tattoo on his neck and what appeared to be knife scars all over his face. He punctuated every sentence with a loud, “the fuck you talkin’ ’bout?” and frequently took pulls from the bottle of rum in his coat.

Photo by Aleksey Malinovski

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I Blamed My Sister for My Miscarriage

July 26, 2016May 14, 2018Leave a comment

By Catcall Contributor

Some summer day when I was sixteen, I woke up with blood underneath me.

In the bathroom, I fingered a loose thread on my pajama shorts before pushing them to my ankles. I thought about weighing myself and about the clear fluid that had been running down my legs for some days. I thought about my boyfriend.

Then I saw the tiny gray-white thing, almost pearlescent. It was no bigger than a blueberry and possessed black dots one could only think of as eyes. There was emptiness burning up from my belly. I stopped thinking, and here, I can clearly mark the point at which my memories of adolescence change shape; time bent forward in a drunken, shallow arc, spilling onto the ground and across the walls as it reached forward. How long was it before I woke up, pushed away my blankets, swung my feet over the side of the bed, and found that the situation needed someone to blame? A month, maybe two. It was still hot outside.