Whether it was the ‘me too’ campaign which resonated to the very core of my being, or whether it was the sheer impotency of being unable to have him understand everything wrong in that statement, when I heard those words, my composed facade finally gave out.

Let’s put things into context.

October 17th, a laid-back Tuesday night, that is until my friend and I decided to go out, have some drinks, maybe even go clubbing. We weren’t dead-set on any particular plan, so when the opportunity to pregame and go to some guy's restaurant came up, we thought: “why not”?

Let me spare you any concerns you might have regarding our well-being: we are fine. Physically, I am fine.

It wasn’t long after we arrived to the restaurant that we realized one of the two men (if I can even call them that) had a ‘thing’ for my friend. And she seemed happy with him as well, so I let them be.

Now who was left? Me and - let’s call this other charming creature - Donald . Yes, the resemblance to the President of the United States was intentional. We can also give Donald’s friend a name. Let it be…Nick.

So Nick and my friend were being all lovey-dovey while Donald and I stood drinking, chatting, keeping our distance at the bar. At least I kept a good arm’s worth of air between us.

He asked me if I was single. I replied with a clear-cut “No”. Yet clearly, I was wasting my breath. Following up my answer, he suggestively asked me where my boyfriend was, and we all know what comes after that. The typical, “well, he’s not here right now is he?” ten points for Donald and his excruciatingly impressive deduction skills. Really, one would even think he could be President.

Now here is when a sort of tug-of-war begins. Me, brushing off his infinite hints of how I should “compensate” for the free drinks. And him, shooting compliments, voicing flirty comebacks and incessantly resting his arms on my shoulders.

Then, furthering my disappointment and ample disgust, he says “You just want to go clubbing so other men touch your ass”. So first off, no. I genuinely enjoy dancing; there are times when I want to have music fracture my eardrums and make me forget all that is wrong in the world. Much like at that moment, actually. I explained this to him, and he responded with the first sentence you read. But it doesn’t stop there.

“I could touch your ass right now if I wanted to” he mutters these words as he puts me in a headlock, and tries to smash our lips together.

I cannot count with my fingers, both hands and toes, the number of times I have experienced similar situations. Unfortunately, there were times where it escalated and even resulted in me physically defending myself.

Which is why I write this piece. I want women to understand this is not something we should have to go through, not once, not ever. This is not the way we should be courted, and this is not something we should put up with. I hope you have the strength to know how to say no, even if it involves violence.

And to the men reading this: don’t be the reason someone finds themselves relating to my writing. Don’t be the reason women have to carry pepper sprays in their bags. And understand that no, shockingly, really means no.