I was walking along the sidewalk on campus. The weather was still pretty warm for December, so I had my coat draped over my arm, and my backpack thumping on my back every time I took a step. I was happy.

Then I heard someone say something. It sounded mumbled to me since I had my headphones in, and I assumed it wasn't meant towards me. I was wrong.

A guy tapped my arm, so I stopped, turned and pulled out my earphones.

"Hi," he said, looking cocky and nervous at the same time. I eyed him carefully before replying.

"Hey. Did you need something?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to let you know your skirt is too short." I stood there gaping at this man -- no not a man, a boy-child, who dared say that. My skirt went to the middle of my thighs and I had tights on. Apparently, my silence was also my consent for him to go on since he started talking about how my skirt length was indicative of what a slut I was, what a whore I was, how I only got into this school by sleeping with someone and how much I was asking for it, but really he "just wanted to protect me."

He finished his rant and I stood silent and still. I didn't move, couldn't move and now I can tell you it's because I was afraid of what he would do, but then all I knew was that I was paralyzed by everything he could do to me.

Eventually, I replied "Just like my skirt doesn't mean I'm asking for it, I"m not asking for your opinion" and walked away. Shakily. Broke into a light jog when I turned around and he was still there watching me.

When I retold the story to my friends I left out the part about being afraid. About how my hands shook for an hour afterward. How I could feel the fear that he left me with, settling in my bones like poison. When I got back to my room I threw my skirt into the back of my closet. It didn't help.

Now I know I shouldn't be afraid. Logically. Because there were other people around, and I had friends waiting for me in the cafeteria, and I knew that I had a "Kitty-Cat" stabber on my keychain.

But thinking back over it, I know I was afraid because I've been conditioned to be. Not by my parents, or my friends, not even my extended family. I've been conditioned to be afraid of the male sex by society, and it's been that way since I was born. Because men are better than women right? So women are lesser and should be afraid of "God's image" walking around the mortals that are women. Right?

I thought that I had escaped it; thought that I was fiery and sassy, and wouldn't ever be afraid of men. Wouldn't be a poster child for fear of the opposite sex.

I thought wrong.

Because as much as I want to say it was a mistake, it was instinct. It was instinct to not move, to analyze the situation. It was instinct that made me afraid for my life. Because that's what has always happened for whenever a man confronts a woman, and what will continue to happen. It's what happens every day all around the world without fail.

And I know this fear has leeched onto me too.

But I don't want to be afraid! I don't want to have to live in fear of being one-on-one with a member of the opposite sex. I don't want to have to lower my gaze every time a domineering man enters the room. I don't want to submit and cower and beg, because even if I have nothing else I have my pride. Even if I have nothing else, I have my soul, I have something to fight for.

So to the guy who called my skirt too short: Congratulations. You've undone 19 years of living unafraid, of forgetting to be conditioned to fear the opposite sex. You've blown out my fire, and stomped on my sense of justice. You've crushed me. And you've probably crushed others and will continue to because it's a game for you. It's a game that every woman you meet is afraid of you, it's a game when they flinch away, it's a game when you see their eyes widen, and the fear dawn on their face.

This is all just a party trick to you Mr. Your Skirt's Too Short.

But the good news is, I won't always be afraid. And you won't always end up on top.