An interesting thing happened to me the other day as I was walking around my apartment complex. I was on a quest to fetch something out of car, wearing as little as I could get away with because I live in Texas and it’s fucking hot in the middle of July in Texas, and not wearing a bra because as far as I’m concerned bras are medieval torture devices and if I don’t have to leave the apartment complex, my tits are going to be hanging happy and unfettered; I heard from behind me a whistle and an inarticulate shout of appreciation.
My reaction was almost instinctual. Outwardly I ignored the guy. In my experience, men who cat-call are looking for a certain reaction, and getting that reaction only encourages them. I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction, but denying him the reaction he wanted wasn’t a guarantee of my safety. I quickened my pace, and arranged my car keys between my knuckles in case I would have to fight the guy. And then I heard him call my name.
He was my roommate – not only that but also a very dear friend – just returned home from work and saw me on my way to the parking lot, and thought he’d mess with me a little bit. As soon as I saw his familiar face, I relaxed and slipped my keys back in my pocket.
So why was it that I was ready for a throw-down when I didn’t know who was cat-calling me, but relaxed when I realized it was my friend? Is it ever okay to cat-call someone? To me, it’s situational.
Most women will tell you that being cat-called by a stranger is a terrifying experience. It’s a predatory behavior, and while hunter/prey play can be exciting in the bedroom with a trusted partner and an in-depth discussion of what is and what isn’t acceptable, being marked as prey by a total stranger is an unnecessary and stressful experience.
When it’s someone I know, it’s different. My close friends and I are the type of people who judge the deepness of our friendship by how comfortable we are sexually harassing, and getting sexually harassed by each other (of course, when a line is drawn we respect it). We grab each others’ asses and tits, we joke about each others’ masturbatory practices, and one friend and I even have this weird greeting where we rub our boobs together every time we see each other (we’re an odd bunch).
Between lovers, cat-calling can even be a form of foreplay. I enjoy being cat-called by my partner, even out on the street, not just in private, and I know I enjoy cat-calling him.
But be warned: if you are not a close friend or a lover and you decide to cat-call me, this kitty has no problem using her claws.