Bit by a Ball Bag: The Pathetic Personification of PJ’s DDDs
Did that guy just ask me about my breast size? On Medium?
It was a simple question, but I was taken aback, and for a moment, I just stared at the comment.
Did that guy just ask me about my breast size?
Yes. Yes, he did.
For many women, myself included, the first fleeting emotion was a pinprick of shame. After all, that is how many women are brought up — how I was brought up. Men could misbehave, and the responsibility fell on women to maintain the level of decency society expected of them.
Did I write a titillating article, offering up tidbits of information that invited such a personal question? I went back to the story and started reading, poised to make all the necessary revisions. I was about two sentences in when it hit me with the force of a Mac truck.
NO. I most certainly did not invite this. A stranger’s bad behaviour is not my fault.
So…
My open letter to the Reader
Dear Reader,
May I call you by your first name? I kind of feel I can, what with how familiar we evidently are. Except, we are not, are we. I’ll call you Harvey because what I’ve been calling you around my house today is not worthy of publishing.
Where my husband grows tired of the venom spewed at the walls, he gets it. He is a kind and decent man. He’s a man I respect. My husband was an marine, forthright and brave, and right now, he’s cringing at the vitriol.
Until you came along, I’ve met with only decent and highly respectable men on Medium and on the Facebook writing groups. Men I respect. I say this because I am NOT a misandrist laying in wait for some dumb schmuck to make a minor infraction.
Yet, here you are.
Your bad behaviour is not my fault, Harvey.
You said you ‘had to ask’ about my breast size. I answered, ‘did you tho’?
Did you have to ask that question, Harvey?
What did you hope to gain? Did you imagine me having a little giggle at your wit and charm and then offering up a shy answer?
As we’re so familiar, let me ask you this?
What short circuit took place between your dick and your brain that allowed that comment to be produced?
Did you really believe that responding to an author of any article while fixating on body parts was a sound and reasonable course of action for a man of your advanced years?
I may have looked the other way, considering you pathetic and inconsequential. However, when I looked at your profile, I understood the type of reading you come to Medium for.
Allow me to translate.
Metaphorically speaking, you stumbled into the bar with peepshows in the back room and groped the bloody janitor.
You got your signals crossed.
Soon you found the janitor’s mop up your ass and it stung a bit.
Let me ask you this, would you go into the library across the street from your local strip club and ask the librarian for a lap dance because — same street?
I think you would.
How easy it was to determine this is normal behaviour for you.
My mild response was designed to help you realize you had just tracked shit into your house and thus, should remove your shoes before more damage was done. Instead, you came back with a flip remark. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’
Sigh…
Perhaps I should have left it?
But, Harvey, I’m a writer, and this is what we do.
We.
Write.
About.
This.
Shit.
Besides, no.
No, I should not leave it.
You see, Harvey, I believe if you look the other way when you witness predatory, bullying behaviour, you’re as guilty as the perpetrator.
Just block you?
Not yet, because first, I wanted to share your story with female friends on Medium and Facebook. The internet is, after all, fraught with all sorts of dangers for women.
Here’s the deal.
I am angry, and at first, I couldn’t even figure out why. In all likelihood, Harvey, you’re holding up in your double-wide trailer, your MAGA hat propped at a jaunty angle, with a Bud in one hand and your dick in the other, surfing porn sites with fevered glee. Not much to fear in that, is there? To each his own.
Until you involve me.
However, some women may not see it the same way. Another woman may view your behaviour as frightening.
In mere moments I was able to determine some things. Your reading selections and comments are of a specific nature.
Just a thought, Harvey, you should be aware that most writers are adept at finding what they need online and can do so quickly.
Much quicker, it turned out, than you could change your name on Medium.
That told me some things as well. You didn’t want me to find you on Facebook.
Hmmm?
Well, one, too late;
and two, now I was compelled.
Which brings me to. . .
PJ’s Determinations
Your interactions on Medium to date have evidently created confusion, a grey area if you will, regarding appropriate engagement with writers in comments. Yes, there is evidence some writers may tolerate your lurid descriptions of your ‘cock’ as confirmation their story was stimulating.
The publication and my essay are not among them. I gather you simply read ‘Breasts’ in the publication name and that told you all you needed to know.
But hey, I get it. You toned it down for my benefit.
This is me giving you the benefit of the doubt that you are not a misogynistic predator and a sexist ball bag.
It is exhausting to be diminished and objectified. You allowed your desire for gratification — your pathetic need for attention — to outweigh my desire to be treated with dignity and respect.
I was not a writer or the author of the essay you just read when you penned that comment. You reduced me to a set of DDDs and then dared to come looking for some strokes and recognition as a sexual being from the owner.
It is infuriating to have a stranger asking grossly personal questions. My biggest regret?
That we were not in the same room when you rocked your epic sense of entitlement.
You are free to search out porn, as the web is full of it. Why then do you feel compelled to creep on a publication that is not appropriate fodder for your pathetic insatiable unmet mountain of need? Further, why are you trying to engage in that manner a woman whose story is not written in that tone or a writer on Medium at all?
What gives you the right to request information about my breasts or any woman’s breasts regardless of what she wrote?
You crossed the line, and when you realized it, you chose to change your name rather than apologize.
No woman deserves to be reduced to a pair of tits for your gratification.
You may not see your comment as bullying, and I suspect you thought it harmless. Further, I’m guessing you have a lifetime of such behaviour under your belt.
However, you’ve coloured yourself a pathetic, sexually frustrated loser who thought devaluing and diminishing a writer on a writing platform was somehow within your right.
Then, too ignorant to realize how you made yourself look, rather than apologizing, you changed your name, revealing yourself to be a true and lasting coward.
Those are some pretty epic achievements for one day.
Where your childish comment was just that — sad — it packed a wallop because there is little else in life I hold in such high regard as looking out for the people I care about.
It’s my jam, Harvey. My fellow writers are like family to me.
So whatever Harvey Weinstein — now you get the reference — Jeffrey Epstein type bullshit you got going on, we see you.
If I’ve judged correctly, right about now, you’re saying, “It was a joke. Don’t be so sensitive.”
Agreed.
I am being sensitive to the exact degree you are desensitized to the objectification and degradation of women writers on a writing platform.
Yes, there are a few who appear to tolerate your panting comments as a sign they hit the nail on the head with their descriptive prose. Your mistake was believing all women writers on Medium are open to your nonsense.
I would have thought as a businessman, you would have had the sense to do your homework and maybe read a few of my stories to get a feel for the person. Alas, you did not because you never even saw me as a person.
Just a nice set of DDDs.
So yeah, I am sensitive.
Supersensitive.
Hypersensitive.
Downright fucking precious when I’ve been devalued, reduced, and objectified by a worthless shitdick.
As we’ve never actually spoken allow me to introduce myself.
My name is PJ.
I’m not always nice.
As a matter of fact, I’d go so far as to say, that I would consider it a personal failing to be nice to the likes of you.
Perhaps, I’m not your cup of tea, after all?
There are a lot of women on Medium — some are angrier than I am. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you.
