After They Harassed Me on My Motorcycle, I Made Them Kneel

I was on my motorcycle, stopped at a red light, when a man rushed up and grabbed my ass.

"Hey, nice bike. My bad—didn't mean to grab that. Don't be mad."

I flinched away.

Another one—bleached-blond hair—stepped out in front of my bike and blocked me in.

"Let me take her for a spin, yeah? I'll give you a ride. Gotta be boring out here all by yourself."

My face went cold. I raised my voice:

"Back off. Don't touch me!"

The words had barely left my mouth when a third man crowded in, close enough that his body was almost pressed against mine:

"What are you running from? We don't bite. We just saw a girl riding a big bike like this and thought, damn, that's impressive. Just wanna get to know you."

I screamed at every car around me for help. Windows cracked open—and every face just looked annoyed, like I was the one holding up their night.

I spotted a gap, clenched my teeth, and rode through it before it closed.

I put everything online. I thought people would see the truth. What came back were sexually degrading rumors with my name attached.

The cyberbullying buried me. The three men showed up wherever I went, day after day, making sure I knew they could find me.

I stared at their personal information and smiled without a sound.

If they didn't want this settled quietly, then we'd burn it all down together.

---

I was waiting at the red light when I heard tires screech behind me.

A black sedan skidded to a stop at an angle just behind my bike.

Three doors swung open and three men spilled out, reeking of alcohol.

The one in front was bald, somewhere around forty, a beer gut straining his shirt.

Before I could react, he charged up and grabbed my ass:

"Whoa, girl—that's a serious bike. My bad, my bad. Old guy like me, bad eyes, grabbed the wrong thing. Don't get upset."

I clenched my teeth and said nothing.

I shifted the bike left, trying to put some distance between us.

The blond one followed. His dirty hand came down hard on the back of my seat with a slap.

"Let me take her for a spin, yeah? I'll give you a ride. Gotta be boring out here all by yourself."

Blood rushed to my head. I shouted:

"Stay the hell away from me! Don't touch me!"

Before the echo died, the one with sleeve tattoos circled around to the left side of my bike and pressed his whole body against me.

A hand reeking of booze dug into my waist:

"Damn, that waist. You pour yourself into something this tight, tits and ass out like that—what, that's not for guys to grab?"

Every hair on my body stood on end.

I jerked right and shoved his hand off with everything I had:

"Get your fucking hands off me! Get away!"

Ervin Hansen planted himself directly in front of my bike, blocking the only way out.

Rodney Chavez on one side, Roger Perry on the other, pressed tight against the bike until I was trapped between them, pinned with the machine.

"She's got a mouth on her too?"

Ervin spat on the ground and reached for the chin strap of my helmet:

"Take that helmet off. Let us get a look at you. If you're cute enough, you're coming out singing with us tonight—we'll take care of you."

I threw my head back as far as I could until my helmet cracked against the top case behind me.

Rodney used the opening to reach down and slap my thigh, then squeezed hard, deliberately.

"Damn, those legs. Girls who ride are different—built like that, fuck."

Roger's hand went straight for the zipper of my riding jacket:

"Don't be like that, babe. We're just playing around. It's not like you're losing anything."

Cold sweat broke across my skin. I clamped my legs around the bike, and the tears came all at once.

Cars surrounded me on every side, bumper to bumper at the light.

Through the windows I could see people holding up phones to record. Others craning their necks to watch.

Not one window opened. Not one person said a word.

Forty-seven seconds left on the red.

Ervin's fist was already twisted into my helmet strap, pulling it so tight I couldn't breathe.