High School Weeaboo: Perverted Paparazzo
My junior year of high school, I was the new girl in a small town. Before I continue, please note that I have never been interested in anime, cosplay, Japan, science fiction, or similar. I was one of those girls who applied lip-gloss in class, edited the Yearbook and flagrantly disobeyed the fingertip length rule. My mother calls prissy girlie-girls like me Pretty-Pretty Princesses, but not affectionately. This will be important to remember later.
During my lunch period I was sitting reading my favorite novel (at the time), and enjoying myself when I was covered by a large, rotund shadow with two cat ears. The definite King of Weeaboos had come over to me and obviously had the intention of striking up a conversation. He introduced himself as T. (fake name), and asked me if I was a fan of Avatar: The Last Airbender. I replied in the affirmative, and he gave me a URL where I could watch episodes online. I thanked him, and he left. I thought it was weird that he would just come up to me like that.
T. began to say “Hello” to me in the halls and call me my (my name)-Chan. I would wave back, not wanting to be impolite. I would remind him of my name, and he would acknowledge that he knew it, but continued to call me (my name)-Chan. Honestly, he made me uncomfortable. He was a large man. He was heavy-set, at least six-foot-four, had greasy hair, beady eyes, bad hygiene, and a stunning lack of social skills. I noticed that he would always touch females on the waist, hips, or breasts. He wore a tail, and anime related graphic tee shirts. He would even wear little cat ears. He talked about how he wanted a petite, submissive, docile, Japanese wife, because Japanese women “knew their place”. He always carried a camera. He fancied himself an up and coming Terry Richardson, and often took photos of this female friends in their cosplays, while they would kiss, or while he would kiss/grope them.
As the first semester progressed, T. began touching me in a “friendly” manner. He would say hello and touch my arm, shoulder, perilously close to my breasts. It got worse when I was partnered with a girl, S. (fake name) from his social circle for an English assignment – he assumed that he and I were friends. When I came to the middle of the quad to ask S. a question regarding our project, T. made an appalling, lewd comment about my physical appearance that I would rather not recount. Habitually, he would yell about my body across the quad (I assume he thought that was complimentary). S. would constantly be apologizing for his behavior; she didn’t want me to think ill of either of them.
T. liked to touch girls, and he would often hold his arms open for a hug from me. I’d refuse, but he would pretend not to notice and sweep me up in his arms. I’m super petite, so it was easy for him to pick me up. It was intimidating, and he would do it despite my protests. He thought it was funny and charming. I remember how vile he smelled and how his dandruff would end up on my clothing because he’d never heard of Head and Shoulders. His favorite thing to tell me was that I would be a good wife because of my typically feminine interests and my Pretty-Pretty Princess attributes. I remember he would leer and ask me if I liked to cook, bake, embroider, and how I kept my skin so pale. I was disgusted, pissed, and I actively worked to avoid him as the year progressed.
Late in the second semester, S. came up to me fairly upset. She wasn’t sad the way one is sad when something bad has happened to them, she was sad in the way that something bad has happened to someone else. She asked me to come to the computer lab with her after school and I agreed. She had something to show me and stressed that didn’t want me to be angry with her. I promised her that I wouldn’t be, and I continued on my way to class.
I met S. outside the lab and we sat down in the back row, at her urging. She logged on to her Myspace and clicked on T.’s profile photo and opened one of his newest albums, entitled “Friends”. Do I even need to elaborate? There were candid photos of me in that album; photos taken from afar, albeit zoomed in, without my consent or knowledge. They weren’t of my face, if you understand my meaning. I immediately began to cry. I’m not the best writer, so I’m having a bit of trouble relaying my feelings of disgust and horror. Imagine if someone who you didn’t particularly like took photos of you and posted them online without your knowledge. Not, like, regular photos were you’re smiling, reading, whatever, but of your breasts and butt. I just remember sobbing in the back row of the computer lab, and everyone looking at me like I was some freak. I felt like a whore. I never told any administrator or authority figure about his actions and how uncomfortable they made me. I just sucked it up.
I actively began to avoid him, moreso than I had been doing before. I hid in the ladies’ bathroom or left campus during lunch to go a friend’s house more frequently. I largely lost him until my senior year. Maybe S. had told him to stop fucking with me, and she rounded up the troops to get him to knock it off, or I was just really good at hiding in plain sight. Either way, I managed to lose him for the rest of my junior year. Despite the fact I never seemed to see him, I was still scared of him. I only told my two best friends (A. and J.), and my best-best friend (G.) what happened. They offered non-judgmental comfort, support, and G. offered to send some of his friends to beat up T. I declined the offer, and I think he said it largely because it would make me feel a bit better.
( Mod M: I really wish I could give you a hug here. This is just atrocious… sick and disgusting. No one deserves to be treated that way! I hope everything works out for you and you never see him again. )
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