At forty-two (still got it!) (MILF tits!), the harassment has certainly, thankfully slowed, but it doesn’t seem to want to go away altogether. And, even though it happens much less frequently than it used to, I flinch and brace myself every time I leave my apartment. I wonder if, when it finally stops for good, if it will be too late to relax, if the muscle memory of the harassment will keep me tense on the sidewalk forever.
