I Finally Understand Why You Catcall.

Shannon Barber
Nov 13, 2014 · 5 min read

I am catnip to men. As I near 40 I've begun to realize the full power and potential of my womanhood through the transformative power of cat calls.

I am the most beautiful, most tempting, most seductive woman walking. There is some power beyond the usual allure of the outline of my hips that I unleash when I walk out of my house.

I will confess it right now.

It all began when I was in the third grade. I was such a beautiful little girl a man went through the bother of finding out my Mother’s name and my name and our phone number. After walking me to school he took time out of his busy schedule to call and compliment my Mother on how well she dressed me and just how beautiful the two of us were. Can you imagine how flattered she must have been to know that her special baby was beautiful enough to capture the attention of a stranger?

Because I was so young, I didn't quite understand the depth and meaning of all that effort. This man specifically chose us because of our looks.

Once puberty began, I started to explore the real power behind my appearance. When my breasts grew to gargantuan proportions in a very short time the men who told me I was hot jail bait who stopped me on my way to school to ask how much made me feel better.

I may have been having veritable ditches gouged out of the flesh on my shoulder and couldn’t sleep on my back anymore. The idea that those grown up men would take the time to tell me how great my out of control and life ruining breasts were, I should have been more thankful.

Imagine if at 13 years old I instead of panicking when the weight of my breasts started pulling the tissue off of my sternum, I had learned to use the power of those runaway tits. To get the attention of men older than my Dad. That would have been something else.

I was young, I would learn.

My power over men was only getting started.

After a breast reduction at 14 years old I can’t say I really heard the compliments men gave me. Every now and then I might catch a man asking how old I was, where I lived. My self-esteem was so low I was too busy realizing I could jump up and down, dance and sleep. I could even wear bras bought in regular stores.

As I get older I feel I should apologize to those men for not taking in their compliments at the time.

My teenage years are a bit of a blur in regard to the compliments men gave me. I recall one particular incident while I was at Costco with my family. Like a lot of teenagers I wandered off to look at something or other and I remember an older White man cornering me by some gigantic food items and looking down at me with bright eyes,

“Oh sweet brown sugar.”

I remember his hypnotized, gravid with lust tone. The light in his eyes as he watched me sort of squirm. He asked my name, how old I was, who I was there with, if I wanted to come home with him.

At the time I had just finished reading Watership Down and there is a word in the Lapin Language used in the book; tharn. A rabbit paralyzed with fear or confusion.

I had gone tharn.

My bowels and face were hot, I was sweating everywhere, including between my legs. I don’t remember what else happened aside from me mumbling answers and darting off the moment I could.

I never told anyone.

You see that my effect on men has been a force for a long time. I spent many years denying and ignoring the real fact of my beauty. I got angry with many men rather than appreciating what was going on.

In the last few years, maybe because I am comfortable in my skin many men have just not been able to control themselves in my presence.

The promise of the vague outline of my body under my winter coat caused four men in a car to drive by me while I waited at a bus stop. The first time, they begged to see my tits and when I declined, they were so hurt, they came around again leaning out of their windows screaming,


I’m sure they didn't mean it that way. They were just pushed to their limit by being denied the awesome sight of my naked breasts in the cold night air.

It’s understandable.

As I head for 40, I respond to these compliments and attempts at friendship in a less than grateful manner. I have to confess that I have little patience while I am commuting to really engage with the men who are so moved by my beauty that they have to stop and talk to me.

I admit I screamed at a man in a car when, after I declined his offer of a ride and 20 whole dollars to give him a blow job he threatened to rape and murder me.

I feel terrible.

To all the men who have been so moved by my beauty I’m so terribly sorry. I understand that hearing that I am not interested, don’t have time, want to be left alone or are with someone else is just devastating news. Of course you get emotional and may say things you don’t really mean.

I know I have been guilty of not considering that your desires are more important than anything else I might be doing. I should take your outbursts of offers low cost blowjobs behind dumpsters, kidnapping, following me home, comments on how my pussy looks, gentle threats of murder etc with more understanding and some gratefulness. That you have taken time out of your day to pause and get to know me.

From now on, when I inevitably screw up and spurn the advances of strange men, I will try not to give them the finger or tell them to fuck off when they call me a nigger cunt. I will work harder not to lose my temper if a man’s need to tell me how awesome my tits are means I miss my bus to work. I understand now that the temptation and the lure of my fine flesh, regardless of how much of it you can actually see is just too much.

I promise, gentlemen, I will do better.

    Shannon Barber

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    I write a lot of stuff.