My Friday was typical. I left work at 5 PM, and had spicy steak tacos at the Flying Cock in Midtown. I hung out with some friends and made a pit stop at Home Depot to look at plants, and potential bedroom paints. It was about 9 PM, but I wasn't ready to go home yet. I texted one of my best friends, Matt, if he wanted to meet at our favorite local bar, Station House, to catch up on life, work, etc. etc.

We met outside the Chipotle on Austin Avenue and commented on the crowds. There was a Bob Dylan concert at Forest Hills Stadium, and the patrons at the bar were older than usual. We made friends with DJ, a bisexual woman in her 60s who had fierce red hair and a bright canary-colored flower tucked in her ear.

DJ left and Matt and I were leaning on the bar when he casually looked around the crowd. There were two men behind us, and one of them looked at him and said "Can I help you with something?"

The hostility was unlikely for a place like Station House - it's always been one of those spots where people hang after work for a good craft beer or a funky whiskey cocktail.

We ignored them. We kept conversing.

A few minutes in, I felt a squeeze on my left buttock. I immediately turned around and it was them again. A slightly tan man with a navy blue shirt, facial hair and a man-bun, and his taller friend - a Caucasian male with a plaid orange shirt and spiked strawberry blonde hair.

"Did you just touch me?", I immediately asked Matt, but both his palms were face down on the bar. I turned around again. The taller male with the spiked hair smirked and the both started walking to the end of the bar - one of them had violated me and I knew it.

I was furious. I turned red. How do I handle something like this? How can I prove that they just touched me? Should I confront them?

My night was ruined. All I wanted to do was enjoy my Brooklyn Lager in peace and reminisce about Stony Brook. I approached the bouncers.

"Hi, what should I do if i know someone just touched me and I know who did it?"

The bouncer was this brolic African-American man who always had a book in his hands every time I went to Station House. I gave him a detailed description when he looked at me wide-eyed. I could tell he knew I wasn't lying. He called over a manager, Bobby.

"Are you sure he didn't just graze you by accident?"

I asked if I could pinch his arm the way the person pinched my cheek. He obliged. He reacted with the same disgust I did when it happened. He looked at me empathetically and walked me back to where Matt was standing and told me stay there for the time being.

At this point Matt's mom made a lovely appearance and we all talked about our day, and how long it had been since I had seen her. I tried to focus on the conversation, but I was skittish. All I could think about was how badly I wanted them kicked out, and how badly they needed to know that touching someone without their consent is fucked up.

There's really no other way of putting it. You cannot put your hands on someone who does not want to be touched.

I watched Bobby talked to a group of about 4 men, and they all walked to different corners of the bar.

"I just need you to stay here for now. We can't kick them out since we didn't see it happen, but we're keeping an eye on them in case it happens again."

Steve, the bartender, at this point noticed that a few of the managers kept approaching me. Matt and I told him what happened, and he bought me a tequila shot for the time being. It was kind gesture, but it didn't eliminate how badly I felt at the time.

Matt and I kept hanging out when we bumped into a few more friends from Stony Brook, our Alma Mater. That's the thing about local dive bars, you'll always bump into old friends.

We were all catching up when I noticed the guy with the man bun walk to the men's restroom. Bobby immediately followed. There was another security guy by his creepy strawberry blonde friend.

I don't know if the man-bunned guy knew he was being followed, but he left. At some point he left and I felt lighter, like the weight of his perversion left my shoulders.

I wasn't free yet because the other one was still nearby. He was standing precariously close to two drunk blondes, when Bobby said something to him and he left. It was over.

I thanked Bobby and Station House's owner for trying their best to kick them out. At the same time, I still feel bad about it. I wish I could tell them that I know they did it and they should know that it's not okay.

This was a small victory for me, but a loss in the long run. I know this wasn't the first time they groped an unsuspecting female, and it probably won't be the last.