I remember the first time a man I didn’t know put his hands on me. It happened in broad daylight at a popular spot in Brooklyn, New York, where locals go to enjoy the view of the Hudson River and the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge that connects my borough to Staten Island.

I was 15 years old and enjoying summer break. I spent my days biking around the city and often stopped at this spot, which I’d loved since my parents took me there as a small child. 

I hopped off my bike and was admiring the whitecaps that rushed under the bridge when I felt his hand up my shorts. Then, just as quickly, he sped away on his bicycle while his friend cheered him on. The assault was fast, calculated and breathtakingly scary. I wonder now how many other unsuspecting women and children he groped before — and after — me... Read Christina's inspiring Story...