Nighttime rain obscures the man who is attached to the voice. I’ve just walked up to the crosswalk. A sharp glance suggests the man could be my age, possibly older. In a flash, I note his beard, jacket and cap.I nod and turn away. No smile. I don’t look at him again. My body tenses, ready.When the small, white image of a figure walking lights up, I dart across the street, his footsteps loud behind mine. I’m aware of the rain, of the dark corridor before me, of a choice I must make when the crosswalk ends. Do I walk the well-lit street to the apartment complex parking lot, or chance the brush-lined, secluded sidewalk?I choose the streetlights, and my footsteps feel lighter as I reach the curb. I’m ahead of him, and there are lights on in nearby windows, a fire station and plenty of potential safe spaces should I need them.But the man is clearly miffed that I didn’t respond to his “friendliness.” “Have a good evening!” he shouts sarcastically at my rapidly receding form.I recalled this incident recently when I saw an Instagram post from dating coach Erika Ettin that featured a dating site conversation where a man was offended when a woman didn’t want to come to his house for a first date.“You can trust me,” he told her. When she responded that she did not feel comfortable going to a complete stranger’s home for dinner, he said, “I’m not a stranger! I have a professional job and life! I’m old enough not to mess around.” The same day, The New York Times published an article about a woman who had been held prisoner in an attic in a Boston rental home and sexually abused for six weeks. She met her assailant on a dating app.Men like the one in that Instagram exchange often seem completely oblivious to women’s lived experience with the ever-present threat of danger or violence, and to the hundreds of small and large precautions we exercise daily to attempt to stay safe in the world. His biggest concern was paying for an expensive date and not getting a text back afterward. The woman was concerned for her safety. I’d like every man, including the stranger I offended by not returning his hello, to understand this: When a man goes on a date with a woman he doesn’t know, he risks a bruised ego or being out a few bucks. When a woman goes on a date with a man she doesn’t know, she risks her life.These risks are not equivalent.Long before dating apps, I had two close calls with men I didn’t know. These incidents shaped how I interact with male strangers.The author at 16 at Covent Garden in London.Photo Courtesy Of Melissa Lutz BlouinThe first was during a cloudy afternoon walk in the sleepy London suburb of Dulwich. I was 16 and enjoying the solitude of a tree-lined street when a friendly-looking man rolled down the backseat window of his car and waved me over. I drew closer to hear him asking me for directions. Suddenly, the front door opened and two male hands grabbed my arm and yanked me toward the passenger seat. I screamed, I struggled and yelled. Two people appeared around a corner and ran toward us. The hands released me and the car raced away, the door closing as they turned the corner. I collapsed on the sidewalk, sobbing.“Are you hurt?” the strangers asked. “Do you need anything?” “No,” I replied, standing up and shaking myself off, before walking briskly toward home.I never told anyone what had happened. I blamed myself for being stupid enough to get that close to a strange man’s car.The second time was during an afternoon walk in the kind of New Orleans neighborhood where grandmothers fanned themselves on front porches while watching small children play. I had taken a short break from work in the afternoon to walk to a nearby drugstore.I turned a corner onto a peaceful, empty street. Midway down the road, a white van sidled up next to me. The driver gestured wildly, trying to communicate something to me. The hairs on my arms tingled. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that someone was looming right behind me, hand in his sweatshirt pocket.Run to the van or face the stranger behind me? My lizard brain clocked the van’s baby seat, saw the hood pulled over the stranger’s head on a warm April day.I flew into the street, opened the van door, jumped inside and slammed it closed. The hooded man fled. I hunched over, gasping for air.When the man beside me spoke, his voice was strangled: “He had a knife.”The author at 21 on Bourbon Street in New Orleans shortly after she moved to the city for graduate school.Photo Courtesy Of Melissa Lutz BlouinThese incidents happened in big cities, but it can happen anywhere, to any woman. I grew up in Pullman, Washington, a town of about 20,000 people. In 1979, a beloved dance instructor, Nona Rae Lynch, was struck in the head and strangled by a man who entered her studio while she was working late one night. Her body was discovered the next day in the trunk of his car.I’ve learned from these experiences that men with ill intent don’t come with identifying T-shirts or sinister black ski masks. They look like everyone else. And for women, potential danger is everywhere, including on a sleepy afternoon in a “nice” neighborhood, or in your own dance studio.Women: Continue to do what you must to stay safe. If a man you meet on a dating site (or anywhere else) becomes upset that you are taking precautions to protect yourself, then you’ve learned everything you need to know. And trusting your instincts could save your life. Men, you have a simpler assignment: Support women by acknowledging their reality and agreeing cheerfully to whatever they need to feel comfortable. More than a year later, I still replay the interaction with the man at the dark, rainy intersection. From the tone of his voice as he called after me, I imagined he was thinking, “Would it kill you to be friendly?”As I fled, I was thinking: “Yes. Yes it could.”Melissa Lutz Blouin’s writing has appeared in The Seattle Times and The Mountaineer Magazine. When she’s not outdoors or winning pun slams, she’s working on her memoir about resilience and mental health. See more of her work at MelissaLutzBlouin.com.Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? 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