Conversations about street harassment and consent often focus exclusively on the experiences of women – and most of its victims do identify that way – but it’s also a broader issue. Many gay men silently cope with harassment and consent within male-dominated social spaces designated for LGBT people, spaces most heterosexual people never enter. Spaces created for people like me.

The most toxic forms of masculinity pervade gayborhood mainstays such as nightclubs, bars and even the occasional cruise down the sidewalk. Yet these uncomfortable, if not traumatizing, experiences get swept under the rug – or worse, internalized as something that “just happens” and shouldn’t be taken seriously.

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It’s a pernicious double standard. As a 2014 report from Stop Street Harassment notes, gay, bisexual and transgender men experience rates of street harassment between 17 and 20% higher than their male counterparts who aren’t LGBT.

I should know. A few summers ago, I walked home as I normally would from a gym in Chicago’s Lakeview neighborhood, which has a high concentration of LGBT residents and business owners. With headphones in, I enjoyed a breezy afternoon stroll down Broadway Street, the wind drying my sweaty brow, soaked shirt and gym shorts. Approaching the last few blocks of my journey home, I heard loud jeers and laughs from three men walking behind me.

“Man, look at that ass,” one man said to the others, as if I wasn’t present and listening to his remarks. “Wonder if he’ll let me get a bite of that.”

I thought if I ignored them and just listened to my music, they’d eventually stop. But they kept walking behind me, they kept discussing what they’d like to do with my hindquarters with or without my consent, my whole way home. As I arrived on my block, I suddenly realized that hardly anyone else was in an earshot, and started to wonder if they really wouldn’t stop. So I quickly shuffled to my buzzer gate, slammed it behind me, and unlocked my building’s double doors in haste, rushing inside for a buffer between myself and the men on the outside. They laughed at my trepidation as they continued down the street.

Moments after, I shared my story with friends on Facebook, and I got the expected comments in return from women who experience similar situations all the time. But I didn’t expect to see several messages from gay male friends of mine noting that I wasn’t alone in what I’d experienced. Many of my friends, ashamed, had kept their stories to themselves out of fear of being stigmatized, labeled buzzkills or because their masculinity put them in conflict with being victimized.

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Whether it’s rooted in homophobia and transphobia, or whether it’s someone from the community who has little-to-no respect for others’ boundaries, harassment in public spaces threatens the safety and well-being of many gay, bisexual, transgender and queer men.

It’s time to have more of a conversation about how the misogyny and patriarchy imbued in rape culture – including street harassment and unwelcome sexual advances – targets those deemed vulnerable, whether it’s heterosexual women or queer and gender non-conforming men.

But it’s not the responsibility of feminist women to generate that dialogue, because they’re plenty busy with the task of their own collective liberation. Gay, bisexual, transgender and queer men need to elevate their own narratives and use the examples provided by feminism to stage sustainable interventions and engage in consciousness raising about eradicating toxic masculinity from the community once and for all.

The community has long prided itself on celebrating and enjoying an array of sexual proclivities, but not every unsolicited advance, or act of sexual aggression, is fun for every man. The only reason that’s hard to recognize is that we’re still being held back by the heterosexual masculinity that so much of queer culture has worked to reject. We must foster community that celebrates a healthy, pleasurable sexuality – one that respects bodies and boundaries.