Why Do Some Men Think They Can Just Take What They Want?
The Real Estate Agent pulled up on the driveway, his car expensive looking and large. He huffed and puffed his way out of the front seat, breaking out in a sweat as he hoisted his girth in order to stand up straight. He was paunchy, mousey-grey haired and ruddy-faced. Not an attractive man by anyone’s measure.
He pressed the doorbell longer than necessary, heralding his imminent arrival. I slowed my pace and took my time opening the front door.
He knew I was home alone as my parents were overseas holidaying. The house was put on the market just before they’d left. I was 17 years old at the time.
He started with small talk, but the look in his eye told me he had a few ideas he’d like to share with me. He opened with, “you know, I could help the sale along … if you help me.” His smile was a fetid yellow lopsided leer, his eyes slitted and sleazy. I inwardly cringed. He stepped towards me, his hand reaching out to touch me. I stood riveted on the spot. Disgusted. Insulted. Offended. Frightened.
He took my panting breath to be a come-on rather than panic and lunged forward to grab me. Time stood still and a trillion thoughts went through my mind instantaneously. His arms encircled me, his hot filthy breath moist against my cheek. I elbowed him hard in the guts and in his shock he loosened his grip. I wrenched myself free and bolted up the long hallway. He wasn’t a fit man, and that’s what I was counting on.
He composed himself quickly and I heard him thumping up the hallway coming after me. The house was large and having grown up in it I knew every nook and cranny. I hid quickly … but not quickly enough. He’d spotted me as I flew through the spare room door and with much puffing and panting he stood on the other side of the door. I was trapped. What were my options?
“Come on love. I won’t hurt you. You help me and I’ll help you. Just a quickie and I’ll go. Come on love.”
My mind was spinning and time seemed to stand still. I felt a sort of calm spread through me and over me. I just knew I’d be ok. Not too sure about him though.
The door opened and he stood with his pants undone, zip down, girth hanging over his privates and curly dark hair covering his stomach and legs. The sight alone was a horror story!
“Just a quickie and I’ll be gone … come on love.”
I can’t describe the feelings that washed over me … fear, revoltion, rage, shock and anger. How dare he! Who did he think he was that he could just walk into my home and take what he wanted.
Without even thinking about what I was doing, I swooped towards him in a flash, groped under the protruding gut and grabbed his bits. He thought he was in luck, his lips curling into triumphant and expectant grin.
I grabbed and squeezed hard, my long fingernails suddenly piercing his skin. His expression went to one of expected pleasure to one of pain and shock. His face turned beet red as his short arms flailed about trying to push me away. But I had him fast and didn’t not loosen my grip. He tried to tear himself out of my grasp but with his pants having slipped down to his knees, he topped and fell forward in a heap, his buttocks in the air and face on the carpet.
I lined him up … his dangley bits an open target. I kicked with all my might, his roar echoing down the hallway as I bolted to the front door and out into the yard. I didn’t look back. Just kept running.
The house sold two weeks later once my parents returned, although another agent had been assigned. I never told them what had happened.
Why do some men think they can just take what they want?