rainn post #4- my jr high perv story

It is a strange day when I start off this post telling you that part of a Dr. Phil show I saw the other day has prompted a blog post. But, in the name of RAINN and Sexography here it goes. While I really like the idea behind Sexography and really think RAINN is a great organization worth supporting, I felt hesitant to write about my own sexual history or experiences (though get me drunk and I most likely will tell you waaaay too much). I am not sure why that is- but part of me feels strange telling stories of bad teenage sex because it was so long ago, or part of me feels like there is stuff I don’t want to tell because it is too painful, and then part of me feels like there is stuff I am sure people would love to hear about but is none of their damn business. I also don’t consider myself a “writer”, so it seems equally intimidating.

So in an effort of avoiding all of those issues but still participating in GBBMC2008, I bring you something I had long forgotten about until Dr. Phil brought it up…

I went to a fairly nice junior high school in a fairly nice neighborhood. I had gone to private school up until that point and though I lived in a more ghetto neighborhood my dad owned a business in the aforementioned nice neighborhood. Not wanting me to go to ghetto school right out of private school my family pulled some strings and got me into the nice public school on account that he owned a business and payed taxes there or something. I have always been fairly social and adjusted to the transition pretty well- quickly dumping my longtime childhood friends for a group of good/bad girls (awww- this is when me and secondlastwish became friends!).

Being that my dads business was not too far away from the school, some days I had to walk to his work after school- proceeding to sit in a dirty muffler shop office doing homework for the next 2-3 hours. One day while I was just a few blocks from the shop a brand new large maroon pickup truck pulled up next to me on the the busy street. It was the kind the had the extra cab in the back- he had dry cleaned shirts hanging from the hook behind the driver side. A small man with round wire glasses and shiny baldish head with a crown of red hair leaned over and asked me if I knew how to get on the 210 Freeway. Being that I was in Jr. High and didn’t drive I really had no clue, though I had an idea, so I told him to keep going straight and to turn left at the second light. Not really knowing if that was correct and feeling uncomfortable I started to fumble a little and walk away why he kept trying to ask me exactly where and how to get there. He drove off, I kept walking.

A few minutes later he pulled up again and I could clearly see that his pants were undone and he was jerking off- the carpets matched the drapes. He proceeded to ask me for directions again, saying he could not find it. I was shocked, mortified and too polite to scream or run away. I kept trying to not look while giving directions, partially scared shitless that he was going to try and kidnap me. And this is where it gets fuzzy- I don’t remember if I actually proceeded to talk to him more pretending I did not notice what he was doing or if he tried to convince me to get in his truck or if I just walked away. But the incident was over and I was totally freaked the fuck out. I was literally a block away from my dads work the second time, but once I arrived I said nothing. I was too scared to say anything, like it was my fault or something. I think I would have felt too ashamed to tell my dad what I saw. Also knowing my dad, I know that he and his employees would immediately jump in their vehicles (especially since they had been drinking whiskey!) and hunt down and beat the shit out of anyone in a maroon truck. And that would have been embarrassing to Jr. High me.

So I never said anything. I imprinted his face and truck into my brain. So much so that about 15 years later I can still describe it with such detail. I always told myself that if I ever saw him again I would say something. But of course I never did. And the funny thing is that if I were to tell you what he looked like I would say pretty much like an actor who’s name I can never remember nor can I tell you what he was in. But he always plays the geeky balding with red hair frumpy guy. I have been racking my brain and if I can remember I will post at a later date.

So from Dr. Phil, I learned that I should have said something. I should have screamed, I should have ran and I should have called the police. Visit his site HERE to read about a recovering voyeur and tips to avoid falling victim to a pervert.

And if this story left you feeling generous, please donate to RAINN and add “hootchi cootchi GBBMC2008″in the comments.