I was walking and I heard steps behind me and boom I was flat on my face, a large man-child on top of me, simulating mating activity. Friends came to the rescue, but for a few minutes, I was at the bottom of the dog pile thinking: Well, this doesn’t happen every day!

I was not hurt physically. Though I was fine, I later wondered the classic question, was it what I was wearing?

His father and brothers said that they had to keep him locked up at home because he was a danger to women. They gave him medication. That he was a very agitated man. He did this whenever there was opportunity.

It was not what I was wearing, it was that I was a woman, any woman.

Years later, I ran into this man-child again. He was calm, almost beatific. People who knew him said he had been moved from his family long ago. He ended up in a house whose only other residents were five women.

The problem had then vanished.