I Went for a Walk and Had My Safety Violated by a Social Deviant

My daughter and I were driving to an appointment last week on a gorgeous 60-degree day. 

“There are so many people out,” she noted.

“Spring is here,” I said. 

Even our dog is excited. She and I have been going out for walks every day. Much as I enjoy these walks, I’m reminded of the incident that happened a few years ago when I was out alone in my neighborhood. I was on a pipestem street, so in theory, there’s no reason for anyone who doesn’t live on the street to be driving on it. One of the homes was for sale, and coincidentally, as I ambled past, an on-coming car slowed and came to a stop. The driver, a young male alone in the car, rolled down his window as if to ask a question.

I removed my headphones and heard him say, “Hey.” Thinking I must have missed something, I paused and waited for him to speak again. Silence fell between us, and I grew confused as he then gave me a chin nod. I noticed his arm moving, which drew my attention precisely to where he wanted it to be. Then I saw the head of his penis popping up from the grip of his hand. He was masturbating.

Appalled, I put my headphones back in and scurried away. 

As I walked, I grew angry at myself. Why hadn’t I screamed? Why hadn’t I let him know how utterly offensive and violating his behavior was? I said nothing. I simply walked away. Then I started getting angry at my husband. Why wasn’t he there to protect me? As my anger spun in all different directions, I turned right onto the connecting road, heading down hill. Beneath the soothing voice of Dave Matthews I heard the eerie sound of an approaching car. Instinctively, I knew it was he. He had looped around so that he was now driving in the same direction I was walking.

He slowed down to meet my walking pace and matched me in step for a good 30 seconds to ensure I was aware of the threat of his presence, that he had the power to harass me. My heart raced but my gaze remained steadfast on the road in front of me. Through my peripheral vision, I confirmed that it was indeed the masturbator, but I refused to look at him again. The act of public masturbation wasn’t necessarily violent, but this tactic of pacing me with his car was an escalation. Not satisfied with horrifying me once, he wanted me to be scared. I was. 

I lifted my Apple Watch to let him know I could make contact with the outside world, and he drove away, but not before I was able to capture his license plate along with the make of his car. 

While waiting for the police to show up, I called a friend who lives on the street where he first exposed himself. Her husband is a police officer in town, so I wanted her to know. If I’m being honest, I wanted an easy fix, but nothing in life is easy. 

I called 911 and an officer arrived in minutes. “If we’re able to identify him, would you be willing to appear in court as a victim witness?” he asked.

“Of course,” I said.

After two weeks, I called the police department for a status update. Nothing had changed. The officer on the phone told me almost verbatim what the responding officer had said. “We were able to run the plates and it came up as someone who lives in Dracut (the town next door), so now we have to do an investigation to try and identify the person.”

Meanwhile, the thrill of public masturbation probably fed the demon in this social deviant who could be capable of actual violence. 

He haunted my dreams, though it’s highly unlikely I made an appearance in his. For the first few nights, I saw the head of his penis every time I closed my eyes. But I can’t see his face. Why didn’t I pay closer attention? Why didn’t I bring my phone with me so that I could have taken a picture? 

I ask these and other self-blaming questions every day, all the while trying to tell myself, “It’s not your fault.” The awareness of him and others like him ignited a fear in me that I had to intentionally extinguish every day. 

“You’ve lived here for 10 years and walked this route hundreds of times with nothing happening. The math doesn’t point to this happening again,” I told myself.

For months, I couldn’t help but wonder, if the event degraded my sense of security and safety in my own neighborhood, did it embolden him? Years have passed, and my fear eventually waned, but every so often when I see a gold Toyota Corolla or similar car, I wonder if he’s back or whether he’s thought about being even more brazen.