He was just standing there, blank faced, maybe peeing, maybe not, it was hard to tell.
I suggested throwing something out the window at him, like the pot of hot coffee she had just made, but she called her husband, who was sleeping upstairs.
Her husband, a burly, cheerful fellow came bounding down the stairs.
"There's a guy outside with his dick in his hand! "
So off the husband goes to investigate, while his agitated wife yells instructions out the window.
"tell him to stay the $#%^ off our property!"
stay off our property!
"Tell him you are going to *&^% him up"
or I am going to %$#^ you up!
"Tell him, he is a nasty mother*&^%#$"
You are a nasty mother(*&^%^!
At some point it became clear to me that this fellow is a neighbor, a neighbor from an otherwise nice family, I am told.
Why you want to be showing your dick to this nice lady, that is just here trying to help people and shit?
It was the grandest display of chivalry I had seen displayed on my behalf in a long time. Eventually dickman staggered off and things quieted down.
When I got back to the office I told my boss what had happened.
The first time someone exposed himself to me in Portland, was 1978. Downtown Portland was a real dump in the 70's.
Oddly enough Mark and I had watched the news the night before and there was a story about a sex offender that has been rubbing against women on the bus. He also had a history of cutting women's hair and super gluing,
I'm not sure if he super glues the hair, or what, I missed that part of the story.
Mark said,
every woman I know, every girlfriend I have ever had has had that happen.
The exposing, not the super gluing.
I told him about the time I was sitting in a bus shelter, downtown in front of Meir and Frank and the guy next to me was pulling down his pants.
I just got up and walked away.
What can you really do? Downtown Portland was kind of a dump in the 80's.
In another bus shelter, the one next to paranoid park, another fellow was openly masturbating next to Leo and I while we were sitting there.
We were facing the other way and didn't notice at first. Leo poured a cup of soda on him and we rushed off. It is an image burned into my brain, even though I didn't feel particularly traumatized, more annoyed and revolted.
Another time, when I had fallen asleep on the bus, I awoke to a man rubbing my feet.
That was terribly upsetting. It was the icing on the top of a very bad night cake.
Don't touch my fucking feet!
At that moment on the bus, I wished very much that I had some tough guy, with me, to beat up the foot toucher, but I was all alone, so I moved up and sat near the driver. It was a long ride from downtown to Lake Oswego.
You are going to get me killed someday
Is what Mark has said, more than once, when I needed him to yell at someone for me. Fortunately no one has pulled his pants down since I have been married to him.
He did have to yell at the rude bank customer service guy two weeks ago, which made me feel much better.
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