WHY ME, masturbating guy?

Be warned that I may veer into negativity in this post. I don't like to, but things happen, and it's kind of funny anyway.

I live on what has to be one of the safest streets in San Francisco. Living in the Presidio is almost like living in halfway suburbia; I have the cul de sac, the football-watching guys throwing footballs in the street, the confused art institute kids skateboarding, and people don't generally come to our street unless they live there or are visiting someone--or they're runners. We get a lot of runners.

I wasn't concerned when I was sitting on my well-lit front stoop, talking on the phone late, the night before last, when I saw a guy in running shorts walking down the street. I did notice that he seemed to be checking things out and walking a little slower than runners usually do, even ones that get tired by the time they reach our street. I was the only other person outside, as far as I could tell. He definitely saw me.

I would just like to preface what I am going to write next by saying that I don't know why, but this is the fifth time that this has happened to me. 3 out of 5 of the times have been in San Francisco. Guys here must be hard up (no pun intended, har har). All of the guys are very normal-looking, 30s-40s.

The first time is iffy as to whether the guy was actually flogging the pipe. I lived by myself on the first floor of a cute but decrepit 40's peach stucco building in Westwood my senior year of college. I, and the girls neighboring on the first floor of the next building, shared a small weedy garden space and a peeping Tom. I only saw him a couple of times, and he's the only one I yelled at (which was met by a look of glee). My two little cats actually did a pretty good job of alerting me to when he was around. Little buggers, they're the reasons I had to keep one of the venetian blinds up a little in the first place, so that they could get in and out (there were bars on the window).

After the first, I learned a little more about the whole practice of peeping--there was a lot of peeping around UCLA. A couple friends had their own personal peeper as well (though peepers do get around, sluts! he probably had a couple of regulars). They were often college students (isn't that kind of sad?) but there were also serial rapists in Westwood for a while so it didn't seem so harmless. I found out that the cops didn't care at all, and that peepers get off on being caught by their selected audience members, being yelled at, being humiliated in their pursuit. They also come back to the same spots over and over. The one near me would come sometimes after I took a shower--all the blinds in my bathroom were really closed. Creepy, huh?

I never found a good response to one. It's taken me by surprise every time. The best response I've ever heard was I think from "Steel Magnolias", something about saying to the guy "you call that a penis?".

After my introduction, I had #2 guy on packed commuter metro in daytime Paris with hand in pocket, 1 foot away from me, face to face #3 normal but frantic-looking guy on crowded Powell at Market, daytime, one hand tenting his jacket, the other choking the monkey (seriously, how do you get to the point where something like that gets you off?) #4 guy on second floor of his Russian Hill home, member protuding over the windowsill, again daytime.

And now to number 5. I wasn't really paying that much attention to him as he walked down the street. I was involved in my phone conversation and just enjoying the fresh air. I was still chatting as he leaned against a parking sign post directly across the street from me (about 25 feet away) and very very slowly pulled down his shorts to above his knees. I honestly didn't even realize he was naked or what he was doing until he started stroking. All that went through my head was "Oh no he DI'N'T!" (kind of like if I was about to get in a girl fight or something). He did it all extremely slowly, as if I was a wild animal that might get startled and flee. Which, of course, I did (and of course, i am a wild animal). I interrupted my friend on the phone, and went quietly into the house without acknowledging the guy.

I am so angry that this happened, because the guy will probably come back again. I don't feel safe in my safe safe street anymore. I am hyper aware of men on the street. Though, I don't feel weird about guys in general since then, especially because in retelling the story with the guys I work with, they all find it absurd and hilarious, and it's so good to laugh about it. It's become a running joke--what guy from work it actually was, how big it was, etc.

Additionally, I am not so hard up for humor that I can not appreciate the fact that the masturbating guy was a traditionalist and a gentleman, because he presented me with the traditional gift for a 5th anniversary. Wood.

Oh, masturbating guy, you remembered!