I haven't tripped the 'skeevy old perv' radar for a long time now. Generally I read outside the prey group for them, but I drew one today, and he was both obtuse, and immune to the 'gentle brush off'. It was kinda funny, in a sad sort of way, to find it happening today. Well... a sad, and 'I need to wash my hands now' sort of way, at least.
Went out hat hunting today -- unsuccesfully, although I did score some great resale items, and a ripping pair of naughty librarian shoes. No hat fit the bill though, alas. One of the hunting grounds one hits when one is looking for a hat to mutilate and remake into an 1830's Fascinator, is the ubiquitous Salvation Army store.
That's where my 'admirer' drew a bead on me, and then proceeded to follow me around the store, making idle chitchat, most of which involved asking dozens of questions about me -- most designed to lead him to pertinent predatory information, such as where I lived, and with whom, and whether I had any family nearby. You know, the sort of thing serial killers want to know. The funny thing was, he in no way *read* as dangerous. Hinky, sure. Skeevy, absolutely, and no way was I inclined to let him know where to come looking for me, but he didn't trip my Predator radar, and that's pretty well-honed these days, I must confess. He read as a lonely, slightly confused, slightly dazzled old man of limited means, and not much understanding of personal space, who wanted to talk to a girl that wasn't afraid to look him in the eye. And anyway, he kind of ran away when he learned that, instead of living in an apartment with female roommates, I was married. I shrugged and smirked a bit, and considered the encounter finished.
Until I passed him and his stinky cigar outside, on my way to the car. He came shuffling after me, calling more questions, and I decided to be polite to him, and indulge him in a bit more conversation. I realize, reading over the preceeding, that friends will be shaking their heads and calling me an idiot for stopping, but I haven't entirely set the scene aright; it was a bright, sunny day today. I was in full view of the store's entrance, and there were three men within fifty yards, loading donated clothing into a truck. Also, while the man was taller than I, and might have weighed just a bit more, he was palsied, slow, and had one hand occupied in hanging onto the natty rag of a cheroot he'd chewed nearly to pieces -- nobody who loves a cigar that thoroughly is going to drop it on the ground just for a chance grab. I was in no doubt of being able to defend myself, should I need to.
And really, I was more bemused by him than anything else... He asked some more leading questions; did I shop at this grocery store, did I live on a steep or a gentle hill, and suchlike. I gave vague and misleading answers, and let him chatter about other people he knew from various places, and pepper me with the occasional compliment. Asking if he could kiss me though, was where the line got drawn. Getting pushy about it and trying to insist that he kiss me on the mouth... well, that was a big ol "nuh UH!" I pushed him off, laughing to take the sting out of "dude, I don't even know you!" Then I patted him on the arm, said I needed to get going, and left.
So here's the brain-twist. I know that sociopaths pass -- that's how they survive, that's how they hide, and most of all, that's how they hunt. But I also know that part of that hunting parameter is based in a deep, instinctual perception of safe victim types. I haven't read 'victim' since I was 14, and the only place I have ever 'read' floozie, was at renfaires, when I was playing such. Even at burlesque, I never made myself available to the audience for grab-arse and chatting-up between acts. So he might have been just a lonely old man who asked hinky questions and didn't want to heed 'no,' he could have been a psycho with a taste for Tiger, but without the organization to plan his drop, or I could have another interesting encounter with him sometime in the future.
Based on my instincts, I'm going with the first notion. But rest assured, I'll let you know if he turns up again.
If he tries to kiss me again, I might need to take up a collection for bail money though.
I'm just sayin'.