Yes, guys, there is a boogey man

All apologies to the Spank Boss and Abel,

But there is a boogey man. Probably more than one, but one is all I can think of right now. He's about 5 ft 10, medium build, will balding brown hair and a missing tooth.

He got on my bus after work one night last week and after I got off he grabbed me. There at the fully lighted bus stop, in front of at least 5 or 6 other people. He babbled in broken English as he demanded I go with him and forced my hand onto his crotch. I struggled, but he would not let go. Part of me panicked while the rest of me thought of any and everything I could say to convince him to let go.

By this point others waiting for the bus began to notice something was wrong and started our way, the man let go, grabbed my breast, and then ran off, saying something about coming to see me at work.

The next day, he actually did show up where I worked.

I do not know this man. I had never seen him before that night. But he is still out there somewhere. He tried to approach me again Saturday evening. We don't know who he is, we don't know where he is, and we don't know if he's going to try again.

For those of you who may be concerned at this point, yes, police have been called, I've spent hours talking to police and victim advocates. I related the whole sordid mess to my bosses, who being they great people they are stood by me, paid me for the lost time spent talking to the police and demanded assistance from our security company so we could turn over the footage of him in the store to police. They no longer leave me alone at the front of the store.

I no longer leave the house alone after dark. Even during the day, if I go out I go armed (pepper spray)

I'm trying to be okay, and for the most part I'm succeeding, except for the occasional urge to dive under my desk and never come out again.

I've already decided that the odds of catching an unknown stranger roaming the streets (even if he has apparently been watching where I work) is very unlikely so while I am continuing to cooperate with investigators, my plan at this point is just to get back to living.

Which would be a lot easier if I didn't keep getting nagging little reminders that this whole mess is far from over.

I got a call from the victim advocate at the police department yesterday morning. Oh hi, there is water pouring out of my ceiling, my carpet is a swamp, the cats are protesting loudly, and I'm trying to get ready for work...and you want to drag me through everything that happened last week and dredge up the memories I've careful managed to seal off in the back of my mind. Gee, thanks. But she was trying to help. Did I have questions? Had the detective talked to me yet?

Detective? What detective? (I'd convinced myself my police report was in the bottom of a drawer somewhere gathering dust, never to been seen or acted on again...) I don't want to talk to a detective. I want the whole blasted thing to never have happened, or barring that I want to forget it ever did. Can we please not have to do this?

But of course I will have to, when I don't know. It's just hanging out there somewhere and will swoop down on me one day out of the blue...Hi, can I sit down with you and drag you through the whole thing one more time? Sorry it's taken so long, we had to make sure you weren't crazy or just seeking attention first.

Then, of course there is the whole question of whether or not they ever catch him, and what happens then.

I'll post updates if/when the case progresses, but in the meantime I intend to go back to living, loving and spanking.

Ms. Betty