Pepe Le Pieu Sexully Assaults Transsexual!

One of my better outings last week was a trip to the Prada outlet in Montevarchi (which had more than Prada, but nothing not nice), near where we were staying for the wedding.

The last time I was at this particular store--three years ago or so--I was there as a straight man, on my honeymoon with my straight wife. That time, I bought one man thing (a vest), but spent most of my time picking out things for A. to try on. This time, I bought a few things for myself! And I also bought a few things for A, because she couldn't be there, and that's the sort of exes we are.

I spent last Saturday night (July 5/08) in Rome. C. and I shared a room, and M., H., and their baby, N., stayed in another. We stayed at the Hotel Rex., which was pretty nice, and nicely priced.

I arrived in Rome separately, but not long behind the rest of the group. When I arrived, I needed to practice yoga. So I sent them off ahead, and spent some time unwinding my body.

I then got dressed in a leisurely fashion. I decided to try out some of my new stuff, which ended up seeing me a little dressed up for a touristy wander around Rome, which was fine, because it's Italy, after all. I grew to regret my shoe choice, but the rest of the outfit was comfortable, and it was nice to look stylish while peering into boutiques on Via Nazionale.

As per usual, I was smoking the occasional hit of weed from my pipe while on my wander. Unaccompanied women in their 30s don't often get seen smoking weed on the street at dinner-time. At home, I employ a fake cigarette, and that's very unobtrusive. In Italy, I had a small pipe. So, I was a bit more obvious, cupping my hands around the pipe bowl and the lighter, leaning my head to one side to tip the bowl towards the wind-driven flame, then never rising from this posture with a lit cigarette in my mouth. If you watched, you knew I was smoking a pipe.

At one point, near the Colliseum, I took a break sitting on a large marble block, barely in the shade of some massive ancient building or other. I packed my pipe.

I was fairly careful to time my pulls to moments when the sidewalk near me was relatively uncrowded, but it was windy, and sometimes it would take so long to get a light that someone would have gotten close in the interim.

I think I breached one poor woman's world-view. There I sat, a stylishly dressed, relatively young woman, taking a break in the shade. She must have been thinking: But why was it taking so long to light her cigarette? Wait a second! There's no cigarette there! Wait! Is that even a woman?! But it can't be a man! OH! What in the world!?

Her expression grew steadily more disconcerted as she drew nearer. When she was passing by me, I was done smoking, and I tried that quick "I mean no harm" flash of a smile that women aim at each other, but she was having none of it. She just stared back, her head turning so that her eyes stayed pointed at me as her body carried the rest of itself past.

Once she was gone, the little smile broke into a big grin, mostly because she was just looking so hopelessly disturbed by my very existence. I'm getting more used to upsetting people. The only real answer is to laugh.

Shortly afterwards, I connected with the rest of the group by phone text message, and I set off to find them in the rather large park surrounding the Domum Aureus ruin site, opposite the Coliseum. Unfortunately, I cut uphill too early, and was separated from them by some band of ruins or other.

The part of the park that I found myself in wasn't all that beautiful. The grass was browning, and there were few pedestrians. C. was reporting their location to me by text, and I continued towards them.

When I arrived at their ostensible location, there were no children present, and it wasn't really the right place for a 1-year-old. There were about five people in sight, and all looked dubious in one way or another. One was sprawled across a bench on his back. A slick of liquid had leaked from a can that lay below his out-flung arm.

C and I determined that they were below me somewhere, further down the hill, and I backtracked to get around the ruins that separated us. I had passed what looked like promising pathway not far behind.

I was walking across the grass, cursed (but wicked) shoes in hand, towards the path in question when someone called out. I ignored the call (tranny instincts--head down). He called again. I glanced up, and sure enough, it was a man on the sidewalk, a short distance away, and he was shouting at me.

I waved him off, and continued walking. He called again, and when I turned, he pantomimed his admiration for my beauty and all that. I didn't really know what to do. He wasn't an unattractive man. He was young, and well dressed, as Italian men tend to be. I don't even like men, but I was flattered, and flustered. So I blushed, and turned away, and continued walking.

Shit! I thought immediately. That blushing head-turn, inadvertent though it was, felt risky. And it was. I kept my head averted for a few steps, and then glanced left, and he was halfway across the lawn to the path I was on, beseeching me, inviting me, into his arms.

As though anyone but gay men just get together in parks like this! I sternly waved him away. But he persisted. He was like Pepe Le Pieu from the Bugs Bunny show, chasing that poor inarticulate cat like a moronic automaton while she makes it very clear, non-verbally, that she wants nothing to do with him.

The man kept coming towards me. I quickened my pace, heading for the steps leading down the hill. After a few more steps, he reached my side, and began walking next to me, breathing on the side of my head, with his hands held wide as though ready to grab me, but also not hiding anything. One was behind me, and one in front of me. He was walking beside me, half-turned towards me, crooning in Italian.

I had no idea whether he knew I was trans, but I suspected he didn't. He saw me from a distance to start, and cognitive dissonance would help him preserve his initial impression. I decided that giving him the deep booming man-voice might escalate this from chasing me through the park to beating the shit out of me.

So I kept making myself clear in my modulated, androgynous voice. I said some very unambiguous things, like "GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" to his face, which was well within my personal space.

He kept on beseeching me, crooning at me like I was some sort of pigeon that he was feeding bread, and hoping to stroke.

A moment later I felt his hand slither across the back of my neck. I grabbed his left wrist and flung his arm away, told him to go away again, and began half-running (in a determinedly feminine way so as to avoid being outed and shit-kicked) down the steps shouting "help!" and "M!" and "C!" in the hopes that my friends were within earshot.

They weren't. My assaulter kept pace with me easily, still trying to talk pigeon to me. He groped my neck again.

I was forced to stop to put on my shoes, and he moved very close, and darted his left hand across my chest and slid his fingers across the underside of my breasts (which, of course, are fake, but that would be hard to detect through a bra from that angle).

I screamed "FUCK OFF!" into his face, and stormed off again. A few steps later, I broke onto the main path, heels clacking, jogging towards a couple having their wedding photos taken. He remained behind, and I never looked back.

It took another 10 minutes or so to find my friends, and another 20 to calm down enough to move again. Holy shit! Talk about taking the bad parts of womanhood along with the good!