Yet Another Stalker Story

I've been known for having "stalkers." In college, it started with coffee shop workers and then progressed to military wanna-be's, lifeguards, and then more coffee shop workers. My pre-college record didn't bode much better: I was first pursued in 1st grade by a boy who chased me around the classroom trying to kiss me, gave me a purple jeweled necklace at my birthday party, and was ultimately one of the reasons my mother chose to pull me out of public school when he pulled his pants down in class. The next suitor to try his luck was an 8th grade nerd who lived in another school district and persisted in calling me to talk about his dog for hours on end.

Needless to say, my friends all found these stories hilarious, but as the patterns haven't changed much, the hilarity has turned exhausting. Upon arriving in NYC, I was pursued by a boy 2 years chronologically and at least 10 years mentally my junior. Eventually I shook him off, only to experience a handful of other random unpleasant encounters, including one that occurred this past weekend:

First, I must set the scene: I was lying on my Garfield bedsheet (very sexy, I know) with my cousin K___ at Brighton Beach, innocuously reading a book about the Holocaust when I heard a man's voice very close to my head.

"You are so beautiful."

Because the voice was so close, I instinctively turned to look and see where it was coming from.

"I look at you and I see beautiful woman."

Right there, crouched not five inches from my head, was this deeply tanned hispanic man, probably in his late 30s, wearing cutoff jean shorts, visibly leering at me through his sunglasses.

"I am ___," he told me (I was so flustered by his sudden appearance, I never caught his name), "may I know your name?" He held out his hand. Not knowing what to do, I shook it lamely.

"Allison."

"What?" He leaned closer.

"Allison."

"What?" Closer. I resisted the urge to squirm away.

"Allison!"

"Ah, well, Al-lee-son, my friend and I go to buy something. Then I come back to talk to you."

"Uh, no, that's okay." I wave my hand at him. "I might not be here." He seemed to ignore me.

"I will come back and talk to you." He went away.

Now, on a beach full of hundreds and hundreds of people--beautiful women of all shapes and sizes, single women sitting on fancy beach towels in scanty bikinis by themselves--why in the world did this man stop and talk to me??? And moreover, true to his word, he came back.

"I am back, Al-lee-son. I have bought beer. Would you like a beer?"

"Um, no. You should just take that beer back to your friend."

"We will talk? May I know you?"

That was the line that did it, I think: May I know you?

"No, I don't think so. Have a nice day."

Finally, he walked off. K___ turned to me, having been silent during all of these exchanges. She smiled, knowing how much I hate to be rude, even to strangers, and then she said something I expect only to hear out of the mouth of my sister.

"Good girl."