The boy had me up against a wall trying to kiss me and grab me despite my protests. I flicked my head to one side and his wet mouth crushed itself against my cheek. I felt disgusted fury at his persistence and his taking advantage of his strength to force me. I don't know where the impulse came from – I'm really not that sort of girl, or wasn't - but a voice in my head said «go for his balls.» I brought my right knee up hard between his legs and hit his crotch. He yelped and fell to the ground, doubled up and clutching himself. A tear-stained face contorted with pain peered up at me. He kept saying «you bitch» in a strangled, breathless voice. He moved his hands to try to support himself to get up. That's when I kicked him. Another bullseye. He went down again, rolled on his front, crying openly now with pain. I'd kicked him as hard as I could. I left him then and ran to my house round the corner. I felt savagely joyous. My parents were in the living room. «Hi, honey,» mom said. «Did you have a nice evening? Robert seemed like a nice boy.» That was Saturday night. I saw him at school on Monday morning. Of course, he ignored me. I was like an empty space as far as he was concerned. This was years ago now. I still see him around town sometimes and I'm still an empty space but I bear him no grudge. That date taught me a lesson that has stood me in good stead since.