Shake the beer

Painting by Kapahi artist, John Howard

About two years ago my neighbor exposed himself to me – for the second time. The first time I was such an innocent. I seriously thought, “That poor guy is going to be so embarrassed when he realizes his pecker is hanging out of his boxer shorts.”
It was before 7 a.m. and I was returning from a walk with the dogs when this guy steps out from behind his truck saying, “Good morning.” I responded in kind and then realized the obvious. I assumed he’d just climbed out of bed to retrieve something from his truck and was caught unaware of his predicament (pun intended).
I completely dismissed the incident, believing he’d die of shame when he realized he’d just exposed himself to a neighbor.
Nothing creepy was said. It was a gorgeous morning; not like I was in some urban back alley greeted by a freak in a trench coat. This was in a residential area on Kapahi Road just a few houses before the trailhead leading down to Hopi'i Falls.
In my nearly 50 years on the planet somehow I’ve escaped the sordid encounters most my girlfriends have endured in their teens and 20s. When friends have shared this sort of thing with me in the past, I’d scold them saying, “Don’t avert your eyes and empower that pervert, point at his pecker and say, ‘That’s nothing to brag about.’ Humiliate the bastard.”
I was completely on the moon. When faced with a stranger revealing himself, the shock sucks the wind right out of your words. A simple flashing is one thing, but when there’s some vigorous activity (yah, picture it), it’s a different story.
The afternoon my neighbor stood beating off in his garage in broad daylight, I looked, then looked again, and then walked faster. I returned home to tell my husband who couldn’t help but laugh.
“Are you sure he wasn’t just shaking his beer,” he teased.
I had to laugh as I gesticulated for Wes exactly what I’d seen.
“Call the police,” he said.
I did. A complaint was filed and the cop went to the pervert’s house.
Nothing came of it. The cop told me without two witnesses he couldn’t make an arrest.
Since then I’ve changed my walking route.
He won.
I did consider writing a letter to leave on every door in my neighborhood describing the scene and the location of the house, but never had the nerve.
So why write about it now?
I want to know how to respond in the moment in a way that reclaims my power. A similar incident happened recently and once again I was paralyzed into silence. How does a woman deal with a situation like this?