April 11, 2019

I Was Stalked By A Familiar Stranger


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Laura Lee, 53, with invisible wounds and scars. I've learned to embrace PTSD and depression because if I don't own them, they'll own me.  I don't want to simply survive, but to thrive.  I hope you'll join me on my journey.  It's sure to be a bumpy road.


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I didn’t know him.  I didn’t think I knew him.  Yet, subconsciously, I knew I did.  Looking back, it was like I was in the middle of the a Lifetime Movie.  I was stalked by a familiar stranger.



“But Becky, I got away…”

That’s what I told her.

I had been in therapy with her for years, discussing my childhood molestation and the rape in San Diego  and the harassment in the Navy, that followed in the aftermath.  But this.  This I never told her.  Because.  Well, because, I got away.

I remember that she leaned forward in her chair, and said, in a calm manner, “It’s sexual assault, Laura, and you never told me.”

“But, I got away….”


It took some convincing, but I finally understood.  Maybe it’s because I didn’t remember his name exactly, but I kind-of-sort-of had an idea of his last name, and I remembered that he was a short, thin, black man who wore glasses and had a wife and two kids and drove a sports car.

I recently described him to a friend named Rick, who had been stationed with me at the time and Rick knew exactly who I was talking about.  His name is Chris. Chris. My attacker now has a first name.  Rick, said everyone knew something was going on between Chris and me, but he had NO idea that’s what it was.  If he’d only known he would have said something….done something.

Photo by JC Gellidon on Unsplash


Back in the mid-80s we didn’t have cell phones.  And on the island of Guam it was costly to get a landline put in your barracks’ room on base.  I was lucky.  My room already had a landline in it when I reported. It was one of only a few.  I think one of the previous tenants might have been someone who spent a lot of time on call and so the phone was put in the room for her, so her command could reach her at a moment’s notice.  It was simply kept in the room after she moved out.

Everyone else made and received calls on the pay phones located on the first and second decks at the end of each hallway.  My parents had my number, but they didn’t call often and I didn’t call them often  – it was expensive, but it was nice knowing we could reach out if needed.  Most of the time it was used to order food, call work, call other places on base, etc.

Photo by Quino Al on Unsplash

One morning, after I rolled out of bed, the phone rang, and I answered it sleepily.  I chatted with some guy for a few minutes. He was talking about magazines. At first I thought he was trying to sell me some.  I kept trying to tell him I didn’t want any.  I didn’t know how to simply say, “no” and hang up the phone.

The conversation took a drastic turn.  He started talking about how good I’d look in magazines. How good I’d look nude in magazines.  Still, I didn’t hang up.  I kept telling him to STOP! He didn’t stop. Instead, he got more and more graphic.  Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, I slammed down the phone.  I was disgusted, but after a shower and continuing with my morning routine I chalked it up to just a random jerk making a random call who happened to get a random girl on the phone.

But that’s not what happened.


Calls came every day. Calls came every afternoon. Calls came every night. The caller knew my name.  Did I tell him my name that very first time he called?

Then, I realized, his calls were perfectly timed.  The phone would ring as I walked in the door as I got home from watch.  The phone would ring as I turned on the light when my alarm rang.  Sometimes, the phone rang, when I got out of the shower.  The phone never rang when my roommates were home with me.  I was always alone.  He was watching.  And, I knew his voice. He wasn’t a stranger, but I didn’t know who he was, either.

I don’t know if I answered the phone each time he called, but I know I answered it often enough to tell him to stop calling me.  I know I answered it often enough to listen to him tell me what he wanted to do with me and to me.  I know I answered it often enough to know that I was getting scared.  And yet….yet….I never once called base police.

Young.  Naïve.

Photo by Xavier Sotomayor on Unsplash


I did have the phone removed from the room.  My roommates weren’t all too happy, but I thought if he didn’t have access to me via the phone, that the problem would go away.  What was I thinking?? The island is 210 square miles! Assuming he was ON the island HE HAD ACCESS TO ME WITH OR WITHOUT A PHONE!

A few days went by after the phone was removed and I finally felt as though I could relax and sleep a little easier.  No more looking over my shoulder, no more peering out the window wondering what or who I might see.  A knock on the door one afternoon after I got home from my watch changed all that. I had a phone call on the pay phone.  A phone call.  Not just any phone call.

I answered.

“Hi, Laura.”

It was him.  It was him.

How. Did. He. Get. This. Number?

Who was he? His voice sounded so familiar to me, yet it was disguised.  A familiar stranger.  I hung up.  Every day, someone came to my door to tell me I had a phone call.  Every. Day.  Every day, I had to answer it in case it was my parents.  Every day, it wasn’t my parents and I had to endure listening to his voice and then hang up on him. This happened for weeks on end.

Photo by John-Paul Henry on Unsplash


One night after an eve watch – meaning we got off duty at about 10:30 PM, my watch section gathered at Carlos’ new apartment to toast him as he started leave and headed to Puerto Rico to marry his sweetheart, Carmen.  After we’d all had a few snacks and a couple drinks we started to go our separate ways.  I was a bit nervous.  Carlos had given me a ride to the apartment, but I’d have to walk home, and my stalker was out there somewhere. It was well after midnight.

Photo by Aleksandar Popovski on Unsplash

Chris had graciously offered to give me a ride.  The base wasn’t far away, but still, it was midnight.  As we pulled up to my barracks, I was hypervigilant. I looked behind me. I looked over Chris’ shoulder.  I looked in front of me, beside me, and as I said, “goodbye,” I reached for the door handle, and shwhooop……with one fell swoop my head was in his lap.

He had reached around my head with his right arm, put his hand on the side of my head, on my ear, and pushed my head into his lap.  He was now holding me down and trying to undo his pants at the same time.  I was kicking and I think I was screaming, but I’m not so sure any sound left my throat.

Then, I suddenly realized.

It’s him.

He’s my stranger on the phone.

But he’s not a stranger.

I know him.  I know him.

I broke free of his grasp and I bolted out the door.  I ran for my room and I locked the door behind me.

The next day on duty, he was there.  As. If. Nothing. Happened.

I worked in the computer room – surrounded by glass. Everyone could see in and I could see out to the rest of the floor. My secure phone rang.  I picked it up and he said, “Hi, honey!”

Hi. Honey?!  What??  I hung up on him.


The next thing I knew I was being counseled by my supervisor for being insubordinate.  INSUBORDINATE! I broke down crying.  I told my supervisor everything.  I told him what happened.  I told him how Chris was always complimenting me on how good I smelled, how good I looked, about the stalking phone calls over the last several months, and I described the incident in the car the night before.  The incident.  I didn’t even call it an attack.  I called it an incident.

My supervisor dismissed me and called Chris into the office.  Shortly afterward, I was called in again.  He told me that Chris admitted to EVERYTHING.  EVERYTHING.  And, he formally counseled Chris and put the counseling in his division record.  If Chris behaved himself for the next 6 months, the counseling would get pulled from his record.  And, Chris had the pleasure of continuing to work with me.

He wasn’t a stranger.

I worked with my stalker.

I worked with my attacker.

I got away.

But, he got away with it.



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comments   | 

  1. Joanne says:

    Simply awful what some get away with!

  2. April Aleman says:

    This infuriates me! As a mother to 3 girls I want them to know this is not ok. I want them to fight the stigma. I am glad the tides of society are turning to empower women to fight and put a#$&*(%@ like this down!

  3. Wow! I understand this exact thing… 🙁 Thanks for sharing.

  4. Shirley says:

    You have an amazing story writing talent. I was glued to this to the end. So sad that it is true and truely happend to you. Thank you for sharing. Your stories will help others.

  5. Karla says:

    I am so sorry. Nothing else but grief for the younger you.

  6. Suzan says:

    Infuriating. Just infuriating how this kind of behavior has been accepted & in many ways allowed.

  7. Alexandra says:

    sad sad sad story….

  8. Holly Bird says:

    I am so sorry that you had to go through this! I can not believe that he got away with this, I am glad you got counseling, as a fellow sexual assault victim it is truly something you do not get over. and it took me years to realize I did nothing wrong. I am embarrassed that your supervisor did nothing except let him work with you.. This was so wrong..I am sorry!

  9. Haley Kelley says:

    This is a very strong post. I applaud you for your bravery and also for being so open with others about it. Thank you for sharing.

  10. Lisa Manderino says:

    That is a sick man! Do you think that people would take you more seriously in 2019 compared to back then! I sure hope so! I feel like as a society we have come farther but maybe I’m wrong!

  11. Stacey says:

    I’m so sorry this happened to you and he had no consequences, not even moving him from where you worked. I hope stories like yours will help this not to happen to other women.

  12. Kendra says:

    This is terrible and terrifying, but happens way too often. I truly wish for health and healing for you.

  13. Lina says:

    How awful! I am so sorry you went through that and he got away… Thank you for sharing your story.

  14. T.M. Brown says:

    What an awful situation for anyone to have to endure!

  15. Liz says:

    This is awful, but I’m glad you got away. Wish you the best

  16. Nicole Cruze says:

    I am sorry you had to endure this 💔

  17. Tricia Snow says:

    I Am glad you got away. Terrifying.

  18. Liza says:

    You are so strong! No one deserves to have this happen to them. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope it will give others the strength to do the same.

  19. Heather says:

    OH my goodness, how terrible! I can’t even begin to imagine this. Again, thank you for continuing to share your story.

  20. Chris says:

    Sorry you had to go through this painful experience, which must have been difficult to share. Thank you for having the bravery to do so.

  21. mr beast says:

    Currently it sounds like Drupal is the preferred blogging platform available right now.
    (from what I’ve read) Is that what you’re using on your blog?

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Laura Lee, 52, with invisible wounds and scars.  I've learned to embrace PTSD and depression because if I don't own them, they'll own me.  I don't want to simply survive, but to thrive.  I hope you'll join me on my journey.  It's sure to be a bumpy road.



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