He was in his 90s – I never imagined he would sexually assault me

He was in his 90s – I never imagined he would sexually assault me

I had always thought that if I ever faced sexual assault, I’d challenge the person responsible. Yet when it actually happened, I was utterly frozen, unable to utter a single word, let alone scream.

The man in question was a 90-something-year-old mentor I’d long considered wise and reliable. After the incident, he smiled at me with a self-satisfied grin, his tongue tracing his lips as if savoring the moment, reminiscent of a lizard’s slow, deliberate movement. It felt like a serial, almost routine act, part of an unspoken pattern. I wasn’t the first, and I wouldn’t be the last.

During lockdown, when I was stuck at home like everyone else, it became clear that life isn’t a dress rehearsal. I had fallen in love with acting at age five, but for years, my dream of studying with a renowned teacher in Los Angeles remained on hold due to career demands.

A few years ago, the urgency to pursue it finally struck. I realized I couldn’t keep delaying something that meant so much. Choosing this teacher, who was in his advanced years, made the decision more urgent: if I didn’t act now, the chance might vanish forever.

On November 25, 2024, Metro launched This Is Not Right, a campaign to spotlight the ongoing crisis of violence against women. Partnering with Women’s Aid, the initiative aims to reveal the alarming scale of this national emergency.

For weeks, my emails went unanswered, and I feared I’d missed my opportunity. Then, unexpectedly, his assistant replied, inviting me for six private lessons. I believed I’d gain something rare and enduring from this mentor. His age seemed like an asset – he was accomplished, and I felt I’d be learning from someone extraordinary.

On my first day, I met the teacher and his assistant, and we entered the studio alone. The session began normally: he explained basic acting principles, focusing on observation and memory. His behavior was unremarkable at first.

As the lesson progressed, he introduced a new exercise with a gentle tone. He instructed me to close my eyes and say his name instantly when something occurred. I complied, eyes shut and waiting – until his hand suddenly reached in, firm and quick, inside my jumper. The moment was both shocking and intimate.

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The assistant, a man in his 30s, watched silently throughout. When I opened my eyes, I looked to him for reassurance, but he simply looked away, signaling his complicity in the abuse.

I hesitated to confront him directly, too embarrassed to expose the humiliating act. Looking back, his authority and the presence of another person might have influenced my inaction. The sexual assault had been subtly woven into the exercise, making it feel less deliberate and more routine.

The teacher later suggested joining another class the following week. I had no desire to accept, dreading what he might have in store next. After leaving, the full weight of the experience hit me, and I broke into tears.

The image of him as a respected mentor, with an impressive career and a mention of his wife during the session, made his actions feel even more inexplicable. I couldn’t shake the feeling that his behavior was shaped by age and past experiences, though I knew that growing up in a different era wasn’t an excuse for sexual assault.

I stopped attending sessions but stayed in LA for another month before returning home. A week later, I received an email asking why I hadn’t come to my second lesson. I couldn’t believe the acting teacher had dared to assume I’d return after what had transpired.