On the female knee strike to the groin
...I believe a woman has every right to hit a man in the balls if she is attacked, if someone is being rude and intrusively harassing her, if her honor is being threatened—in general, when she faces real danger. There is a simple, yet amazingly effective and fail-proof technique of female self-defense that has bailed me out several times in dubious situations and has never let me down. Here is one such case...
Twelve years ago, when I was 26, I met a man about seven years older than me on a dating site, his name was Oleg (the name is unchanged, I have no intention of sparing his male ego). We met, went for a walk, talked, and agreed
to meet again. Our first meeting was during the day, on a Sunday, and I got home quite early. Oleg scheduled the second date for seven in the evening a week later, although I would have preferred earlier on a weekend. For the meeting, I wore a short black leather skirt, a white short-sleeved blouse, and my favorite white German sandals with a "butterfly" strap on a stiletto heel. We met in Borshchahivka, there's such a residential district in Kyiv. I noticed Oleg couldn't take his eyes off my bare legs, especially when we sat down on a bench. He first tried to casually, and then more and more persistently, place his palm on my knee; I politely and calmly, but firmly, removed it. Then we walked around the neighborhood, Oleg tried to put his arm around my waist, then my shoulders......Suddenly it started to rain, and we took shelter in the entrance of some nine-story building. Going up to a landing somewhere between the second and third floors, we waited for the rain to let up and talked calmly. It was already dark outside, and there were no people on the stairs or in the entrance.
At some point, I noticed his voice had gone hoarse, as if his throat was dry, Oleg started breathing heavily. Suddenly, without saying a word, he pressed me back against the wall of the stairwell. Taking both my wrists in his hand, Oleg raised them and pinned them to the wall above my head. Looking down, I saw his "organ" bulging through his trousers. Oleg was panting heavily, his face all red. With his free hand, he placed it on the bare skin of my thigh and slowly moved it upward. His hot fingers caught on the edge of my skirt; I had no more doubts about his intentions. I didn't wait for him to hike up my skirt, I didn't try to talk him out of it, scream, or call for help. Unexpectedly and very sharply, my knee flew up into his crotch. The "female" technique worked, as always, without a hitch, instantly knocking out the overly ardent "macho." Oleg, having received a crushing knee strike to his overexcited "jewels," cried out and, doubling over, heavily sank to the floor right at my feet.
Without saying a word, I pushed him in the chest with my knee. He fell, curled up, onto the floor of the landing. My heart was pounding heavily from the adrenaline, though it all happened in just a few seconds. I understood that Oleg, with "scrambled eggs" instead of his own, couldn't do anything more to me; he was out of commission for a good while, demoralized and disoriented. I straightened my skirt, took my purse from the windowsill, and, stepping over the "gentleman" curled up on the floor, went outside. The rain was still falling, not as heavy now. I got on a minibus and went home. Sitting in the minibus, I noticed some man standing over me, staring fixedly at my bare knees. Following his gaze, I saw a pinkish bruise spreading around the knee I had used to strike. So as not to make anyone uncomfortable, I placed my purse on my knees.
...Oleg couldn't have known, pinning me in that entrance, that I am very proficient in this proven technique. From doing aerobics and Latin dance, I have built up my leg muscles, so my strike leaves no chance for guys like Oleg.
And I didn't wear that provocative mini-skirt by accident, but consciously, so that if needed, it would be more convenient to strike with my knee or the toe of my shoe...