I was seduced by mistake.
This is a true story, though so improbable you might not believe me.
My first job out of college was in a greenhouse, agricultural research for ICI and later Zeneca. There was a sharp-nosed entymologist, a woman who grew microscopic nematodes in tomato pots, had buckets of rustling larvae, and a temp to mist her butterfly cages twice a day. She was a sarcastic woman from England, no curves, and she brought her husband the soil man.
Neville, Soil Specialist, had a brogue so strong I couln't make heads or tails of it half the time. He was unlike his wife, an entirely different coin in education and presentation. He was a wizard with keeping soil* alive, and carried the evidence home beneath his fingernails -- which he freqeuently scraped with a pocket knife. He kept our big machines running, squirreled away bags of goods to fill all requests, and was a general do-gooder and amiable fellow.
None of us could entirely understand his rumbling voice. I just smiled and nodded a lot, you know, friendly. It was my first job and I liked everybody. Especially Rick, who was cosmopolitan and owned a yacht, and knew camping and songs and sails.
I was walking home one day, thinking about our latest camping trip, walking through a Richmond neighborhood that had had riots recently after the videotape of the Rodney King beating was aired, and Neville offered me a lift.
Dangerous neighborhood. Friendly face. I took the lift.
When we got home, he was eager to come in for some of the old hurly burly. I understood that clearly enough! Apparently half of what I hand't understood had been come-ons, weeks of increaingly forward suggestions that I'd apparently cheerfully agreed to. Neville was insistent and rather irritated when I disabused him of the notion that I was going to have sex with him.
I never could look his wife in the eye after that.
Should I have told the entymologist?