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

I had always assumed that if I was eversexually assaulted, I would confront or challenge whoever was doing it.

When it actually happened, I completely froze. I did not shout – I couldn’t even speak.

In the moments afterwards, this 90-something-year-old man – someone I had thought of as a wise, trustworthy mentor – smiled at me, incredibly smug, and caressed his lips with his tongue like a lizard, as if relishing every second of my discomfort.

It felt serial, a routine act following a pattern. I wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last.

During lockdown, while I, like the rest of the country, was stuck at home, it dawned on me that life is not a dress rehearsal.

I had fallen in love with acting at the age of five. For years, I’d intended to train in Los Angeles with a renowned teacher, but for various reasons, such as my career, it was always put on hold.

But a few years ago, the urgency hit me. I realised I couldn’t keep postponing something that mattered so deeply. Knowing the acting teacher I’d long admired was of advanced age made the decision even clearer: if I didn’t act now, the opportunity might disappear forever.

On November 25, 2024Metrolaunched This Is Not Right, a campaign to address the relentless epidemic of violence against women.

With the help of our partners at Women's Aid, This Is Not Right aims to shine a light on the sheer scale of this national emergency.

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For weeks, my emails went unanswered; I was worried I had left it too late. Then, out of the blue, his assistant replied, inviting me to have six private lessons.

I really thought I was going to learn something unique, timeless and quintessential about acting. I saw this teacher’s age as a plus – he was accomplished. I couldn’t help feeling I would be in the presence of someone very special.

On my first day, I met the teacher and his assistant and, together, we went into the studio. There were no other acting lessons taking place, as it was after hours.

The first part of the session was completely as expected; he introduced a few straightforward acting concepts. We went over exercises that mostly involved observation and memory. His behaviour was completely normal.

Near the end, in a kindly tone, he introduced a new exercise. He nodded quietly and ordered me to close my eyes and say his name the moment something happened.

I stood there, eyes closed and waiting – when suddenly his hand shot down, hard and fast, straight inside my jumper.

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His assistant, a man in his 30s, was present the entire time and witnessed everything. When I opened my eyes I looked to him for help but he simply looked away, which indicated he was complicit in theabuse.

Ironically, I felt too embarrassed to put the teacher on the spot by pointing out the humiliating act he had just done to me.

Looking back, his stature and the fact that there was a someone else there could have been a factor in my not reacting. It was also confusing that the sexual abuse was inconspicuously immersed into an exercise.

The teacher suggested I join another class the following week. I had no intention of taking him up on his offer; I hated to think what he had in store for me next time.

Once I left, what had happened in the studio finally hit me and I burst into tears.

The image I had of him as a wise, trustworthy mentor made the experience feel even more violating.

He was so well-respected, with an impressive career, and during the session he had even mentioned his wife – these things made his behaviour feel all the more incomprehensible and disturbing.

I did later consider whether the behaviour of older men is shaped by their age and their experiences from a different era; but growing up in a ‘different time’ is never an excuse for any kind ofsexual assault.

I didn’t attend any more sessions, but stayed for another month in LA before returning home.

I received an email a week later asking why I didn’t show up to my second lesson. I couldn’t believe the acting teacher had the audacity to assume I would return after what happened.

Once I got home, I felt I needed to tell people as an attempt to understand what happened to me.

Once in a while I would bring it up randomly if something triggered it. I was shocked at how many people I spoke to had also experienced some form of sexual abuse of all levels, at some point in their lives.

What struck me most was that the only reason they felt able to share their experiences with me was because I had shared my own story first.

Experiences like mine are far more common than I had realised, but they often remain hidden because ofshameand fear.

And if men feel confident to assault women, it often means they assume their actions will gounchallenged or unpunished.

In my opinion, the education system shouldtake a more active role in addressing sexual abuse.We need to be explicitly teaching both men and women about consent, respect, boundaries, and accountability.

I want people to know that freezing in these situations can happen; shock can paralyse even the most confident person, so do not blame yourself for not reacting as you always imagined you would.

What matters is refusing to carry the shame that belongs to the perpetrator; whoever they are, and whatever their age.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailingRoss.Mccafferty@metro.co.uk.

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