'Go on, ya fine thing,' she'd breathed in my ear as she pinned me against the ropes, 'your buttocks are like little peaches.' It's true, my buttocks are firm and well-toned, but it was not pleasant hearing in that particular context. So I wanted something done about it.
Colleagues advised that I should tone down my wardrobe, to make myself less inviting. 'Wearing a mankini is asking for trouble,' they said.
I found this rather offensive. I was the victim, my irresistible charm shouldn't be to blame, and mixed-gender wrestling had been a stimulating and rewarding hobby of mine for years.
'When you start on a journey of vengeance,' said Confucius, 'dig two graves.' However, my concern was not for myself, but for other attractive male doctors who might find themselves in the same uncomfortable situation.
The solicitor listened carefully, then told me his plan. 'Hang on,' I said, 'isn't this supposed to be a joint decision? A partnership? I've been reading up on the issue, and I wish to know my options so that I can make an informed choice.'
He gave me a pitying smile. 'And where were you reading up on it?' he asked.
'The Daily Mail,' I said, feeling the words stick in my throat even as I spoke them.
'Look buddy,' he said, 'I've been dealing with this kind of stuff all my life, though I'll admit your case is a trifle unusual; sexual harassment of the balding, specky and middle-aged is uncommon. Your knowledge is gleaned from a tabloid. I'm the professional, you are the client. I tell you what to do; this isn't an ice-cream parlour, I don't give you a menu. If you don't want my advice, take a hike.'
So why are doctors supposed to be different? For some reason, we are expected to negotiate, to take the patient's point of view into account, to reach a consensus, even though their knowledge is as limited, compared to ours, as my knowledge of the law. Or of what women really want.