Unfortunately, when a woman says yes with her appearance and body language but no with her words, its confusing enough to make a man mad. Add some extra doses of testosterone and a narcissistic young guy drunk from a keg party and it does up the danger potential for the woman.
I grew up around jock culture in the Rocky Mountains. These guys were demi-Gods in a redneck town that worshiped hockey and football. In typical TV show fashion, the jocks dated either the cheerleader and/or prom queen. There wasn't much high culture around town so teenagers did campfire outdoor beer parties to entertain themselves. Since I looked nothing like the Jessica Simpson or Carrie Underwood doppelgangers around me, I hid in the library, reading about faraway lands or books about the New York and Paris art scene. Being invisible to jocks was a safe side to take even if one looked like a Texas Belle. I heard story after story of a girl who got hurt at a house party but wouldn't press charges over and over again when I hit puberty. When hockey and rodeo season started I would stay home. Then when I wasn't hiding out in the suburbs I was deliberately cultivating an ice queen affect. On the odd occasion that a typical jock did talk to me I developed an instinct to know what to say to make him leave me alone. Usually it was something that made me seem like an "ass" instead of a "smart ass". Don't even get me started on the jocks who misinterpreted my Dutch-Indonesian looks for being a sign that I was a demure Geisha who would cater to them.
Before I ran away at 16 to the East Coast and danced the night away Sex and the City Style like Carrie Bradshaw, I absorbed the message that (A) jocks were dangerous and (B) I was immune from the danger because of the way I looked. On one hand they ignored me anyway but jocks make perfect bullies so I never let my guard down around them. Unfortunately those messages led me to wear baggy clothing till I was 25, keep my hair short or in an unflattering style, and walk around with a chip on my shoulder. It took the famous HBO series to bring me out of my shell but I still stayed weary of jocks. The older I get the less fearful I am but it's never gone. I still expect an old jock in male menopause to be a chauvinist. The problem is, I don't take them talking to me like some dainty damsel idiot. Eventually I know I will answer back and then it's a tango I won't want to dance.
Another thing that this stereotypical way of perception did to my love life was have me seek out the opposite of the typical North American jock. I developed an attraction or kindred spirit to the international man. The one who resembled Michael Fassbender in X-Men: First Class, or Hugh Jackman in The Fountain, even James Purefoy in Maybe Baby. This was the guy who was raised in an old culture, spoke at least two languages fluently, and was worldly. When they were my lovers I learned more French and German. When they were my bosses or colleagues they acted like my father and mentor or an older brother who pushed me to perform better. I found that they would expect more from me than other females, mainly the Damsels, which was both confidence building and mysterious. My Jungian Analyst friend tells me that I'm an Athena archetype in personality. As a result I would naturally form father-daughter dynamics with men like Zeus, the father of Athena. A macho jock would encounter an Athena type female assuming she soft.