just your average subway molestation

Only a few--a very select few--have heard this story. I basically only told it to people I believed would in no way report it back to my grandmother, because upon hearing it, she will immediately believe that New York IS just like what she sees on NYPD Blue and Law & Order. (But Prill, I promise, I am unharmed and this is just an isolated case of a crazy New York pervert.) Plus, I keep getting a reaction of "Why didn't you...." and I can only say, "Honestly, what would you have done?"

On a typical Friday afternoon, I left work with my co-worker, Erica, and we headed for the subway. A Friday afternoon subway ride in New York is comparable to a Friday afternoon commute to the Cape on Labor Day weekend: completely, indescribably overcrowded.

Erica and I boarded the train and were forcefully shoved in various directions by the 8,349 people behind us. My backpack (that I was holding in front of me) hit some lady in the ass, and she snapped her head around and shot a dirty look to whoever might be responsible. "Sorry," I said. "It's my bag." She smiled understandingly.

The doors chimed and tried to close as people's limbs reached through in an effort to get a place on the already completely overfilled train. Some squeezed on, and soon I couldn't move my arms or legs because of the crowd. I knew I couldn't reach over to hold on, but I also knew I didn't have to because even if we collided head on with another train and rolled over six times, I'd remain completely upright thanks to the sardine-packed effect of the passengers. I looked around for Erica, smiled, and without another word, I silently prayed that no one near me had B.O. or farted.

As we pulled away from the station, I became aware of the presence of some object in the vicinity of my ass. Knowing from experience this could be anything from a bicycle to a backpack to a four-year-old, I didn't really think much of it. The train continued to jerk and sway, and each time I felt a stronger presence of the object near my ass. I could not turn my head and look because I could not move, but I started to realize there was a distinct cupping action occurring and in all likelihood, there was a hand grazing my right butt cheek.

I decided to just ignore it. Incidental contact is just a way of life, and I figured the person probably didn't even know his hand was touching my ass, and maybe it wasn't even a hand afterall...

Wait. What's this? I begin to feel a slight tickle in the small of my back. I can't quite discern what would cause that sensation, and spend several long moments surveying my options. The tail or nose of a dog? Unlikely. The small innocent hand of a child unaware of its movement? Possible. Very very possible. So I chose to believe that behind me some little kid, tired and draped over her mommy's shoulder, was sucking her thumb, twirling her hair, and wiggling her toes, which were inadvertently finding the quarter-inch gap between my shirt and skirt and tickling my flesh.

Well, the "small child," realizing she could get away with this, decided to take things a step further. Next thing I know the intruder is on its way DOWN the back of my skirt. Every alarm in my head went off, and while I still could not rotate my head or body to see what was happening, I wrestled an arm free to reach behind me. Nothing was there. Whoever it was stopped. Irritated and disgusted, I pulled my shirt back down and brought my arm back in front of me.

Then it came back, its persistance and flexibility leading me to believe some pervert's finger was to blame. This time it tried going up the back of my shirt, and as I re-adjusted to reach behind me again, I imagined taking hold and literally breaking the hand of whoever I came in contact with. I debated yelling something over my shoulder, like "Get your filthy hands off my ass you dirty fucking pig" but due to the overcrowded nature of the train, and also to the fact that a lot of New Yorkers would not just stand by if someone was in trouble, I honestly feared that any commotion would result in someone getting hurt--smooshed against a wall or a rib cracked against a railing. So I said nothing, and as I reached behind me the pervert ceased. I left my hand there as protection, and looked frantically over my left shoulder, then my right, trying to see what asshole was behind me doing this. But I could see nothing. I even looked in windows and people's eyeglasses to try to catch a reflection of the groper, but I could see absolutely nothing.

Now, bear in mind that this has all happened in less than one subway stop--9 short blocks, a total of maybe 45 seconds or a minute. As we approached the next stop, I prepared for a quick turnaround so I could see and/or attack whoever was doing this to me, but I couldn't move until some people got off and space became available.

The train stopped, the doors opened, and I snapped around to find a big empty space. Whoever he was, he was gone. Long gone.

At first I was horrified. I ran over to Erica and told her what happened. (It was the first time she got a taste of the "real Stephanie" complete with colorful descriptors that begin with the letter F.) Then I grew angry. Then I became amused. In the end, I'm irritated that this asshole got away with his pervy fondling, but I know that I'm not hurt, not scarred, and there will be no permanent damage.

And now when other people's bags hit me in the ass, I snap around and shoot them a dirty look until I know it's really just a bag, because god help the poor fool who I ever catch touching me with his hands. He'll be one dead, bruised, sorry mother fucker.