The London Underground seems to be a hive of theft and vindication, where no one is safe from the next man and their prying buttocks. Thats correct I just said buttocks, or any other body part that might spring to mind. The valuable in your pockets are safe from harm, the purse is of no concern; who wants to reach in for a purse only to rescue a pocket dildo suffocating for some decent use, or even the ipod has become a chore to apprehend being tied to the victims ears; trouble is if my ipod would ever get stolen I hope to receive it back from the perpetrator because he values my eclectic choice of music - hopefully missing the whitney and Britney albums - and continues on his (or hers) merry thieving way seeking out people who probably don't deserve iPhone 4’s (a later discussion)
What I am talking about is our very British valuables or the private regions of our bodies. I don’t remember seeing a sign before stepping onto the central line at liverpool street station saying that its perfectly fine to rub other peoples genitals? It appears that there are no rules or regulation for personal space, cooped up like cattle off to be made into ingredients for chili con carne, people just seem it quite natural to place there hands where ever space will allow them.
I too am a victim of this sad attempt of clothed rape. Without even conscience thought or suggestion the train pulled into chancery lane and amongst all the jiggling of bodies and re-shifting of personal space my crotch was suddenly directly wedged between the buttocks of quite a handsome twenty-something gentleman. he didn’t seem to budge or move forward; maybe he had read the sign in the station? But for the next three stops with all the motions from the train or the change in speed this man did not budge! I started to think, ‘maybe he has claimed his space and defending it?’ rather than urinating up a tree like a tiger or fox, he has decided to bum-bard me, suddenly I felt in the wrong and retained my dignity by thrusting my crotch further into the seat of his trousers as the train sped up, alas no one moved, maybe if he moved forward his face could be suffocated between the enormous breast of the Jamaican woman in-front.
As the train pulled into Tottenham Court Road station he stepped off and turned to look at me, I’m not sure if I implicated a slight grin or my mind decided to fill in the gaps with positive thoughts. But if there was a grin or sly smile then I had lost the battle and had been violated! we didn’t even swap numbers. Probably the best one morning ‘stand’ I’ve ever had.
Beware people of your valuables on the train, for that short moment they are anyones.
