I generally don’t mind packed commuter trains. I dislike it, but it doesn’t get to me.
Today, train through Wombledin, district line barely running, thousands of extra people, and a 4-car train rather than the usual 8. It was quite intimate. I’m squeezed up against the sort of young lady I feel mildly disappointed with myself for lusting after – very hard-faced, beautifully made-up, pert, highlights, perfect nails, pink leather watch and ipod cover. MrsDummy is crammed in next to me, this woman is crammed in in front of me. I look at the ceiling. All going fine.
Suddenly, pretty missy decides that she needs to re-arrange the contents of her bag. NOW. Which she has placed between her feet. So she bends double. Which forces her bottom firmly and insistently into my groin. I have absolutely nowhere to go, and the operation with the bag takes some time. It has been a while, frankly. Certain dual-purpose parts of my anatomy have become largely single use in recent years. But they are starting to remember what they are all about. Something is stirring down there. My wife, meanwhile, has certainly noticed, firstly that the girl was standing there, and secondly that she is pushing her firm and sprightly backside into my crotch.
Climbing out of the window is not going to work. Saying “excuse me miss, but you’re giving me a hard-on, please stop” seems to risk setting an unfortunate precedent. It’s just not something you say anyway. And in any case she may not have noticed. Or she may think “this man is not a pervert, it’s not his fault, I pushed into him”. I have to stand there. Trying to think about Anne Widdecombe. And it’s really not working…. 😯
Your tales of transport awkwardness, ladies and gentlemen. 🙂