Close Encounters (groped on a Boston subway train)

The train car was overloaded, pressing me against others. I felt a hand on my leg,...

I'm twenty-four years old and fresh out of college. I'm in Boston, standing on the ramp waiting for the next train to arrive. I'm all alone and it's rush hour, 9am. I'm wearing a mid-thigh skirt and some pantyhose, it's a beautiful morning. My ankle boots are drawing some unexpected attention.

When I board the train, I quickly discover there is no place to sit. I grab the handrails like many others and brace myself for the ride. A large group of people enter the train at the next stop. Each stop is densely populated by people in need of a ride as well. Now, I'm pressed against others around me. Even more passengers enter the train. I'm being pushed very close to a man who is seated in front of me. I have no choice but to face him directly. I'm eerily close. I'm afraid to look down but I know he's just inches away from my thighs. My heart starts racing.

The train violently shakes its way down that bumpy track. A sudden nudge from behind pushes me even closer. I nervously glance downward. All I can see is the top of his head and his left hand. I gaze at his wedding ring with mixed emotions. He doesn't raise his head to acknowledge me, or he's afraid to. I focus my attention on the window behind him, as bricks go flying by. I can feel his warm breath on my thighs.

I think of his wife and how upset she would be if she were sitting beside him right now. Imagining his perspective begins to take hold. He's innocent given the circumstances, yet I'm willing to bet he's enjoying the view. My concern shifts to arousal.

I can feel the moisture building between my legs. As the train rolls on, I ever so slowly point my left leg and gently press my knee into his chest. I pretend that I'm unaware as the train thunders down the tracks. I soon realize I can feel his pulse as it radiates off my knee. His pulse is soaring. I begin to rattle with emotions.

I can feel my nipples harden as his warm breath rises up my skirt. Minutes seem like hours. With all the courage I can muster, I begin bumping my knee against his chest. I'm so stirred by the moment that I become somewhat dizzy.

The confined quarters are camouflaging what's occurring from others nearby, or so I thought. As my knee is pressed against his chest, I feel his hand graze the back of my thigh. It's gentle, as if it's seeking permission to land. I offer no resistance.

My hearts pounds like a bass drum when I feel him hold the back of my thigh. His warm breath is steaming my soaking pussy. Hidden behind my pantyhose I can feel my juices flowing down my creases. He gently squeezes my upper thigh, causing me to shiver in response. A woman seated to his left silently observes. I do my best to ignore her glare of disapproval as she attempts to make eye contact with me.

Suddenly, the subway car stops, and a few people exit the train. I'm still unable to move. It's another seven minutes to the next stop. He knows that too. He spends that time softly caressing my thigh, almost respectfully. He avoids pushing the envelope and stops short of feeling my ass.

As the train arrives downtown a bell chimes to announce the time and location. I place my hand on his shoulder and pat it lightly, as if to forgive him for his sin. Passengers exit the train allowing me to step backwards.

I see a man my fathers age, his eyes are glazed in disbelief. He continues to focus on my thighs. The woman sitting beside him shakes her head and glares at me with disgust. I exit the train and proceed up the stairs to the street above.

My pulse is still racing yet I stroll as if it never happened. I think of it often. It's been the subject of masturbation more times than I'd like to admit. I'm struck by my own courage at times. Most women would do anything to avoid what I chose to entertain.

That happened one summer morning on a subway train in Boston, Massachusetts. I bear no shame.