A victim of frottage speaks her mind
Yes, I got felt up on a train
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Dictionary.com defines frottage as: the act of rubbing against the body of another person, as in a crowd, to attain sexual gratification. And since I gave up the mosh-pit - years ago - I thought I was fairly safe from this embarrassing, invasive, and generally icky practice.
But after boarding a crowded train at Sydney's Wynyard station on a recent Friday night - en route to drinks and dinner a short two stops away - I gradually became aware that the short, inoffensive looking man who'd squeezed in behind me at the last minute was getting off on rubbing my buttocks. With his hand, thank goodness, but he was really copping a feel.
At first I did what all women will do in that particular circumstance - I tried to move away. Sometimes just the act of moving will cause the frotteur to desist, as they prefer to rub undetected. But the lack of space in the crowded compartment - and persistence on this individual's part - meant his hand moved with me. Twice. I stood there, analysing how I felt. Embarrassed, slightly amused, and then - in a mighty wave - very very ANGRY. So I turned around and said at the top of my voice: "If you do that again I will f#%$ing KILL you!"
All conversation in the carriage ceased immediately - as I'd expected. But one lady near me immediately told me to come over next to her, and made room for me, enveloping me in a hug. The man standing next to the little pervert asked me what he'd been doing and reassured me it wouldn't happen again, fixing him with a steely glare. And the culprit had to endure about four minutes in close proximity to fellow travellers who all knew what he'd done - until the next stop.
He escaped at the next stop, and I was feeling too flustered to pursue him, although now I wish I'd asked someone with a camera phone to take his picture (I don't have one). It hasn't made me afraid to travel on public transport, in fact I've felt highly empowered ever since giving him that mouthful. My husband and all my friends have congratulated me for taking a stand.
But I was really sad when one of the girls in front of me in the carriage congratulated me for doing it, confessing it had happened to her twice and both times she'd been too scared to do anything. So here's the thing.
I would hope any woman anywhere would find - if the carriage is crowded, people will help you. And if it's not crowded, move away, get off, and protect yourself. But whatever happens, please report it. I hate to think of those measly little perverts getting away with it, just because otherwise happy and independent young women are too scared to let them know what a disgusting piece of filth they really are.
And for all the frotteurs in Sydney: you have been warned. Don't pick on petite brunettes who politely move aside to let you through. They bite.
But after boarding a crowded train at Sydney's Wynyard station on a recent Friday night - en route to drinks and dinner a short two stops away - I gradually became aware that the short, inoffensive looking man who'd squeezed in behind me at the last minute was getting off on rubbing my buttocks. With his hand, thank goodness, but he was really copping a feel.
At first I did what all women will do in that particular circumstance - I tried to move away. Sometimes just the act of moving will cause the frotteur to desist, as they prefer to rub undetected. But the lack of space in the crowded compartment - and persistence on this individual's part - meant his hand moved with me. Twice. I stood there, analysing how I felt. Embarrassed, slightly amused, and then - in a mighty wave - very very ANGRY. So I turned around and said at the top of my voice: "If you do that again I will f#%$ing KILL you!"
All conversation in the carriage ceased immediately - as I'd expected. But one lady near me immediately told me to come over next to her, and made room for me, enveloping me in a hug. The man standing next to the little pervert asked me what he'd been doing and reassured me it wouldn't happen again, fixing him with a steely glare. And the culprit had to endure about four minutes in close proximity to fellow travellers who all knew what he'd done - until the next stop.
He escaped at the next stop, and I was feeling too flustered to pursue him, although now I wish I'd asked someone with a camera phone to take his picture (I don't have one). It hasn't made me afraid to travel on public transport, in fact I've felt highly empowered ever since giving him that mouthful. My husband and all my friends have congratulated me for taking a stand.
But I was really sad when one of the girls in front of me in the carriage congratulated me for doing it, confessing it had happened to her twice and both times she'd been too scared to do anything. So here's the thing.
I would hope any woman anywhere would find - if the carriage is crowded, people will help you. And if it's not crowded, move away, get off, and protect yourself. But whatever happens, please report it. I hate to think of those measly little perverts getting away with it, just because otherwise happy and independent young women are too scared to let them know what a disgusting piece of filth they really are.
And for all the frotteurs in Sydney: you have been warned. Don't pick on petite brunettes who politely move aside to let you through. They bite.
Anyway, I hadn't heard the word frotteur. Weird, but it sounds kinda...elegant or something...
Funny bastard. Funny. Bastard 
