At some point in some random psych class I took at some point in my I'll-be-a-psych-major career (extending from junior year of high school to freshman year of college), I learned a great word:
frotteur
n : someone who masturbates by rubbing against another person (as in a crowd)
This word is very important while living in a city, especially one in which a young woman plans on taking mass transit of any sort.
Today was frotting experience number two. A crowded train, a man behind me. I went through the same mental running order as I did the last time: Is he really close to me or is that just because we're stuffed in here like sardines? Well, we are stuffed, but wouldn't a normal guy try to dis-align his pelvis with my ass? Is that a hand or a bag or...God, something else... poking my thigh? Should I say something? What could I say?
Throughout the inner monologue, I continously tried shifting so as to block his access to my body. That's not an easy task when your metro car is so packed that you actually rode between two stations with your bag still partly out the door because you couldn't fit it in.
The last frotteur encounter, granted, was worse. That time was on a bus. The frotteur litterally caged me between his two arms and took advantage of the crowded bus to slam me against a poll with his body and grind away. This time, I think the guy at least felt guilty about what he was doing, and thus was trying to keep his hand from straying despite the other part of his brain that was apparently urging him to let it do so. Luckily, just when I was 100% sure of what exactly was going on, it was my stop. I was so happy to get off that train.
Still. How are you supposed to react in that sort of situation? I could call him on it, but he has the really valid defense of being on a crowded bus. Saying something to the effect of, "Mademoiselle, we're all crowded in here and are too close for comfort. I'm sorry, but where can I go?" To a normal Parisian, that might make perfect sense. To anybody who has not been frotted before, that seems feasible. It would seem especially valid because the frotteur in question was actually a well-dressed business-type with wire-rimmed classes and a nice briefcase. Were he to answer in that manner, with everyone listening and staring, I would turn red and my tongue would twist all over itself, and even if I knew I was right I would start to wonder if I had been wrong.
It's just a gross feeling. A helpless and ugly feeling. These frotteurs do this because they know they can get away with it. Everyone's standing close, they get off on standing super-close to certain people. I felt disgusting when I got off the train. My only condelence, unfortunately, was that my friend who had been on the train with me had experienced a similar situation just a week prior. That shouldn't be comforting, really, but it was.
Blech.
I've had that SAME experience in Chicago. After spending two stops trying to readjust so that my bag was between his nasty crotch and my defenseless ass, I instead slunk off the train about ten stops early and waited for the next one.
I keep telling myself that next time, I'll totally call him on his shit, loudly exclaiming, "Excuse me sir, but do you really think I'll believe you rubbing against me in that manner is truly an accident of this crowded train? how then do I manage on *other* crowded trains with my ass unmolested? Would you treat your mother this way?" and shame the man into exiting.
Except I totally know I wouldn't. I'd shuffle, adjust, and slink off as per usual.
I was on the metro yesterday and a man pinned me against a pole and muttered at me for three stops. Thinking I was being really smart, I finally pushed past him and took a free seat. Except that sitting down meant he could come stand with his crotch directly in my face. Great. I was getting up my courage to say something, when he started barking. BARKING. So, even though I would have liked to have said something clever or assertive or effective (OK, I would have settled for coherent), I think I probably did the right thing in not antagonizing the crazy man. Plus the girl next to me totally had my back and yelled, "Ca va pas, euh?!" which didn't stop the barking or the crotch thrusting, but did make me laugh. And then get the hell out of there.
I was thinking about this for a while, wondering what you could say to make a man back off, and win the exchange. I am a man, you see, so perhaps my insight may be helpful.
I would go for:
'Excuse me monsieur, I know this metro is crowded and there isn't much space, but could you perhaps try to stop rubbing your penis against my body quite so vigorously?'
yucky!! lol at alien's suggestion
Ugh. Yech. Bleh.
Hmmm, when I try and imagine myself in his position, I reckon half the thrill probably comes from the feeling of anonymous contact. I mean, if you're rubbing your crotch on unknown women in trains and buses, you're probably not the kind of guy that can deal with real contact with women.
I'd say you don't need to *say* anything. Just turn around and look the bastard in the eyes. If he takes that as an invitation to rub up against your front, step on his foot, HARD. Neither would cause a scene, and one or the other should certainly give him the right message.
I'm a guy, maybe that's why the first idea that came to me was "elbow the dirty bastard really hard". After all, the same crowded bus/train that allows these creeps to get off also give you the perfect excuse. So elbow him, step of his foot or slam him into something. Just do it when the bus/train lurches so it looks like an accident.
If you are opposed to violence, a good verbal bashing will work quite well too. Be loud. Be specific and protect your ass.