This sort of thing had never happened to me on the metro, although my friends have told me of having such "attacks," from which they vehemently recoiled, but I thought they were lying, because I had never been the subject of such "adventures," as they say.This sort of thing had never happened to me on the metro, although my friends have told me of having such "attacks," from which they vehemently recoiled, but I thought they were lying, because I had never been the subject of such "adventures," as they say. But there it was. A hand, firmly pushing against my buttocks. You should know that it isn't my nature to protest against a thing like this--au contraire. By contracting the muscles of my behind, I tried to make understood to this hand, that I appreciated its audacity. But whose hand was this? I knew there were three men behind me: one immediately behind and another at each side. Which of the three? I didn't dare turn around in fear that the man would take my movement for a rebuff. After all, it wasn't important whose hand it was. I was delighted that this was happening; I forgot the extreme inconveniences of the metro at 6:30 in seeing, or feeling, the enormous advantages that came with it. |