I had on some black leggings, a zebra print dress with pockets, a short blazer, and red peep-toe flats. I was going on a date with myself - gonna see Avenue Q and follow that up with a Mediterranean dance party at a downtown club.
I was celebrating the point where I could really see and feel my weight loss. I ran out of all the skinny clothes I'd saved over the last 5 years, and I was gonna have to start building a temporary wardrobe. I found that zebra dress at Marshall's for a cool twenty bucks, and it was a size 18. I haven't been in a size 18 dress for 5 years, and that was a size enjoyed only briefly.
I'm starting to like the shape of my legs for the first time, ever. I still got some jelly curd thighs, but there's shape there, muscle tone. I don't feel thunder-thighed. I like my ass. I like my small waist and how my ass just BOOMS out from it. I feel attractive. Most importantly, I feel attracted to my own body. Girl Power! Zig-a-zig-ah!
So I'm lookin' fine, sitting on the bus on the way downtown to Avenue Q. I'm crossing my legs the way I couldn't 5 months ago. There are plenty of open seats, not many people on board. Which is why I was surprised when a guy sat next to me. He could have had a bench to himself, but he sat next to me. Even though my legs were crossed and my ankle was dangling over into his leg space.
Whatever. Free country and all that. I uncross my legs and skootch closer to the window. Look outside at the lake swimming by me. Avoid eye contact. Standard procedure.
My ass doesn't crossover into the other seat anymore, so I was a little disappointed when I felt the guy's thigh against mine. I thought that life was behind me - wait a minute! He's sitting on the outside seat; according to procedure, he should sit closer to the edge so we don't touch. Damn this guy. He's just trying to prove a point and take up all of the seat allotted to him.
I continue staring out the window. I feel a strange sensation on my thigh. Is he just sitting really close to me? I wait a few moments more, trying to determine - without looking - if I'm feeling movement down there. I'm tingling...there's definitely some movement going on.
I glance down, and see the guy's hand on the side of my thigh. I look back out the window and think, "Maybe he's just getting something out of his pocket. Don't overreact until you have visual confirmation!"
I look down again and it's confirmed: motherfucker's palm is turned out and he's not so subtly palming and massaging my thigh. I glance over at him, and he's looking straight ahead. I glance down and he's still going at it. It can't be denied; this chulo is outright molesting me.
Throughout this whole thing, my face is hot, my heart is racing, and I'm trying not to melt down. Once it's confirmed, I weigh my options: Get up and move to a new seat; call this motherfucker out, quietly; or call this motherfucker out by making a scene.
A few years ago, an old guy tried to feel me up on the bus. I lost my words and got up, crying, and moved to the back of the bus. I felt people looking at me like I was the freak. The old guy stared and smiled at me for the rest of the ride.
I wasn't gonna do that shit again. I got there first. This motherfucker was gonna get served.
I tightened my grip on the umbrella that was lying across my lap. In one quick movement, I snatched it up, aimed the handle at his crotch and said, "Get. Your hands. Off me."
His hand went straight to his mouth. He pretended to stroke his goatee. People turned and stared. I made eye contact with them as if to say, "Yeah, fuck this guy. If something happens now, you bitches better have my back."
He didn't change seats, and I refused to let this asshole eject me from mine. He kept his hands to himself for the rest of the ride, which seemed like an eternity. He got off at the first stop on Michigan. I was relieved and pissed and scared and shaken....so many feelings.
I didn't let this spoil the show for me. I enjoyed myself. But even though I started out the evening feeling and lookin' fine, I just felt insecure and exposed after that. I skipped the dance party (where I was hoping to dance with some hot Mediterranean men) because I didn't feel like being attractive to anyone anymore that night.
It sucked. But I feel like I won in this round, if only for bringing attention to that asshole. Next time it happens, I'll call the fucker out, and continue with my sexy-ass plans. But for now, baby steps.
So there's that,