The Scientific Method to a Better Commute

Fact: I don’t take myself very seriously. But when random strangers on the subway get a hard-on on my ass, and then touch my ass, I start to get real serious.

Observations: This has now happened to me twice in my life. I’m fairly certain this puts me in an elite class of women who can call themselves experts on the subject. Kind of like MENSA for the sexually violated. Based on my expert opinion, the most plaguing aspect of this situation is the fact that I am so absorbed in my own world that I’m not sure exactly how long there was a boner on my ass before I realized there was a boner on my ass. This is very troubling to me. Can I really be that engrossed in the hustle and bustle of commuting to not immediately notice a 6 foot 4 inch, 250 lb gorilla’s gun digging into my hip the second it does so? What the hell else is going on around me on a daily basis that I’m missing?

Hypothesis: New Yorker’s have a threshold for stimuli like no other demographic group. The activity of the subway is sometimes overwhelming, and yet I have headphones on while I’m reading a book while thinking about where I’m going to buy my coffee this morning because I’m smelling some sort of a hazelnut aroma in front of me and to be honest, I’m sick of my usual morning haute. With all my senses engaged, how am I supposed to notice the cock against my back?

Conclusion: Frankly, this is unacceptable. I should always notice a cock against my ass and a giant hand cupping the other cheek. I am cutting back on my commuting accouterments. I think I need to pay closer attention to the things that really matter in life: The way rays of sun pierce through the spaces between the buildings in the morning, the sounds of the city, the faces of humanity--specifically the smug face of the man whose dick is pressed against my ass.