My battle with the bus pervert

If I had to name a few hundred, if not a thousand, I'd say I've encountered countless perverts on buses. Why? Because my home was in the suburbs. From a young age, I had to walk 8 minutes to the bus stop, take a 35-minute bus ride, and then walk another 20-odd minutes (or take one bus stop and walk 5 minutes) to get to school—that prestigious elementary, middle, and high school.

Elementary school: I vaguely remember it was the spring of the second semester of third grade. I was still taking the bus home, but the only difference was that when I got off, I found a short man's hand tightly gripping my genitals, his fingers almost tearing my pants. Just moments before

, I had been laughing and joking with my classmates, completely oblivious. I jumped off the bus, not feeling sad, upset, or annoyed, just confused. What was this man doing? Why was he touching me? I wasn't happy; it didn't seem like a good thing. Thinking back, I was already 145 cm tall then, and my breasts had developed, full and budding. In my memory, there was that man's hand that insisted on being on my chest, even though it was winter and I was wearing a thick faux fur coat. The bus was so crowded I couldn't move, and I hated that suffocating feeling. I hated the man's hand I remembered.

Another time, quite by chance, I saw a group of boys get on the bus. One of them, who seemed to be from my kindergarten, squeezed next to me, facing me—clearly he'd forgotten about me. To my utter surprise, he put his fingers between my legs. Even through my thick cotton pants, I could feel it. I tried to get rid of his hand, but he blocked my way with his leg. He even chatted loudly with his friends while touching me. I lowered my head, feeling unprecedented anger, humiliation, and helplessness. Before getting off the bus, that boy grabbed my genitals hard… Another vivid memory is of a middle-aged man in his forties, whom I thought was my grandfather when I was little. That "old man" always placed his hand on mine when he held the handrail. I tried to dodge, but couldn't. Finally, I crawled to the door and grabbed the vertical handrail, but a hateful hand still pinned me down. I angrily searched for the owner of that hand, and sure enough, it was that damned old man. He was wearing a Zhongshan suit and glasses, and was very refined and cultured. After getting off the bus, I mustered all my strength, held my breath, and spat at him. Of course, I didn't spit anywhere, but on him. It made me feel much better and my mood improved slightly. That old man had a great influence on my life.

First, I realized the hypocrisy of men; second, I finally understood that you can't avoid bus perverts, because you can't; third, I finally understood: I won't offend others unless they offend me, but if they offend me, I will retaliate!

Junior High: I Rebel By this time, my attitude towards bus perverts had completely changed from suspicion to hatred. Spitting, stomping on them, and kicking them back were things I often did. I

don't really remember many of them, but one pair of white pants has always remained in some corner of my memory. That time, I felt someone pressed tightly against my butt. I moved forward, but he still pressed against me. I glanced down, wanting to see where his feet were so I could kick them, but I unexpectedly discovered those white pants, snow-white, pressed tightly against my back.

So I kicked the white pants hard with the sole of my dirty shoe. Immediately, the white pants disappeared. I was genuinely pleased with myself, imagining the shoe print on the white pants and his unfortunate state, feeling incredibly happy, like Ah Q.

By the second year of junior high, I was already 162 cm tall, and my courage seemed to be growing as well. But more importantly, none of the perverts on the bus I spat on, kicked, or even cursed at retaliated against me. Why were these grown men afraid of me? Because they felt guilty and in the wrong, which further fueled my arrogance and even became a habit—if someone accidentally touched me on the bus, I would move aside; if a pervert followed me and repeated the above actions, I would turn my head and stare intently at him—like Sakuragi Hanamichi's "killing you with my eyes." When I was in a bad mood, I would add viciously, "You motherfucker, do you want to die?!

I'll send you on your way!" This intimidation always worked; the perverts would often abandon me and look for other targets.

By the time I was about to graduate from junior high, I no longer hated bus perverts; I only felt disdain. Why would a man seek pleasure on a bus?

Because he couldn't earn a lot of money, couldn't afford prostitutes or mistresses (mistresses weren't common back then); because he couldn't become a serious pervert, he could only act like a petty thug on the bus; because he was cowardly—otherwise, why would he have slunk away after I scolded him? I even suspected that these men were either henpecked or pathetic men who couldn't find wives…

High School: My Silence, My Outburst. In high school, it's more accurate to say I witnessed bus perverts than encountered them.

After several years of experience, I learned to protect myself. Taking the bus at least twice a day was when I was most focused. Once on the bus, I would quickly observe the gender, age, direction, and eyes of those around me, finding what I considered the safest place to stand. This lifestyle improved my ability to read people, creating a distrust and insecurity towards men that I still feel today.

It's often strange—a pervert would press his "gun" against a girl's butt, ever since I got on the bus. I kept glancing at him sideways, but she wouldn't move. Even when the bus was nearly empty, she remained motionless, letting him harass her. I guessed she must be too tired from work that day to bother with him; sometimes I felt sorry for her, thinking she should have cursed him like I did; I just couldn't understand it.

Another time, it wasn't exactly harassment, more of an accident. When getting off the bus, people tend to crowd around the doors, and I was one of them. Suddenly, I felt a student about my height standing behind me. I could feel his penis moving against my soft butt. I mischievously turned my buttocks towards his penis, and I felt a violent throbbing… The doors opened, and I got off. The air felt so fresh; revenge could give such intense pleasure. Years later, I think I should say I harassed someone.

Hehe, let's digress a bit and talk about "exhibitionists at bus stops."

In the north, darkness always falls early. Around 7 pm, only a touch of orange-red remained on the horizon, and dim streetlights stood beside the bus stop sign. A man in a trench coat walked towards me from across the street. He walked

straight towards me, and I just stared straight at him (actually, I could only see the trench coat clearly because my vision had decreased from 1.5 to 0.6, and the poor lighting made it impossible to see anything). When he

got very close, I finally saw that under the trench coat was flesh-colored, and he wasn't wearing anything. Suddenly, I felt a huge curiosity about an adult man's penis and wanted to see what it looked like.

But all I saw was a dark blob (I wish I had a flashlight—just kidding!), and I still couldn't see clearly. The man in the trench coat stopped in front of me, and there seemed to be a hint of disappointment on his face. At that moment, I think my expression was very calm; I was just curious, without any fear, fright, or even a scream. The man in the trench coat walked past me and continued walking. Curious, I followed him for about ten steps when he suddenly stopped… I suddenly felt it was incredibly inappropriate for a seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl like myself to be following a naked man in a trench coat, so I went back to the bus stop and waited for the bus.

Getting back to the point, that encounter a little over a month before the college entrance exam is something I will never forget. I won't forget it because of hatred, but because it was the end.

With only a few dozen days left until the exam, I was incredibly stressed. Every day I carried a heavy backpack, had endless homework, and could even fall asleep leaning against the wardrobe at night. My suppressed emotions felt like they were about to explode. That day after school, walking down the street, a bus happened to arrive that would save me 10 minutes of walking time by taking me one stop – I was overjoyed.

I squeezed on with many classmates, and a tall man stood facing me. I felt he was no good, but there was nothing I could do; there were too many people, and besides, I was about to get off, so I endured it.

The car swayed and slowed down. At that moment, this unlucky man unzipped my jeans and tried to put his hand inside. I was both angry and nervous, so I quickly blocked his hand and zipped up my jeans.

The bus stopped, and I wanted to get off, but he thought I was trying to get rid of him and blocked my way. Yes, he was very strong and tall, and I couldn't overpower this unfortunate man at all. The feeling at that moment was indescribable; a mix of despair and a surge of anger.

I thought: Damn it, I only rode one stop and I ran into a thug! You won't let me off? Fine! I won't get off today!!!

Coincidentally, on another bus, there was a boy from the next class I knew (his father and my mother were colleagues), so I asked him in an unusually calm, even gentle tone, "*Yang, do you have a knife?" To my surprise, he actually did (perhaps I wouldn't have been so impulsive if he hadn't, after all, I'm a kid who values my life), and it was a rather large and powerful knife, gleaming coldly in the darkness. When he gave it to me, he told me, "Don't tell your mom, don't let my dad know." I gripped the knife tightly, my hand feeling numb. Ten years of suppressed humiliation, frustration, and anger erupted completely at that moment. My voice was deafening, and I shouted out everything I wanted to say like a shrew.

Previously, the so-called intimidation radius was at most 0.4 meters (after all, even perverts have their pride), but this time the radius was a full 10 meters. I screamed hysterically, yelling and cursing at the top of my lungs, shouting out everything I could and knew. Many classmates were frightened by me (probably by the knife) and moved to the front of the car. I held the knife to that tall man.

He didn't say a word, turned his back to me, and I cursed, "Fuck your mother! You wolf in sheep's clothing, acting like a pervert! You're not looking at me now, but you were touching my dick earlier..." He turned his head, seemingly wanting to say something, and I cursed, "You motherfucker, you dare to say something?! Fuck your mother, if you dare say a word today, I'll stab you to death!" I pressed the knife against his lower back, and he subconsciously took a step forward, but he really didn't say anything, giving others a very aggrieved look, which made me even angrier.

Anyway, I cursed for two or three stops, and I don't even know what I cursed anymore. The pervert got off the bus, and I still yelled at him on the bus, "You just wait, if I see you again, I'll castrate you! Fuck your mother..." When I got home, I was still in a state of extreme agitation. I told my parents what happened, and of course, about the knife. My dad said it was a military dagger, a controlled weapon. My mom wrapped it in several layers of newspaper and told me to return it to Yang the next day. My dad gave me a dagger he'd sharpened in his youth, telling me to always carry it with me… The next morning, my deskmate excitedly asked, “I heard you ran into a thug yesterday?” “Yeah, bad luck.” The fat guy in front of me turned around and said, “I heard you said something really classic yesterday…” “Really? I don’t even remember what I said. What?” The fat guy said, “You really forgot? They said you cursed, ‘What kind of dick do you have to show off?’” A burst of laughter followed… Thinking back, it really was quite classic, “What kind of dick do you have to show off?” I’ve added it to my “quotes.”

Later, I went to university in the south and almost never took the bus, and I never encountered any perverts.

Now, I work in a city in southern China, taking the company bus to and from work every day, it’s extremely safe.

Once, I encountered a pervert on the bus, but I seemed to enjoy it; I guess I’m really getting old.

[The End]

7486 bytes

URL 1:https://www.sexlove5.com/htmlBlog/51236.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=51236&aspx=1

Previous Page : My Stunning Girlfriend (Part Fourteen)

Next Page : They finally lost.

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

My battle with the bus pervert

comment Open a new window to view comments