The Horrors and Pleasures of Sex on the T
Oh, the things that happen on the T. For instance: According to Universal Hub, back in July 2004, a man ejaculated on a woman’s pants and pocketbook before exiting the train at Kenmore. What he probably didn’t realize is that the woman would be savvy enough to go to the police with the remaining evidence, which, in turn, could be analyzed and recorded. Then, years later, in 2010, the man launched a similar assault on a train in Washington, D.C. The DNA was a match. And this month, a Maryland man was arraigned on charges of assault and battery.
Quite right, too. What a despicable act.
But here’s my question: Why do we so often hear about sex on the subway? It shows up in porn, in novels, in films, on YouTube. A quick Google search for “couple sex subway” reveals a host of incidents across the country. But here’s the thing: The line I use most — the orange line — is quite possibly the last place I’d want to have sex. Ever. It’s rarely clean, often smelly, the seats are uncomfortable, and I’m usually trying to avoid being watched, especially by people who look like they’re thinking about having sex.
But what’s icky for me might be perfect for someone else, I suppose.
As always, consent should be primary sexual concern. So let’s be vigilant, folks. If I ever witness a sexual assault on the T, I intend to be very vocal about it. There’s even an app for it — since the MBTA is all about saying something if you see something.