Answer: Getting sexually aroused by touching and rubbing oneself against another non-consenting person. Paraphilias.

The fantasies, sexual urges, or behaviors cause clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.

Repeatedly for at least 6 months, the patient has intense sexual desires, fantasies or behaviors that involve touching and rubbing against a person who doesn't consent to this behavior. This causes clinically important distress or impairs work, social or personal functioning.

Associated Features: Most perpetrators are aged 15-25 years. Frotteurism has been noted to be equally common among older, shy, inhibited individuals.

Differential Diagnosis: Some disorders have similar or even the same symptoms. The clinician, therefore, in his/her diagnostic attempt has to differentiate against the following disorders which need to be ruled out to establish a precise diagnosis.

     Mental Retardation     Substance Intoxication     Manic Episode     Schizophrenia 

Cause: Most acts of frottage occur when the person is between 15 to 25 years of age, and declines thereafter.

Treatment: The treatment of paraphilias in general may involve the use of medications and/or behavioral therapy; Counseling and Psychotherapy; Pharmacotherapy. Medroxyprogesterone is sometimes used to decrease sexual desire.

Etiology: Like most disorders in this category, many theories exist in an attempt to explain how this disorder develops. Most experts agree that there are underlying issues related to childhood which play a major role in the etiology.

Symptoms: This disorder is characterized by either intense sexually arousing fantasies, urges, or behaviors in which the individual touches or rubs against an non-consenting person in a sexual manner. This often occurs in somewhat conspicuous situations such as on a crowded bus or subway. To be considered diagnosable, the fantasies, urges, or behaviors must cause significant distress in the individual or be disruptive to his or her everyday functioning.

Treatment: Treatment typically involves psychotherapy aimed at uncovering and working through the underlying cause of the behavior.

Prognosis: Prognosis is good although often there are other issues which may surface once the behaviors are extinguished. If this is the case, these issues must be worked through as well.

For how many years have the symptoms been present? > years

Has the patient had sexually arousing fantasies involving touching and rubbing against a nonconsenting person? > Yes, No

Has the patient had sexually arousing urges involving touching and rubbing against a nonconsenting person? > Yes, No

Has the patient engaged in sexually arousing behaviors involving touching and rubbing against a nonconsenting person? > Yes, No

Has the patient had sexually arousing fantasies, urges, or behaviors involving touching and rubbing against a nonconsenting person? > Yes, No

"Frot" (short for frottage) or "phrot" (alternate spelling) amoung homosexual men tends to imply genital rubbing in a conventional private context, the female equivalent is sometimes referred to as tribadism.

As with most other sexual practices, frottage with a non-consenting person is regarded as a form of sexual assault in most jurisdictions.

2.One of the paraphilias, consisting of recurrent, intense sexual urges involving touching and rubbing against a nonconsenting person; common sites in which such activities take place are crowded trains, buses, and elevators. Fondling the victim may be part of the condition and is called toucherism.

Also: frottage

Diagnostic criteria for Frotteurism (cautionary statement)

A. Over a period of at least 6 months, recurrent, intense sexually arousing fantasies, sexual urges, or behaviors involving touching and rubbing against a non-consenting person.

B. The person has acted on these urges, or the sexual urges or fantasies cause marked distress or interpersonal difficulty.

"I like to start getting ready quite early to look nice for the ladies. It's always worth making an effort to get the best pickings." Brian is not unattractive - tall, brunette, imposing - and it occurs to me that he can probably have his way with any Hertfordshire beauty he chooses. He confirms this. "Not that I've ever had any trouble getting girls, know what I mean?"

Brian is a devout Christian. At 28 he is the oldest member of the British arm of Heaven Can Wait, the US organisation which advocates celibacy before marriage. "Even if I didn't have my faith, I would probably still want to wait for Miss Right. My parents have a very special, loving relationship. Something like that doesn't come along every day, and I'm sure it would be worth the wait. Sex will be so much more special if I experience it with one person whom I really and truly love".

Admirable sentiments in these times when young people are encouraged to seek instant gratification for all their desires. "Friday night is the highlight of the week for me. I usually go out for a curry with the lads from work (Brian is a callcentre operative), perhaps a drink in town, then off to St Nic's for 9pm. That's when everything kicks off".

Some kind of prayer meeting or reading group, I ask? "Branch meeting of Heaven Can Wait", Brian replies after a gulp of tea. "Father Peter allows us to explore our feelings of lust without actually committing sin". I had heard about devout Christian couples who, whilst waiting to get married, had nevertheless enjoyed an active sex life: it seems that for many followers only penetrative sex is taboo, rightfully reserved for a relationship in which the production of children is likely and welcomed. In these circumstances many couples opt for oral pleasure, stimulation by aids or frottage - dry humping. But I had never heard this kind of activity external to a long-term relationship, nor of the active involvement of the Church.

Brian registers my discomfort. "It's OK, Father Peter is really cool about it. He even puts down mattresses on the floor of the church hall. Sometimes, in winter he brings blankets, but we usually don't need them. After all, most of us keep our clothes on. And it's all very fair. We draw lots for the girls - in fact, we're not allowed to have the same one two weeks running. Then we walk them home and give them a kiss good night safe in the knowledge that we have not committed a sin in the eyes of the Lord. Sure, it can be a little messy sometimes, but one of the lads came up with the idea of wearing an incontinence pad, and it caught on with the rest of us. I suppose the girls must wear panty liners, but I'm not one hundred percent sure. You'd have to ask them."

Since I met up with Brian he has started seeing a girl whom he met at the group - Kirsten. Naturally Brian and Kirsten want to wait to have penetrative sex until they are married. But they have been expelled from the group because Brian refuses to dry hump other girls. Whilst they can of course frot in the privacy of their own (or their parents') homes, they miss the new friends they have made at the group, and this has already taken a toll on their relationship. They intend to appeal against their expulsion.

And this is in light of tremendous growth on the part of the client company. Sure, I understand the whole more bang for your buck, but thinking they can hack out man-hours and still support this beast is just�stupid. Admittedly, on any one given day we might have idle time, but that translates into dollar savings because everyone else is in uptime. When we're not available and people have downtime, there are multiple man-hours lost because the IT department lost a staff member. Sometimes I think if they said they needed to cut hours I'd beg the president to lay me off (I'm insanely self-destructive sometimes, and I don't need a stinking razorblade to do it effectively), so I can laugh behind my hand. I can just start to imagine what would happen with the bailing-wire and duct tape starts to unravel around here.

But I'm sure every kitten likes to imagine itself a lion once in a while. I'm so replaceable. I'm sure not many people would stop looking if they were offered my toilet salary to do the stuff I do here, but they'd take the job.

My partner showed me an online ad for mobile technicians. It was so sad, I laughed and cried in the same sentence. Apparently some metro area company is offering 14-19$ / hour for A+ certs with a college degree and at least a year of field-experience. Yikes. Can you say depressed market? Worse still, they'll fill those jobs in a couple days.

Oh well.

When I got home last night I dozed with a lapful of cat for an hour, then finally went out to wash my car. It was still white under that mess, and that was a relief. Afterwards I watched my copy of LotR, finally. I even popped popcorn. How exciting. Tonight we'll see what sort of surprise party my father has put together for his wife. I should remember to get her some flowers or something. Busy tomorrow night... possibly Friday night as well (at least sort of). Fuck. When am I..? Oh well. I'll figure it out.

The sexy actress describes herself as a late bloomer and has no romantic illusions about the success of her early love life.

She says, "My first kiss was a really bad kiss. He had braces and his mum was in the driveway honking. I didn't get a lot of kissing in high school. I had this crush on one guy who had a girlfriend. At the dance, he broke up with her and was sitting outside.

"I asked if he was okay, then he walked me home and made out with me. That was my second kiss and he got to second base too.

"Then there was Ben, he was an art student and he was my first dry hump. After that I was done."

In other words, Marvel Comics thoughtlessly recycles a notion that�s been lovingly nurtured by anti-American conspiracy theorists of all stripes: that our own intelligence establishment somehow orchestrated bloody terrorist attacks against U.S. civilians.

Apparently, he knows comics as well as he does movies. This isn't a particularly shocking comic book plot. X-Men, if he ever decides to read something that doesn't have the word "America" in the title, is all about the reaction of conservative bigots railing against people because of their genetics. Daredevil is a criminal defense attorney. Thor is a non-Christian god that walks among people proclaiming his status as a deity. I'm getting the feeling that Medved hasn't read a comic book since Archie met Betty.

I read part of the series in question when it came out, and it's only "anti-American" if you think that blaming America for what it does and blaming terrorists for what they do is "anti-American". If, however, you can handle morals above and beyond what you'd find in a Chik-Fil-A kids' meal, you shouldn't have any problem reading the series at hand.

Also, keep in mind that the terrorist organization ends up having cyborgs and lasers, and you'll find that you're not exactly dealing with Noam Chomsky here.

...Nope. Still not right. I don't get the sense that Michael Medved would dry-hump a firefighter until he bled. Still looking for that Peggy replacement.

'Monkey,' he said, in a conspiritorial whisper, 'I'd just like to say that you've got the nicest breasts.' I was shocked, appalled and... no, I wasn't. I'm a big slut. 'Thanks!' I squeaked and, well, jiggled for his drunken amusement.

I sat down beside him, expecting a bit more conversation. I watched as he reached out carefully, calculating a parabola of distance and trajectory through a fog of Toohey's Old, and honked my boob.

'Dude!' I said, gesticulating as wildly as a pissed Monkey can without toppling herself over, 'Our significant others are right there!' I point across the table, to where both our significant others are pretending not to know us. I leaned closer to him. 'You could at least be subtle about it'. I whispered over the jukebox.

This sunk slowly through the bubbles as he raised his eyebrow and pursed his lips, affecting an enigmatic look as he reached out and slowly honked my boob.

Comments:
And Mattay stood for that? Gasp!
Posted by: mb at April 9, 2003 11:12 AM

Boobs! Least you've got 'em...sniff.
Posted by: saara at April 9, 2003 11:24 AM

Damn. I was obviously drinking at the wrong end of the bar! It's weird, isn't it? As a man, I bemoan my lack of boobs. But I'm also petrified of growing some. The dreaded man-boobs. Probably just as honkable, but in an ewwww kind of way.
Posted by: Luke at April 9, 2003 12:33 PM

Oh I love Monkey's boobie stories! No one has ever honked my boob. I'm not sure where I'm going with that, but, well, they haven't.
Posted by: momo at April 9, 2003 01:13 PM

Momo - I'm willing to jump on that grenade and honk your boob. If I must. ;)
Posted by: Monkey at April 9, 2003 01:21 PM

Momo, I hadn't had my boob honked (except by Blake, but it's expected that he do that) until I met Monkey, and believe me, she does a terrific job of it. Phwoar!
Posted by: mb at April 9, 2003 04:39 PM

Oh Monkey! Damn you're funny. What a way to make friends! (People sometimes ask me if they can honk me, to make sure they're real. I'm very discriminating about who I allow to take these liberties... it IS important to prove a point sometimes though! hehe)
Posted by: TJ at April 9, 2003 07:18 PM

Dang, my first flame and it's not even a good one. And by a CAPPER no less! I'm so ashamed.
Posted by: Monkey at April 9, 2003 09:27 PM

Hey - better than my first one. It was from someone pretending to be Jimmy Somerville. I shit you not.
Posted by: Luke at April 9, 2003 11:12 PM

Boobs and comics...is there no finer coctail? Possibly...but i haven't found it.
Posted by: at April 10, 2003 08:23 AM

Hey, Monkey, I'll trade you, honk for honk when I'm in The Can next week. Deal?
Posted by: Missjenjen at April 10, 2003 11:44 AM

You are SO on.
Posted by: Monkey at April 10, 2003 11:54 AM

ROCK! Let's take pictures!
Posted by: Missjenjen at April 10, 2003 01:53 PM

Monkey...you know such FUN people! Why do I never meet such fun people?
Posted by: Miel at April 10, 2003 03:21 PM

Okay, am I coming to Canberra for the "honking" or are you coming my way, Monkey? It's awwwwwn! I need to know about the honking prior - if you catch me on one of my H2-whoah water-bra days, it could be a catastrophe. Give me, give me, give me, the honkey tonk blues ... Sorry, was a prime excuse for some bad singing ...
Posted by: momo at April 10, 2003 05:02 PM

Miss Momo - eventually I'll be a-coming to you, but you know, if you're feeling particularly un-honked, you're welcome here anytime! Good lord above, I'm going to be a busy-handed little Monkey. I'm the luckiest gal in all of christendom!
Posted by: Monkey at April 10, 2003 05:08 PM

Comics? Boob honking? Simultaneous mutual boob honking? Sorry, that'd be the sound of my tongue adhering to the small drool puddle on my desk. I'll just go clean that up now ...
Posted by: Sir Cufflinks at April 11, 2003 09:48 AM

well they ARE spectacular. they could have a blog of their very own :)
Posted by: shauny at April 12, 2003 12:17 AM

Pervert, groper. Usually used in reference to furtive groping and sexual assaults that have become a frequent danger and annoyance on Japanese subways.

chikan
"CHI-kan"

A popular dish made only in Argentina, using chicken, but called chikan using roots of other spices used in the recepie (i.e. a-anchovies)

A solution has been found. The Keio Teito Electric Railway, that it manages the lines warmer than Tokyo, has introduced from 8 Decembers 2000 vagone for sun women on the own ones metropolita some during the nocturnal hours. Vagone the rose of the Keio, with the trust "Only for women", has been taken of onslaught from the passengers. Also a Keihin Electric Express Railway, than work between Tokyo and Hirosaki (prefettura of Aomori), has adopted the same politics and therefore Japan Railways (JR) on six of its lines. Not draft of a new idea. In far away 5 May 1947, then the Japan National Railways had introduced a similar option, one carrozza for women and children, abolished in 1973 for economic reasons and the introduction of the places reserve you. The same system begins to be adopted also from some overhead lines, like the Skymark Airlines, than reservoir only to the women a part of the airplane on the route between Tokyo and Fukuoka. Same thing in lodges, to leave from the Excel Tokyu Hotel to Shibuya, than reservoir for the women 46 rooms all neighbors, with a succeso unexpected. The provision has provoked of the controversies. Some men have declared to feel themselves discriminate to you from the vagoni differentiate to you, since privilege the women and make to seem all the molestatori men. The megaphone of the Keio, Yamada Yoshihisa, has reported that in the first week a hundred of telephone calls or email of protest has only arrived, from part of men (70%), but also women. Some women are in fact contrary to the vagoni differentiate to you, since to go up on the normal schools carrozze seems hour an incentive or I invite to be annoyed: if you decide not to go up on the vagone special, it becomes difficult to justify the choice of forehead to the other passengers and some could think badly. According to Yamada these persons, are men who women, refuse to recognize the problem. They are already several, but, the cases in which the men they have been falsely accused from girls in tries, perhaps, of a little easy moneies, that they blackmail timid or drunk men with the threat to denounce them. The police, in a giustizialismo excess, listens to only the presumed part lesa, like if in the case of the molestatori the presunzione of innocence she were not worth more, and very rarely comes carried out deepened surveyings. In so far as, the vagoni she differentiates to you can render the simpler things also to the men: they do not have more to preoccuparsi than to be falsely accused of harassments.

Last E' the time in which the women they were easy targets and did not react, giving to the men the certainty of impunity. The girls hour turn with "pungenti" objects with which infilzano the men whom they annoy to them. But draft still of one small percentage, the majority of the annoyed women not denunciation the fact. The inquiries show that a woman on four has been annoyed in public, in 90% of the cases on the metropolitan. To be strange it is the tipologia of the chikan, how much never varies and alarming. In other countries we find ourselves of forehead, in kind, to true persons considered maniaci sexual. In Japan, the accused of such crime are normal persons. Many molestatori are simple employ you that they go to the job, but between arrests to it to you even numbers also civil employees publics and policemen. However, the denunciations are in continuous increase and the by now common arrests. That makes to understand that this behavior is considered unacceptable from more and more persons. In the first four months of the 1997 they have been interrogates 360 suspiciones to you, of which many then it arrests to you. The previous year, in the same period, the cases had been 171. In the course of 2000, they have been arrested 911 persons, regarding the 538 of 1995. In you open them of 2000, in the prefettura of Kagoshima has had the first arrest of a chikan as a result of the introduction of one new stricter law the previous year. Ventiseienne the Kamiyamasaki Nobuhiro has annoyed a married woman of 39 years, following it insistently, after that this had decided to leave it. After to have received of the admonishments from part of the police, it has been arrested. The Criminal code previews pains for these cases of harassment that imply violence, intimidazione, rapimento or defamation. But an always greater number of prefetture is emanating anti-molestatori decrees, that they preview a fine and the prison also for less "violent" behaviors, not punished from the Criminal code. In the great cities there are also special units of police anti-chikan, whose scope is to educate, to prevent and obviously to arrest. The police completes regularly of the controls, also with policemen woman in bourgeois.

But these changes do not go to the root of the problem, that it is the attitude of the men towards the women. It seems that many of these chikan do not think to what they make like one mistaken what, to a crime. They are the men to having to be educates to you, not the women to having itself to ghettizzare on the metropolitan. Unacceptable E' also the fact that very rarely the other passengers help them. Japan has the better situation in order to bring to light this phenomenon more, having the metropolitan crowded of the world and a feminine population still disposed in part sopportare, but it is probable that the percentage of maniaci upgrades them is equal in every part of the world, a lot is true that these facts do not happen alone in Japan and every country has its word in order to define the phenomenon. However, in Japan these deviances only give to origin to one true and own sottocultura. Specialistic reviews exist where they appear, as an example, articles on like making resumed with one television camera under the skirt of one woman. A salary in particular, Press Finger, contain "technical" photographies, storys, manga and articles. A discreet pornografici film series is available with similar contents. In the "image clubs", some customers ask to make feint of being chikan. Beyond to this "legal" production, a submergeeed market of illegal banns dedicated to the argument exists sure. To times, these chikan are in truth ladri professionals who are useful for the distraction of the victim in order to steal them the pocketbook or other.

Yamamoto Samu declares a sorry molestatore. In 1994 it has published its autobiography, Chikan hakusho ("Per diem of a molestatore"), that it has sold more than 50.000 copies before that some feminine associations of it obtained the withdrawal from the market. Later on, it has published others two books on the argument and hour it comes considered one risen of expert on the industry of the sex. Yamamoto recognizes that the chikan they are guilty of sexual harassments. Its turning aside behavior began to 17 years, when it blinked against a woman on the metropolitan and realized that pleasant feeling was one. But after many years the excitation is passing and Yamamoto even supports that its books can help to prevent the phenomenon, showing a point of view various. In the book it is written that for the men to make the chikan it is a way in order to get rid from stress. Many women, but, have written to it saying that the book has been useful, because to learn the offense techniques it is served they to defend itself better. In fact, the book contains, beyond to the best techniques, councils in order to avoid the attacks. To wear the pants, as an example, intimidates the men, because it gives to the feeling of one sure woman of himself. Also to be close to other women, to make group, can help. The author is favorable to the vagoni differentiates to you:

Tokyo is one city with high levels of stress; the chikan not spariranno until when Japan does not change just the style of life or metropolita some less crowded.

But Yamamoto has not become a saint: it makes the pornografici film director that they have as protagonists of the chikan and designs manga for adults with the same topic.

Una soluzione � stata trovata. La Keio Teito Electric Railway, che gestisce le linee pi� calde di Tokyo, ha introdotto dall'8 dicembre 2000 un vagone per sole donne sulle proprie metropolitane durante le ore notturne. Il vagone rosa della Keio, con il cartello "Solo per donne", � stato preso d'assalto dalle passeggere. Anche la Keihin Electric Express Railway, che opera tra Tokyo e Hirosaki (prefettura di Aomori), ha adottato la stessa politica e cos� Japan Railways (JR) su sei delle sue linee. Non si tratta di un'idea nuova. Nel lontano 5 maggio 1947, l'allora Japan National Railways aveva introdotto un'opzione simile, una carrozza per donne e bambini, abolita nel 1973 per motivi economici e per l'introduzione dei posti riservati. Lo stesso sistema comincia a essere adottato anche da alcune linee aeree, come la Skymark Airlines, che riserva solo alle donne una parte dell'aereo sulla rotta tra Tokyo e Fukuoka. Stessa cosa negli alberghi, a partire dall'Excel Hotel Tokyu a Shibuya, che riserva per le donne 46 stanze tutte vicine, con un succeso inaspettato. Il provvedimento ha suscitato delle polemiche. Alcuni uomini hanno dichiarato di sentirsi discriminati dai vagoni differenziati, poich� privilegiano le donne e fanno sembrare tutti gli uomini molestatori. Il portavoce della Keio, Yamada Yoshihisa, ha riferito che soltanto nella prima settimana sono arrivate un centinaio di telefonate o e-mail di protesta, da parte di uomini (70%), ma anche donne. Alcune donne sono infatti contrarie ai vagoni differenziati, poich� salire sulle normali carrozze sembra ora un incentivo o un invito a essere molestate: se decidi di non salire sul vagone speciale, diventa difficile giustificare la scelta di fronte agli altri passeggeri e alcuni potrebbero pensare male. Secondo Yamada queste persone, sia uomini che donne, rifiutano di riconoscere il problema. Sono gi� parecchi, per�, i casi in cui gli uomini sono stati falsamente accusati da ragazze in cerca, forse, di un po' di soldi facili, che ricattano uomini timidi o ubriachi con la minaccia di denunciarli. La polizia, in un eccesso di giustizialismo, ascolta solo la presunta parte lesa, come se nel caso dei molestatori la presunzione di innocenza non valesse pi�, e raramente vengono svolte indagini approfondite. In questo senso, i vagoni differenziati possono rendere le cose pi� semplici anche agli uomini: non devono pi� preoccuparsi di essere falsamente accusati di molestie.

E' passato il tempo in cui le donne erano facili bersagli e non reagivano, dando agli uomini la certezza dell'impunit�. Le ragazze ora girano con oggetti "pungenti" con cui infilzano gli uomini che le molestano. Ma si tratta ancora di una piccola percentuale, la maggioranza delle donne molestate non denuncia il fatto. Le inchieste mostrano che una donna su quattro � stata molestata in pubblico, nel 90% dei casi sulla metropolitana. A sorprendere � la tipologia del chikan, quanto mai varia e inquietante. In altri paesi ci troviamo di fronte, in genere, a persone considerate veri maniaci sessuali. In Giappone, gli accusati di tale reato sono persone normali. Molti molestatori sono semplici impiegati che vanno al lavoro, ma tra gli arrestati si annoverano anche funzionari pubblici e perfino poliziotti. Tuttavia, le denunce sono in continuo aumento e gli arresti ormai comuni. Ci� fa capire che questo comportamento � considerato inaccettabile da sempre pi� persone. Nei primi quattro mesi del 1997 sono stati interrogati 360 sospetti, di cui molti poi arrestati. L'anno precedente, nello stesso periodo, i casi erano stati 171. Nel corso del 2000, sono state arrestate 911 persone, rispetto alle 538 del 1995. Nell'aprile del 2000, nella prefettura di Kagoshima si � avuto il primo arresto di un chikan in seguito all'introduzione di una nuova legge pi� severa l'anno precedente. Il ventiseienne Kamiyamasaki Nobuhiro ha molestato una donna sposata di 39 anni, seguendola insistentemente, dopo che questa aveva deciso di lasciarlo. Dopo aver ricevuto degli ammonimenti da parte della polizia, � stato arrestato. Il Codice Penale prevede pene per questi casi di molestia che implicano violenza, intimidazione, rapimento o diffamazione. Ma un numero sempre maggiore di prefetture sta emanando ordinanze anti-molestatori, che prevedono un'ammenda e la prigione anche per comportamenti meno "violenti", non puniti dal Codice Penale. Nelle grandi citt� ci sono anche speciali unit� di polizia anti-chikan, il cui scopo � educare, prevenire e ovviamente arrestare. La polizia compie regolarmente dei controlli, anche con poliziotti donna in borghese.

Ma questi cambiamenti non vanno alla radice del problema, che � l'atteggiamento degli uomini verso le donne. Sembra che molti di questi chikan non pensino a quello che fanno come a una cosa sbagliata, a un reato. Sono gli uomini a dover essere educati, non le donne a doversi ghettizzare sulla metropolitana. E' inaccettabile anche il fatto che raramente gli altri passeggeri le aiutino. Il Giappone ha la situazione migliore per mettere in luce questo fenomeno, avendo la metropolitana pi� affollata del mondo e una popolazione femminile ancora disposta in parte a sopportare, ma � probabile che la percentuale di maniaci potenziali sia uguale in ogni parte del mondo, tanto � vero che questi fatti non accadono solo in Giappone e ogni paese ha la sua parola per definire il fenomeno. Tuttavia, solo in Giappone queste devianze danno origine a una vera e propria sottocultura. Esistono riviste specializzate dove compaiono, ad esempio, articoli su come fare riprese con una telecamera sotto la gonna di una donna. Un mensile in particolare, Finger Press, contiene fotografie, racconti, manga e articoli "tecnici". Una discreta serie di film pornografici � disponibile con contenuti simili. Negli "image club", alcuni clienti chiedono di fare finta di essere chikan. Oltre a questa produzione "legale", esiste sicuramente un mercato sommerso di pubblicazioni illegali dedicate all'argomento. A volte, questi chikan sono in realt� ladri professionisti che approfittano della distrazione della vittima per rubarle il portafoglio o altro.

Yamamoto Samu si dichiara un molestatore pentito. Nel 1994 ha pubblicato la sua autobiografia, Chikan hakusho ("Diario di un molestatore"), che ha venduto pi� di 50.000 copie prima che alcune associazioni femminili ne ottenessero il ritiro dal mercato. In seguito, ha pubblicato altri due libri sull'argomento e ora viene considerato una sorta di esperto sull'industria del sesso. Yamamoto riconosce che i chikan sono colpevoli di molestie sessuali. Il suo comportamento deviante cominci� a 17 anni, quando sbatt� contro una donna sulla metropolitana e realizz� che era una sensazione piacevole. Ma dopo molti anni l'eccitazione � scomparsa e Yamamoto sostiene che i suoi libri possono aiutare a prevenire il fenomeno, mostrando magari un punto di vista diverso. Nel libro � scritto che per gli uomini fare i chikan � un modo per liberarsi dallo stress. Molte donne, per�, gli hanno scritto dicendo che il libro � stato utile, perch� apprendere le tecniche di offesa � servito loro a difendersi meglio. Infatti, il libro contiene, oltre alle migliori tecniche, consigli per evitare gli attacchi. Indossare i pantaloni, ad esempio, intimidisce gli uomini, perch� d� la sensazione di una donna sicura di s�. Anche stare vicino ad altre donne, fare gruppo, pu� aiutare. L'autore � favorevole ai vagoni differenziati:

Tokyo � una citt� con alti livelli di stress; i chikan non spariranno fino a quando il Giappone non cambier� il proprio stile di vita o avr� metropolitane meno affollate.

Ma Yamamoto non � diventato un santo: fa il regista di film pornografici che hanno come protagonisti dei chikan e disegna manga per adulti con lo stesso tema.

As a Chinese-style compound (on-reading) chikan literally means 'stupid man' or 'unenlightened person', somewhat wide of its current meaning. Perhaps because of this, chikan is frequently encountered in katakana.

First, young women should try not to choose lines or trains which have a high possibility of meeting Chikans. Needless to say, Chikans seldom appear on trains which are not crowded. Accordingly, the best way to avoid Chikans is to avoid taking crowded trains. However, women have to take crowded trains during rush hour to arrive at their offices or schools on time. Though they cannot choose the time of the trains, they can choose which line they should take. In general, women meet Chikans more frequently when they take private lines, the subways, or JR lines. They especially have to be aware of some lines which have a bad reputation among young women. For example, the Odakyu line is one of the most crowded trains. We have all kinds of schools, including high-level, low-level, and public schools along the Odakyu line, and many women, especially female students, tend to meet Chikans on this line. I met ones who were male students of a certain school when I was a high school student. In contrast, many schools along the subways in the center part of Tokyo are high-level or expensive private schools, and women do not meet Chikans very much on these lines. The Inogashira line is also famous among women for Chikans. Many young people use this line to go to Shibuya, which is the most popular place in Tokyo. Some of my friends told me that some men use this line only to touch women. Because of these reasons, I often use other lines to go to Tokyo.

Next, many young women tend to put up with Chikans silently when they are on a train alone. However, they should protect themselves from Chikans by following three steps. First, if you think that someone is touching you, turn your head slowly and look at his hand to make sure that he is really a Chikan. After that, stare at him from his feet to face slowly as you show him your anger on your face, especially in your eyes. This action makes some people around you notice the existence of a Chikan, and they will stare at him. If he still does not stop touching you, you should pinch or scratch his hand as the second step. Safety pins are necessities for women who take crowded trains everyday. Many of my friends in high school used to have one in their pockets because female high school students wearing pretty school uniforms were the targets of Chikans. The final step is to turn to him, look straight at his eyes for three to five seconds, and say "Please stop" or "Please don't" in a very polite way. Since trains during rush hour are so quiet, all of the passengers can hear you, and they also understand easily what you mean. Furthermore, they will watch him with eyes filled with criticism. Most Chikans get off the train at the next station or move to another train soon because they cannot stand the people's eyes, which criticize him silently.

Finally, women should know the way to protect themselves from Chikans when they, the women, are not alone on a train but have a friend or friends. Because they have somebody to help them, they can act more directly against Chikans. Tell your friend that you have a Chikan behind you. If he denies that he touched you, you and your friend should take him to a station worker. You can also hit his face when you notice that he is touching you. For instance, when some of my friends and I were on a train, one of my friends suddenly turned to a middle-aged man behind her and said, "You're Chikan, aren't you!!" Then, she hit his face with her heavy school bag. In the next moment, his face turned red because her bag hit his head and face and also because people watched him all at once.

In conclusion, you should not take lines which have Chikans very often, and, if you meet one, you have to protect yourself. Tell the Chikan clearly not to touch you, and if he does not stop doing it, you should attack him by yourself or with your friends. Most women cannot do anything when they are touched by Chikans the first time because of fear. However, they begin to know that they have to protect themselves because the other passengers, even the men, do not help them or pretend not to notice Chikans. So women have to learn how to protect themselves from Chikans through their own experiences or communications with other women. They should not give up or forgive Chikans because Chikans are the enemies of all women.

He was also dressed like a school girl at that time, complete with fashionable sagging white socks and uniform-like skirt, a police spokesman said.

At first of course Ogawa didn't like that he was being sexually molested by him and it was happening every morning on the train ride to work (school), but he starts liking it and lets Shiina do what he wants. Though one day while Shiina was doing his thing to Ogawa, Ogawa notices or rather feels an akward stare. Meaning that he felt someone was watching them. He felt this stare even at the school but didn't know who it was.

Then during that day at school, Shiina started doing his thing to Ogawa again in one of the rooms on the upper level of the school and was doing it in front of the window. While they were doing it Takigawa Sensei was outside below them and saw what those 2 were doing and Ogawa noticed but Shiina didn't. Ogawa called out to Takigawa but he ran off and Shiina wouldn't stop what he was doing.

After being sexually molested so many times by Shiina, problems arises. A picture of Ogawa being sexualy molested in the train being put up on the school's website and such. A must listen bl drama cd and especially those who wants to hear a new side to Suwabe Junichi's voice really should taken a listen. For one, he totally doesn't use that killer deep sexy voice of his. Its a bit on the genki side but not so high, still has his sexyness cause he is the seme after all. I actually found this voice of his cute AND you get to here his somewhat of an uke voice in one of the omake tracks.

Taniyama Kisho was actually quite good in this drama. Its the second one I've heard him do an uke role. Frankely I thought he wasn't really that suited for an uke but after listening to this drama, he sounded uke uke but not like kawaii uke.

As for the other seiyuus, well if I write about them here, it'll spoil the story. I'll add the spolier later.

comments:

Ahahaha...it sounds very interesting! Now I have an urge to go find it and listen to Suwabe Junichi's seme-ness. *___*;

Is the anime about a man molesting a man or is the teacher a "she?" if Ogawa is indeed a female I would like to know where to get this movie. Thanks.

topiyo, if you read through my review, you should know that I have refered to Ogawa sensei as a "he". And that this is not a "movie" but a drama cd.

I think the dream was inspired by a passage in "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" in which the protagonist is bothered by the modern-day equivalent of a masher as she takes the subway to work and her mother tells her to go to work with a sharp pin in her pocket to stick the masher with when he irritates. Wise advice.

I forgot to add, "Governor Schwarzenegger!" I also forgot to sock him.

The Subway Masher loves Jet Blue, the new airline that's been called the most successful start-up in a generation. Jet Blue is a miracle in several ways: no seven or 14 day advance to get cheap tickets; no Saturday night stay-over required; affordable one way tickets; and a nonstop from New York to Oakland (the Subway Masher will do anything to avoid San Francisco airport). Also, the Jet Blue staff are very bright, sexy and enthusiastic.

One of the best advertised Jet Blue innovations is a small TV screen in the back of every seat, with 24 channels of free Direct TV. And there's the rub. The programming line-up sucks. It has five sports channels with such overlap that when Tiger Woods was giving a press conference, it was on three consecutive channels. There are three financial channels, four for kids (to keep them busy on those long flights) and some other hardly compelling fare: HomeGarden TV; Tech TV; Food; Game; Weather; History Channel; A&E; and for the intellectually inclined, CNN Headlines News, where everything is boiled down to a 15 second soundbite. Makes the Subway Masher yearn for those bad movies on United.

But apparently hope is on the way. According to flight attendant Ana Marie Dougan, who says feedback may lead to some movie channels, "What do you expect? What you see on the plane is pretty much what you get on cable." How depressing, but she's right.

New metro and subway ads by New York's Protect Choice (www.protectchoice.org) shows the scary and hardly antiseptic abortion options if women loose their right to choose. An abandoned car parked by a bridge boasts the placard "Abortion Clinic," while a skanky bathroom sign reads "Operating Room." The campaign is augmented by a series of outdoor posters and campus flyer suggesting other rights that could be revoked, such as a women's right to vote. Exaggeration? Perhaps. But with the right wing's established scare tactics, the Subway Masher supposes its best to fight fire with fire.

Abercrombie and Sex: Who Knew?

Imagine the name Abercrombie and Fitch (A&F), and solid Americana comes to mind. Preppies, windbreakers and pink polo shirts. But no more. The company's ads have gotten so sexy that the Lt. Governor of Illinois, Corinne Wood, has called for a boycott of A&F, building an oddball coalition, including the National Organization for Women. (NOW complains that images in the A&F catalogue "evoke group sex." The Subway Masher guesses NOW likes its encounters one on one.) NOW's Chicago president says it is not a catalogue, "It's a soft porn magazine," while the Rev. Vanden Bosch, head of Concerned Christian Americans, says, "The exploitation of sex and young people in A&F's catalogue is not only atrocious but also a psychological molestation of their teenage customers."

Pleeeeeze! The Subway Masher is finding this hard to believe, but figures A&F knows a publicity coup when they see one. Their quarterly catalogues have a growing 300,000 circulation and cost $6 if you don't go into the store - which is probably now being overrun by the turned-on hordes.

I pulled the heavy cloak around me to ward off the chill. At first I had been uncomfortable wearing the cloak the man at the Sugar Shack had dropped at my table, but after the move, I really didn't have enough money to buy a fall jacket. I decided that walking the streets of Manhattan looking like a ren faire refugee was preferable to wandering around shivering and hunched over. Besides, it still sorta smelled like him.

It was getting dark, and though I normally am savvy enough not to walk by myself through the park after sundown, the only dance class-for-singers I could find available was hosted by the 92nd Street Y, on the east side, and I had promised De I would meet her at The Dubliner on 79th street on the west side. I found it a tremendous waste to get on the subway, go downtown, get on the cross-town shuttle, and then take a third subway uptown, so I opted instead for the quick jaunt through the park. It was only a mile, I reminded myself, and besides, I was a pretty tough dame.

I stepped through the gates of the park and steeled myself for the walk to come. In the daytime, the magic of Central Park is in its ability to filter out the noise and craziness of the city. You could walk not fifty feet into it and not hear a bit of traffic. It had been devised a century before to give city folk a taste of what the country would be like; every huge tree, small shrub, boulder and pond had been put there by the hands of man to imitate nature. In the daytime, it was truly a marvel and a respite from the often overbearing borough of Manhattan. At night, however, the same hulking boulders and towering trees that filtered out the noise of the city seemed to filter out the safety-in-numbers feeling of it as well. Since New York is full of lights, stars don't shine particularly bright, and within the confines of the park, whatever is left of them is swallowed up by the trees. The carefully planted gardens and shrubbery gave refuge to all manner of miscreant.

I halted in my tracks when a disheveled man lurched out in front of me, holding a paper bag concealing some bottle of alcohol. "Spare change lady?" he asked, but I ignored him. I had no change anyhow. I had made the mistake my first few months here of making excuses. That got me followed and threatened for fifteen blocks. I kept on walking, only just a bit faster.

"Bitch!" he called.

It was getting darker quickly and as I got further into the park I could feel the trees start to close in around me.

I reminded myself again that I was a tough dame when I thought I felt a presence behind me. Damn! Why today? I quickened my pace and did all those tricks I acquired subconsciously in the years before. Be aware, use your peripheral vision, don't be afraid to make a scene, stand up straight� he was still there, following me. I could almost feel his breath. I hated that I was vulnerable simply by nature of being female. I wished I could legally carry a concealed weapon in this city. He was still there.

Goddammit, women don't do this sort of thing, I thought helplessly to myself. We don't stalk people, we rarely mug, and even more rarely rape. We're not the problem here. They should have a curfew on men.

I started looking around for a cop, but they must have all been in the South Bronx, hunting immigrants, I noted with dismay. There wasn't one to be seen in my peripheral vision, or in front of my face. Fine, I guess I would have to handle this my way. I walked faster.

As I was channeling my frustration and anger at the inequity of my gender, I felt a hand on my shoulder. All right, that was it.

"GODDAMMIT, GET OFFA ME YOU FUCKIN' PERVERT OR I'LL RIP OFF YOUR FUCKIN FACE!!" I screamed as I spun and kicked wildly at the masher's shins. I landed one on the nerve running down the thigh, and true to Geoff's word, my attacker fell to the ground.

"GODDAMN CRIMINAL ASSHOLE!" I screamed, just as I was about to slam my boot-heel into his nose, hopefully sending a sliver of his skull into his brain and killing him. But then I opened my eyes and got a good look at him.

He stared at me from puzzled red and yellow eyes, his billowy black trousers dusty from my footprints, his boots somewhat scuffed, his horns gleaming in the moonlight, throwing odd shadows on his red and black tattoos. A shiver ran through me as I clutched at the cloak I was wearing - the one that he had left those weeks ago - but I couldn't tell if I was shivering from cold, fear, or attraction.

The Dark Man slowly arose, and I took a tentative step back. Noting my trepidation, he held his hands palm out in the universal gesture of peace (or at least, proving he didn't have his weapon in his hands). I took a deep breath and helped him up. As if he needed my help.

There had been so much I'd wanted to know about this man, he had been in my dreams for so many nights, and yet he had never said a word to me. And now, here he was standing in front of me, and all I could do was stare. I figured if he hadn't already lit that sword of his and decapitated me, he probably hadn't had it in mind to kill me. Bravely, I spoke.

"Who are you?" I stammered. His voice floated out, low and sonorous.

"Darth Maul, Dark Lord of the Sith," he answered, boring a hole in my soul again with his eyes.

"Are you going to hurt me?" I pressed on.

"Not unless you are a Jedi," he replied, a frightening glint in his eye. I wasn't sure what in the hell he meant, but after a short deliberation, I decided that as sucky as my life had gotten, I still would rather not be dead.

"Not the last time I checked," I answered, my usual sarcasm re-emerging. Guess my shivering wasn't from fear then. He smiled predatorily, and I felt my heart go pitter-pat again. I was drawn to him - I didn't want to leave - but I was suddenly treated to the image of De sitting pissed off at The Dubliner, drinking scotch and plotting my demise.

In the time between when I started walking through the park, and now, what with the kicking of the Dark Man, and then exchanging meaningful looks, it had gotten extremely dark, however. I managed to tear my eyes away from him long enough to speak.

"Well, since you're not planning on killing me, am I glad you showed up! Sorry about the kicking, though. I would greatly appreciate a male escort through the park. It's not safe for a defenseless woman to walk through the park alone," I said, batting my eyelashes most unconvincingly I'm sure. He gave me a derisive look.

"Well, blow me, horny boy!" I shot at him. He gave me that smile again, and advanced toward me. Instinctively, I backed up and he placed his gloved hand on the small of my back. In the dark, it turned out, I didn't know the park as well as I did in the daylight. Well, crap. It was nice having this man with me as protection, but I feared I was leading him around in circles. When I finally did realize where we were, I knew I was lost. We were in the Rambles; the part of the park designed to mimic rambling trails that led to nowhere in particular. Great. Now I knew we'd never get out.

"Are you afraid," Maul asked, his voice really near my ear. I mean extremely near. Like I could feel his breath against my earlobe (the location of my on/off switch, should anyone need to know). If I was afraid before, at this particular instant, fear was not my primary emotion.

"No," I replied, drawing his cloak around me, and advancing almost imperceptibly, "I'm not afraid." But I wasn't convinced. I had been drawn to him at the Sugar Shack, but had known when to back off. Now with him here, speaking to me� well, I couldn't say for certain if I was afraid or turned on.

I continued looking in his eyes and walked a few steps up. He followed close behind, and I found we stood in a stone-floored clearing conveniently lit by flood-lights. He drew nearer me still, making me back into a waist-high stone wall. He touched the hood of the cloak I wore and caressed my cheek with his gloved hand. My eyes closed and my head tilted back as his face came nearer to mine.

"Damn you!" came a shout from behind me, and I jumped to see what asshole had ruined the most intensely erotic moment I'd had since the faire.

He climbed over the wall in back of me, a distinctly parapet-like structure. Of course! Belvedere Castle, the backdrop of many a fine production of Shakespeare in the Park! I knew where we were! On the side we were standing on was an observatory - the highest point in the park - and on the side this interloper had climbed up from was a stone face and a steep drop. He must have been on the ground about 40 feet below and climbed up the stone walls. And then the shock set in.

"Ophelia!"

It was Ben! The bastard who wouldn't break character at the faire, who had never called or written (well, I hadn't given him my phone number, or my real name for that matter, but that's no excuse) who had muttered something ridiculous about Sith when he fled the parking lot�

Sith! Oh my god! I jumped back when I realized that this Darth Maul was the Sith that Ben had referred to when he ran out on me those months ago. I couldn't believe I was so stupid to not make that connection before. A tough dame, maybe, but a bright dame - no.

And there were the two men of my sadly deplete love life, their weapons deployed, their focus on each other. One Sith, one Jedi, at least I could assume, given that it looked like Maul was trying to kill Ben. For his part, it looked like Ben was trying to kill Maul as well.

Sith and Jedi must be mortal enemies, I mused, as they brought their fight to the wall behind me. Their sabers clashed wildly, Ben's a quiet blue, and Maul's red. At least Maul was fighting fair, with only one of the halves ignited. I stood back and watched as Ben laid into Maul, cornering him next to the parapet. Maul did a standing backflip and even achieved height, landing on the roof of the building. Ben quickly followed, simply leaping up instead of doing aerial gymnastics, and they continued fighting. It looked like Ben's leap up, despite being less impressive than Maul's, had left him a little winded. Maul was definitely getting the better of him. I wasn't sure how I felt about this - these two men fighting over me. But were they? Ben and Maul circled each other, sparks flying from their sabers, looking like they were straight out of a mediaeval treatise on combat. Or a nature program on wolves, I thought with a shudder.

Suddenly, Maul ignited the other end of his weapon, making it a deadly quarter-staff. He swung it at Ben's feet, and as he leapt up to avoid having his legs incinerated, Maul threw out his hand and Ben wobbled off balance, falling toward the rocks below.

"Ben!" I screamed as I rushed toward the edge of the crenellation. A prickle down the back of my neck caused me to turn toward Maul. He hopped down from the roof onto the walls, crouched down and touched my face. Now I was scared. But instead of wasting his energy on me, he lightly jumped off the wall to the ground where Ben had landed rather softly.

I squinted to watch them continue fighting down there, trying to think of a short cut that didn't involve flight or magic powers. Knowing there wasn't one I could find in the dark, I started running down the outer slope of the area - the one with no pathways for pedestrians. From my vantage point scrambling down the rocks, I knew that Ben was no match for Maul.

And then I heard them - the sirens. Now of course, in Manhattan, sirens are nothing to worry about. But in this part of the park, I knew you couldn't hear sirens unless they were inside the park. Evidently, the cops were finished minority-baiting for the evening, and had been tipped off to some mighty odd violent behavior at the Castle.

I started stumbling a little faster down the slope, my feet slipping on the rocks and vegetation underneath them. Normally I'm worried that I'll twist my ankle or step on a rusty nail when I'm around here, and tread carefully, but as much as I didn't want either of these boys killing the other, I certainly didn't want to see them in a New York City jail after the cops got to them.

"BEN! MAUL! STOP RIGHT NOW!!!" I screamed as I neared the turtle pond.

"Please, the police are coming and I'm sure it's for you!" They kept going, ignoring my pleas. Only then did I notice the small crowd of people sitting on the lawn in the background, watching these men fight with only minimal attention. Great. Maybe when the cops did come, they'd be distracted writing tickets for open beer cans and pot-smoking and I could spirit the men away to someplace safe from the authorities. But would any place be safe from these boys?

"DON'T MAKE ME SEPARATE YOU TWO!"

The sirens grew louder, and the combatants didn't seem to hear me at all. I would have to do something drastic, that much I knew. But what could possible get the attention of these poor creatures so obviously in the throes of testosterone poisoning?

Ah, that was the answer. Certainly these boys had red blood flowing through their veins, Jedi or Sith notwithstanding. I steeled myself and tried to gather the courage it would take me to do what I had to do. The sirens stopped, and I heard a door slam. It was my last chance. I walked into the middle of the stage, trying to find the rhythm of their violent dance. They didn't see me at all, but holding my breath, I jumped between them. Before either of their weapons could crash down on my skull, I tossed my cloak and shirt off, and quickly removed my bra, exposing my bare breasts to these mortal enemies.

"I SAID KNOCK IT OFF!!!" I commanded, sounding a lot like my mom.

Ben's weapon had switched off and clattered to the ground, and his jaw dropped in amazement. Maul had quietly deactivated his and thoughtfully regarded my nudity. I hoped both of them were getting a thrill, since it was obvious the more lucid members of the audience were.

As long as I held their attention, I decided to warn them.

"The police are here, and they'll arrest us all - You two for some disturbing the peace, and me for public nudity if we don't get out of here quick!"

"It's totally legal to show your tits in New York," offered one drunken audience member helpfully.

"Be that as it may," I continued, giving the peanut gallery the stink-eye and then turning to the boys, "we need to avoid jail time. Do what you have to do. Co-operate if you must, and make sure you keep me out of jail too."

The crowd dispersed as the Men in Blue shone their high powered flashlights our way. The boys straightened up, and Ben quickly put his cloak around my naked torso.

The cop flashed his badge, "Officer Chernoff of the NYPD. Can I see some identification?" he queried boredly as he got out a small notebook. Ben stepped forward and subtly waved his hand in front of the officer's face.

"You don't need to see any identification," Ben said calmly.

"I don't need to see any identification," Chernoff repeated, his eyes glazing over.

While Ben was doing this, Maul was in the corner of the stage, talking to Officer Chernoff's partner. I didn't hear much of what was going on, but I saw the metallic gleam of the handcuffs and lurched away from Ben. Quickly, Maul activated his weapon, and bisected the officer. The handcuffs fell to the stage with a clang, followed by the top half of the officer. I padded over to Maul and began berating him.

"You can't just go around bisecting people in public - in New York fer chrissake!" Maul was un-apologetic. He deactivated his weapon and smiled ferally at me.

"Not this time," I hissed, "you bad boys may be fun for a few hours, but ultimately I'm the one who gets dumped."

Snapping out of his evident hypnosis, Chernoff wheeled around and regarded the scene before him with horror.

"All right, that's it, you're all coming in for questioning," Officer Chernoff demanded. Ben stepped directly in front of him.

"We're all innocent bystanders," he said slowly, "and it's a shame about the Gundark loose in the park, mauling officers. We are free to leave."

I looked down at the ground and scooted over to where Ben had dropped his weapon when I had flashed him. Smiling, I picked up the metal cylinder with my foot, tucking it in my waistband for the time being.

Chernoff got all glassy-eyed again, and astonishingly, repeated Ben.

"You're just innocent bystanders. It's a shame there's a Gundark loose in the park, mauling officers. Why don't you leave?"

And with that, the good officer took his leave of us. I turned around to see Maul dragging the body into the corner. Two examples of problem solving had been demonstrated, and Ben had been able to come to an agreeable arrangement by using his brain, not his brute strength. Not that Maul didn't have his charm, but if I had gone with him the first time we met, one of us would have ended up dead by now, and I was relatively certain it wouldn't have been him.

Ben noticed me gazing wistfully at Maul and pulled me aside.

"How do you know that Sith?" he asked, not unkindly. He had the most beautiful hazel eyes.

"I met him in a bar once. He left his cloak," I said, not wanting to explain that it was a strip club, and I had been drunk enough not to remember much else.

"And you are not his apprentice?" God he was cute when he was imploring.

I snorted, and out of the corner of my eye, saw Maul walking toward us.

"Right. I can't get through ballet class without arabesque-ing someone in the head. No, I'm no apprentice." I did, however, have a few tricks up my sleeve. I broke eye-contact with the adorable Ben to face the destructive one.

"Give me your weapon," I said to Maul, carefully. He had been about to ignite it, but I wasn't about to let anyone get attacked again. Maul hesitated, and then saw that I was holding Ben's saber.

"Give it!" I commanded, holding the cylinder in the middle, since I couldn't remember which side would erupt when I pressed the button. I had no idea how much force that damn weapon exerted, and was damn near knocked over by the kickback when I activated it. Momentarily, I got my bearings and held it aloft imperiously. Nevertheless, both men ducked and flinched as I waved it around. Hell, I thought I was pretty good for a beginner.

"New rule," I started, "no fighting around me. If you want to kill each other, fine. Do it somewhere else. I'm not going to be the one to clean up your gory entrails," or mend my broken heart again, I thought, "so as long as you're within 10 miles of me, you lay off the violence."

Maul hesitated, and fixed his stare on me again. I stared right back at him, trying to match his intensity and fire. I'm sure it wasn't working, but then, I wasn't wearing a shirt, so I at least had that advantage. He advanced on me in a few short steps, and held one hand out, throwing Ben to the ground.

"I could kill you now. I could even give you my lightsaber and still be rid of you." He took my chin in his hand and I struggled to keep the saber in my own hand steady, "but you are the only of your pathetic species to look me in the eye."

He dropped his saber at my feet and stepped back. Suddenly the saber I was holding flew straight to Ben's hand. He quickly deactivated it and threw it next to Maul's. Both stared dejectedly at me. I knelt to the rock where I had dropped my clothing. After putting my bra and shirt back on, I gently lifted up the voluminous cloak, dusted it off and handed it back as ceremoniously as I could to Maul. He took it from me politely, and quickly threw it on.

I wandered slowly back to Ben, and gave him the cloak he had lent me to cover up with. Our eyes met and he leaned in close�

Shit.

"I'm sorry, I have to go. I have an appointment to keep." The image of De sharpening her eating dagger propelled me toward the closest path. Maul trailed after me.

"You need an escort for safe passage," he insisted, his weapon flying to his hand. I gave him a look and he pointedly hooked it to the belt underneath his recently repatriated cloak.

"Perhaps a chaperone for your escort," Ben chimed in, already at my other side. I shook my head.

You could hear the music of Nine Inch Nails blasting out of the entrance of The Dubliner.

Head like a hole, Black as your soul, I'd rather die, Than give you control�

Oh, great. De had been kept waiting for awhile. This was her "angry" music. My retinue and I hesitated at the threshold of the dive bar. Maul listened intently to the music and smiled in appreciation of the lyric:

Bow down before the one you serve, You're going to get what you deserve.

Maul tapped his foot to the beat of the song, until Ben gave him a look. Taking a deep breath and grabbing Ben's hand for steadiness, I entered the bar. True to form, De sat at a table in the back of the place, an empty wine glass sitting beside the full tumbler of scotch in front of her.

"About time," she said, obviously holding back, "don't I recognize you?" she turned to Maul.

Ben led me to a seat in the corner. We sat facing each other, and he lifted his hand toward my face.

"I'm a nice fellow� responsible, respectful, and I like you - a lot."

I pushed his hand onto the table and grinned.

"Stop it. If you gave me half a minute, I could tell you I feel the same way - without the hand waving hypnosis thing."

He took my hands in his and placed a gentle kiss on each one and I turned to jelly.

Maul situated himself awkwardly next to De.

"You buying the next round?" she asked him pointedly. She took his failure to answer as a "no".

"Cheap ass! Fine, I'll buy this round, but you have to drink what I buy."

She got up and Maul grinned at me. For his own protection, I thought it might be wise to sit at the same table.

She returned with a tray of shot glasses and a bottle of tequila. Lining up the glasses neatly, she explained the rules to Maul.

"First, you have to drain each glass, then you put it upside-down on the table to prove that you've drunk it."

"And what is the point of this exercise?" asked Maul, contemplating the five small receptacles in front of him.

"Last one standing wins." De said, without elaborating.

Maul was not a man accustomed to losing, I noted, and he began the drinking confidently. It was only after his last shot that he gasped and made a tremendously amusing face that indicated he had never had the pleasure of doing tequila shooters before.

De finished her last moments after he did and grinned. With a minimal amount of argument from Maul about the fairness of this match, she turned over the glasses and began re-pouring.

This was turning out to be a very amusing evening.

I took Ben's hand and led him to the juke-box. Dropping in a few quarters, I punched in the numbers of my favorite song. It wasn't normally used as a slow dance, but I figured Ben didn't know any better, and I placed my hands on his shoulders. He knew enough to put his own hands at the small of my back.

"Are you going to take me home tonight, Oh, down beside that red fire-light, Are you gonna let it all hang out, Fat-bottomed girls, you make the rockin' world go round�"

The voice of Freddie Mercury had never been sweeter, I thought, as I rested my head on Ben's shoulder and we swayed to no beat in particular.

Just as Ben was about to lean in for a kiss, I heard a muffled thump. De looked at us sheepishly, four more shot glasses overturned on Maul's side of the table. Maul, however, was on the floor, in fetal position.

Maul did eventually recover from that evening of debauchery, although he spent the better part of two days flat on his back on our living room floor. For her part, De had a relatively brief hangover, marred only by mild alcohol poisoning. Only the bathroom porcelain is any worse for wear. There was a brief moment of awkwardness when Ben learned that "Ophelia" was merely an alias, but instead of getting self-righteous, he revealed that his actual name was "Obi-Wan". Whatever. "Ben" is a helluva lot easier to cry out in the throes of passion, so I assume he's gotten used to it. And the boys have both been very good about not killing each other around me.

Now, he had to go out now. The New Redeemers long awaited "Luke" CD was scheduled to hit the shops today, and he couldn't sit still knowing it was sitting around in a dumb old music store. Mom would be glad to pick it up for him after work, but that was a long way into the future, and he couldn't wait to slip it into his Micro Disc Man. He couldn't.

His thoughts drifted once again to the danger of public exposure, the righteous masses that would turn him in to the all knowing fathers if he made the slightest twitch. Heaven alone could help him if the S.O.G.s got onto him. Soldiers of God. His gran had a few carefully chosen words to say about those sanctified brethren too, things you wouldn't survive too long after saying if you said them in church.

Joe stood in the hallway a good twenty minutes that morning, preparing himself both physically, and mentally for his planned excursion. He checked himself ever so carefully in the full length mirror. Hat? Low on the forehead. Glasses? Reflecting like mirrors. Even the hair artfully placed for maximum concealment. A few deep breathing exercises, a wholehearted prayer, and he was out the door.

In a few minutes he was on the bus, reading the verse on the back of his transfer for the subway, and wondering yet again why he had to be the way that he was, and why, if he had anything wrong it couldn't be just an odd bout of the shakes, or maybe a stutter, yeah, a nice st st stutter. He smiled to himself. Stutterers reek of humility. Stuttering can't be construed as sexual. You could stutter all day in public, even in church, and people would think you were cute. Ha ha hail Mary..... This though, this cross he bore was enough to get a kid killed. It just ain't fair.

His mind wandered as it often did to what would happen to him if IT were to happen now, here, on the bus. He could almost hear the screams, like that time at the Holiness Cafe. He'd been lucky to get away that day. The screams, the cries of "freak", and "pervert" still echoed in his ears. He imagined the lash if he were caught, could almost feel the rasp of the hair shirt. No, it wouldn't pay to be caught doing IT.

Well didn't he have the greatest time downtown? He picked up the new disc, listened to it for a while, then joined a public sing in the park. While he was there he ran into his good buddy Zeke, and then his sometimes lady friend, Naomi. Of course they had to go for fries and sodas, and to taunt the sinners in the downtown stockade for a while. Naturally Mac Peterson was in there, walking back and forth complacently, wearing a sandwich board that said "PRIDE" in scarlet letters on both sides. After they slipped him a sack of cookies to tide him over to release time it was time to go home. He would be a little late for supper, but the fun he had had was worth the extra prayifying he'd have to endure from his dad. He didn't have too many fun afternoons.

The sun was sinking as he climbed onto the bus, so as he slipped into the back seat he pulled his sunglasses off and dropped them into the pocket of his faded Leviticus Jeans jacket. Slowly his head sank back into the cushion, and swiftly daydreams spun their cobwebs through his head. To live endless days like this, no hiding, no running, no fear, fun, popularity. He was smiling as thoughts of the good life washed over him.

IT happened. Right there on the bus, in front of everybody and God. "Pride goeth before a fall." he thought as his worst nightmare turned into reality. The screams rang the way he knew they would. The epithets were hurled.

"Pervert."

"Lecher", He hadn't heard that one before. .

"Masher."

"Freak."

The bus shrieked to a halt, the driver busy with his radio. Joe stood up. The door. He had to get off, fast. As he ran the aisle, the gauntlet, an old lady hit him with her umbrella. People kicked and clutched at him. People were pushing each other to spit on him. The bus usher grabbed him and retained his hat as a trophy. Then he was in the street hearing the whine of the approaching sirens the driver had summoned. Which way to run? Where is safe? Can one outrun the S.O.G.s twice? Home, I want to be home. Please Lord. Please.

Like an automaton Joseph Peter Saul Jones ran. His heart booming, mouth dry, in a cold sweat, he ran for his life. His mind, also running at full speed briefly considered turning, talking, pleadings, trying to explain. They'd never believe him. With terror filled eyes he glanced over his shoulder. They were gaining on him. He ran.

At the intersection of Rapture and St. Tuter he danced a short tango with death in the form of a dozen autos that seemed to be grinning at him with their grills, then he was through, only slightly bruised. Again he was on a pedway, jumping over beggars, passing alters, and overturning a rack in front of a bookstore. Then he got tangled in a group of hymn singers. They were dressed in full choir gear, and resisted his efforts to break through their formation.

He knew the S.O.G.s were gaining on him. His poor tortured lungs felt like they were getting a foretaste of Hellfire. There was a stitch in his side that had to be worse than the thrust Christ took on the cross. He staggered out of the singing mob on legs that felt like they were made of wood.

The Soldiers of God were right behind him the next time he looked back. One had his electro stun out, and another was drawing a pistol that looked like a cannon big enough to shoot ten pin balls. Bang, bang. Joe's left leg kicked out. He spun, gracefully, in slow motion, dropped, rolled, and came to rest halfway under a completely restored, converted 1999 Jeep Grand Cherokee. The world faded into pain, then blackness.

He groaned as he surfaced into the screaming pain that was his reality. They were just tossing him unceremoniously into the back of a police van, like a sack of garbage into a dumper. No ambulance for the likes of him, and no doctor either.

"Silence sinner.", commanded the pink faced rookie who was not so gently wrapping a slightly used bandage around his wounded leg, "You'll get a shot in a minute, soon as I'm done here." Finally the jab, lightheadedness, and blessed relief. Joe tried to make eye contact. The cop turned away and crossed himself.

The ride ended of course at the Temple of Justice. A burly guard grasping each arm he was half lifted, mostly dragged through the sacred portals, through a maze of passageways, down three flights of stairs, ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-thump. and along another passage, this one lined in stone, with foul smelling puddles on the floor. There was a lot of moaning and a bit of screaming going on behind some of the doors here. At last Joe was thrust into a dingy, green walled interrogation chamber.

The priest was huge. He loomed over Joe from behind a battered, bloodstained table. "Sit.", he commanded, pointing to a rickety folding chair.

Faint from the pain and dizzy from the injection Joe sank sluggishly into it's dubious comfort and started to nod off.

"Open your eyes sinner, see the light."

The light, lights, came on, about a dozen dazzling arc welder looking eye searing bright white spotlights. They dazzled him, transfixed him, blinded, confused, and hurt him.

"Well my son, " came an oily sounding voice from someone he had not seen, "Do you want to make a confession for us?"

Dazed and confused Joe tossed his head to clear away the cobwebs, the pain, the dizziness, shake the tears from his burning eyes. He started to wet his parched lips so he could speak, make them understand how he really was.

"Fine with me.", rumbled the giant, taking the head toss as a negative answer. "Guards, take him up to the temple."

Again he was dragged through endless halls. "You won't get away with it.", gloated one of the guards as they bumped his injured leg up a flight of stairs, "We have lots of witnesses." Finally he stood propped between two guards in a many mirrored room. Somehow he knew the mirrors were really one way glass. Who was on the other side looking in?

"That's him." came a woman's voice, "That's the beast."

"She's right." chimed in a man through the not so good sound proofing, "I saw it."

"I saw it too." chimed in another girl, "For a minute I thought it was me he......" She broke off sobbing.

An older, very confident sounding voice spoke. It sounded like the usher from the bus. "I was looking right at him officer. There's no mistake. It was his left eye, I swear. Look, he's at it again.

One of the mirrors moved soundlessly, revealing that it was also a door. Through it strode two more guards, and not mere S.O.G.s either. Their purple uniforms and new tech neural stunners named them as high wardens of the inner sanctuary. Naturally they were followed by the high priest himself, the sleeves on his robe flapping like the wings of a great raven. A copy of The Book was held before him like a shield, defending against Joe's sin. Reflections danced crazily off his rosary and bounced back from the mirrored walls as he made the sign. Joe's heart sank.

"In the name of the Father I find the defendant guilty of lascivious behaviour and defilement of the inner temple." he intoned. "Punishment immediate death by stoning."

"Hurry up." whispered one of the guards to his companion, "He means in time for the ten o'clock news."

Once again, morphine worn completely off by now, Joe was whisked up, down, and around, bumpity bumping on the cursed stairs. At last they stopped. Joe was thrust through a heavy door that was immediately barred behind him. He knew this place from the vid. The pit. He could hear the muttering of the festive crowd. As the first rocks started to fly, as he began his last prayer, the tic once again lifted the side of his face into what looked to the millions watching like a final, sinful, lewd, blasphemous wink.

Flash back almost 40 years: I am 12 years old and strolling along Manheim Street near Greene in my neighborhood, Germantown. A car eases toward the curb and the guy driving it asks me for directions. I answer politely. But he keeps questioning me and nodding his head downward until I look at his lap - and spot his... well, you know. I do an about-face, bolt home, and tell my mother.

Mom explained that the person who drove away with a chunk of my innocence was a "flasher." Hers was the voice of experience. A man exposed himself to my mother on 46th Street when she was walking to West Catholic High School for Girls one morning in 1942. Until the day Margaret Reilly Treston roused that rotten memory so she could comfort her daughter some 20 years later, she had "never told a soul."

I broke my mother's silence one winter day in the 1970s when I encountered another stranger with a twisted sense of sexuality. The man was a masher who helped himself to a handful of my 20-something derriere as I shopped for bargains in the basement of the old Lit Bros. department store at Eighth and Market Streets.

Since neither my dress nor demeanor had invited a roving hand, I quickly decided that it was he who should be embarrassed, not I. My Irish erupted, and like the girls from Goretti, I chose fight over flight. Before I knew it, I had given the guy a swift kick in his rear end while hollering, "Keep your hands to yourself!" The pitiful creature lowered his head and scurried toward the tunnels of the Market Street subway.

When I snapped out of warrior mode and realized the scene I had created, I looked around sheepishly. An elderly lady allowed me to leave with some dignity. Looking me in the eye, she said, "Good for you, dear."

Those words came to mind as I watched Goretti student Dorothy Kopicko explain to Diane Sawyer on Good Morning America what led her and 20 or more classmates to chase, ground and pound Rudy Susanto with help from two neighborhood men.

Kopicko, 15, said she was shocked the first time Susanto flashed her and not sure what to do the second time. The third time he let it all hang out in Kopicko's presence, she got mad.

Susanto, 25, was treated for an injury to his mouth after his arrest. Police charged the South Philadelphia man with harassment, stalking and indecent exposure during incidents that began on Sept. 14 and ended when the students nabbed him Oct. 30.

The Goretti girls were responsible for removing a sexual predator from our society, just as their school's namesake - patron saint of youth, young women, purity, and victims of rape - did in Italy during the summer of 1902.

St. Maria Goretti died from 14 stab wounds she suffered while fighting off a sharecropping neighbor, 20-year-old Alessandro Serenelli, as he tried to rape her. She was just short of her 12th birthday. Maria forgave her attacker from her deathbed. His victim's forgiveness inspired Serenelli to repent and radically change his life after serving 27 years in jail.

Perhaps the forgiveness at the heart of St. Maria's sanctity might serve as an example of something the girls from Goretti might do. It's a virtue I should try, too.

Fluffy, to be sure, is smug of his protector's doting.

Sonic Banshee strikes Ice Unicorn with her Sharpened Nail Swipe attack.

Ice Unicorn grunts, head jerking a bit as he's whapped across the face by the infuriated femme. Sighing, he rubs his sore nose, and glares at Sonic. "Then I suggest you teach it better, soon. Or I'll have it put down. Now, if we can get back to business, we have this matter of your resent crime to deal with." Pulling up a handy signpost, he takes a swing at the obnoxious morale officer with it.

Ice Unicorn misses Sonic Banshee with his Equine Smash attack.

Clown Man's ego is being deflated quickly, "Okay, that failed." He ponders, "Okay, Explosive Heart, what do you think?"

"Well, I--"

"THE CLOWN DOESN'T CARE WHAT YOU THINK!" Explosive Heart just sweatdrops. u.u; while Clown prepares to pelt the three...with Koosh Balls. Cyanide tipped Koosh Balls, to be precise.

"KOOSH BALLS GO!!!"

You strike Sonic Banshee with your Ball Toss attack.

Banshee ducks, under the swung sign post.. and then blinks as she's pelted with koosh balls, taking a nasty bump on the head. WHACK! "Ow!" She yelps, oudly, turning to scowl the way of Clown man. "Hitsuke.. Deal wi' him." She announces, pointing at the Clown, before looking to Ice, "I'll take care o' tha' horn head.." before she tucks the kitten down the front of her suit in a rather secure place, and then, whipping a frying pan out of anime space, she sklams foreward to bring it crashing down on Ice's head.

Meanwhile, ordered to take care of Clown man, Hitsuke, snarling and bristling, takes a breath.. and unleashes a blast of fire his way.

Sonic Banshee misses you with her Hitsuke Blaze attack.

Sonic Banshee misses Ice Unicorn with her Frying Pan Slam attack.

Clown Man sidesteps the firebreathing Hitsuke. "Two words, dude. Breath. Mint." He then draws out the Mallet. Ah, yes, the mallet. The Power of Anime is strong within the Mallet. He takes a swing to knock Hitsuke back onto Sonic. Big Time.

"HITSUKE NO BAKA!!!"

You strike Sonic Banshee with your Huge Hammer attack.

Matic treks through the area. As he's in Strider guise, he treks by way of rooftop.

Ice Unicorn blocks the incoming pan with his broad arm. "You need to update your utinsels. That frying pan will never be big enough to cook your latest dish with. The cat's in the kettle, as the song goes..." Yes, he's just trying to get on her nerves on purpose now. And on her foot, as he picks up a hoof and attempts to stomp on her feet with it.

Ice Unicorn strikes Sonic Banshee with his Kick attack.

Matic continues on his mission.

First there's the fox colliding with her, sending her crashing into a heap on the ground. Then there's the kick from the unicorn's hooves. She's flung into the air, and crashes down again. Grunting, she remarks, "Dammit, two against one ain' friggin' fair!" she screams loudly, unleashing a loud, ear peircing wail into the air. The cat in her cleavage wails and hides it's face against her chest, and the fox nearby starts howling as well. "I SAID IT AIN' FAIR!! SO LONE O' YE YAHOOS JUS' BACK THA' HECK OFF!!!"

Sonic Banshee strikes Ice Unicorn with her Sonic Shriek attack.

Ice Unicorn is temporarily disoriented by Sonic Banshee's Sonic Shriek attack.

Sonic Banshee misses you with her Sonic Shriek attack.

Clown Man covers his ears, "STOP IT! STOP IT! STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP IIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!" he cries out in pain, and flings out his arms out to stop the terrible wailing.

Ice Unicorn arrrghs, clamping his massive hands over his ears, for what little good it'll do. That sounds worse that Slapshot singing in the shower..

You strike Sonic Banshee with your Extend-o Arms attack.

Sonic Banshee unleashes another loud screech, as Clown Man's arms strike her, shortly after she'd straggled to her feet. But not because of pain. Because when he struke her, he hit.. uh. a dangerous spot above the belt almost head on. "MASHER!!!" she squeals loudly, before whipping another frying pan out of thin air, and aiming it in a swing for the Robot Master's makeup mocked up maw. Hitsuke, meanwhile, still laying in her heap, whimpering loudly, before rolling over, shaking her head out, and, snarling at the dizzied unicorn, she charges foreward, attempting to ram into him.