Strangers dry-humping on the subway

It was a crowded train. Like, the kind of crowded where I almost considered waiting for the next one, but also really wanted to go home. So I braved it, and found myself crammed next to a young couple.

I didn’t know it was a couple at first, but that became obvious imminently, when the guy maneuvered his arms around the girl prom-style as she grasped the pole—a tremendous fete, I assure you, considering how packed the train was.

At the next stop, someone got up from a seat, and the guy made a beeline for it to hold down the fort for his lady friend. She sat down, and he stood above her as they continued to hold hands. They also continued to hold hands as he shouted into his phone. Somehow, he gets service underground, and I never do. Also, I don’t dry-hump my boyfriend on the subway. Two ways in which we differ.

She briefly let go of his hand to run her fingers over a minor scrape on his wrist. Then she brought it to her lips. Understandable—he had clearly suffered greatly.

He pulled her up and sat down in her seat, but lest you think chivalry is dead, he pulled her down on top of him. She sat in his lap for the next three stops.

By the way, it’s not like they were fifteen. They were in their early twenties at least. Maybe it’s understandable that they needed the closeness after spending their days apart at their respective offices. That’s like eight hours.

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