Before writing this I wanted to note that I do not want to encourage groping – I would say 99% of the time when I have been groped (which has been a lot) it was a violation and was not sexy (and likely categorized as sexual assault). That being said this situation did occur and, what can I say, sometimes your turned on by something you despise.
Back when I was in college I was single for about a year, the rest of the time I spent book ended between boyfriends. During this time I was basically constantly sexually frustrated and was a bit of a “make out slut” (not a big “slut” term fan but no clue what else to call it). I wouldn’t have full on sex because I like emotional intimacy and prefer to be exclusive but I woke up in a lot of different beds leaving all parties sexually frustrated… Because of this, I swear, a whisper would get me wet sometimes. I also was getting much more confident with my own sexuality and I would basically go out to clubs in the shortest and tightest things I could find.
I had been working as a waitress on top of going to school and it really killed my Friday and Saturday nights, since I never knew when I would exactly get off shift. All of my friends would already be at parties and I started becoming less and less interested in having to arrange meeting up. Also, I was one of the first in our group to turn 21, and going to the same college bar that never checked IDs was getting a bit tiring. I felt like I had hooked up with enough of the same crowd and just wanted to go out on my own. So instead of trying to meet up I decided to start going to a strip of bars in the next town over after my shifts occasionally, which also had another university nearby. It was great because I never got bored since it was a bunch of bars and clubs and being solo meant I generally got to skip lines and get right in (who doesn’t want more single women at a bar?). One of my favorite places to start out, or maybe end, the night was this small Irish pub in the center of it all. It was one of those extremely narrow bars where right when you walked in a long bar started and left room for maybe 2/3 people to stand behind you to order a drink, you had to walk all the way down the bar to get to the more open area where the jukebox was as well as a small dance floor to have any breathing room. Needless to say, getting a good spot right at the front of the bar was something you wanted to do, or your conversation was going to get cut off continually from people cutting through to get to the back.
One Saturday night I ended up getting out of work at a decent time, around 10 PM, so I decided to make it over to this bar and see where the night would lead. I got dressed up in this extremely short black mini skirt that had large silver ring in the center that would sit right below my belly button, which resulted in a circle of exposed skin right at my center. Honestly, I’m laughing at myself thinking about it, I used to go out in the dead of winter wearing this thing and seemed to never get cold. I would say this skirt sat right below the top of my hamstrings so if I were to bend or lean forward you would see a tiny sliver of my ass cheeks (or maybe you could just always see my ass and I was purposefully ignorant). Even thought I am fairly thin my ass has always been sort of big so on a different body this skirt maybe would haven’t been so skin bearing.
Anyway, I made my way to the bar and I was standing there to order my drink, the place was packed. Wall to wall and I was about mid way down the bar, so generally speaking I would get a bit jostled about as people came in and out, but far less than being right at the entrance. All the stools were taken but someone made space so I could stand out of the way at the bar. As I stood there innocently talking to whoever was next to me I feel this firm pinch from a large hand on my bare ass. I jolted a little more upright and immediately went to look around to see who the hell just pinched me. The bar was crowded and there was a sea of heads above me (I’m only 5’ 5” – although I was wearing heals as well). I was sort of pissed – like this wasn’t some over the clothes touch, this was my bare skin. I looked at the patrons next to me and could tell it couldn’t be either of them from their angle, the height of the hand was from someone taller than me and standing. I ended up leaving the bar and going to a club next door and sort of forgot about the incident and my anger.
A few weeks later I decided I wanted to go out again, which was also on a Saturday night, but a little later since work dragged on from some couple that just wouldn’t leave. I really needed a drink and had some clothes stashed in my car, it just so happened that the same skirt was tucked in there. I chucked off my pants in the backseat of my car and slid on my skirt trying to not flash any passers by to the best of my ability, and I unbuttoned the black oxford I had to wear to work a little lower and tied it at the waste. I let down my ponytail so that my long blonde hair was finally free. Viola – ready in 5 minutes.
I made my way into the bar and ended up being stuck right near the front entrance. Literally the worst place since it was the middle of winter and not only did the cold air come in but you were constantly crushed with people. I had to really squeeze myself in to get a drink this time, and once I got a beer stepped a little back to allow others to order. I was honestly not in a chatting mood this night, work had been long and tips were not as great as others. I may have been standing there with a little scowl on my face sort of ignoring my surroundings. Then I sort of feel a light tough on the top of my skirt, thinking it was just an accidental brush since everyone is so shoulder to shoulder at this point its hard not to bump in to people. The light touch stops and then is replaced with a heavier palm sliding down the back of my skirt, slightly gripping my ass as it comes down, and then there is a break in the touch and I feel a little slap on my bottom on the bare skin. Well that got me right out of my sour mood, I let out a little chuckle and smiled from the shock. I could also feel myself getting a little wet. I tried to turn around but I got pushed a bit forward from the entrance door traffic and I couldn’t figure out where that hand was coming from. I ended up leaving the bar, went to a club and proceeded to grind on some stranger to get out a bit of my sexual frustration. Then I bounced and went home.
A week later I was getting sort of excited for the weekend. For once I wasn’t working on a Saturday but I really wanted to go back out to the same set of bars, even though I could technically make it much easier to a house party with friends. Like I said I was sort of a hooking up a lot, and I think by that time between me and my best friend at the time we had hooked up with half of the baseball/football/ and basketball houses where all of the parties were held. So I decided to head out alone again, which was getting pretty exciting – felt like I could do whatever I wanted without judgement – but this time I actually had time to get really made up. I wore an off the shoulder shirt (because I like my shoulders ha) and another of my shorter skirts, this one this one a plaid mini shirt paired with 5 inch stilettos (I would be the tallest I could to see over the crowds tonight).
I made my way into the bar again – this time heading to the back of the long bar, a few feet before it opened up into a larger space. The night went on and I started getting distracted talking to some guy – we were laughing and he was cute. The bar was again very crowded and I was still getting slightly pushed by the crowd standing in my spot and wasn’t really noticing anyone else around me. This time from behind me, coming from the other direction I feel fingers slowly tickle up the back of my thighs and I lost track of what the guy in front of my was saying. The fingers made it up there way to the tops of my bare thighs and caressed my ass slowly, large hands sending sparks of delight through my body. This time I was undeniably wet. The small thong I had worn under my skirt was noticeable sticking between my folds in dampness. Instead of trying to turn around I stood there enjoying it and rubbed my thighs together – feeling really turned on how in public we were and that I had no clue who this was.
The guy in front me asked me a question, firmly stating it as if he was repeating it for a second time. I snapped my attention back to him and concentrated to answer – and just like that – the hands behind me were gone. By the time I got to turn around I couldn’t see anyone who looked like they might have just felt me up. Where the hell were these big hands. This time I got mad again – but for a different reason – who the hell was this and why weren’t they just hitting on me. Seriously at this point I might have broken my rule and fucked them in the bathroom if they had whispered they had wanted to in my ear.
The next few weeks got busy, and one of the guys I ended up meeting out invited me to a few parties at his college and I started seeing one of his friends. I ended up cocktail waitressing at the restaurant that actually was next door to this bar and the bouncer at the Irish bar became one of my really good friends. I never told him this story but sometimes I wonder if it could have been him, he was 6’5” and had pretty big hands…
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/lle6la/wait_whose_fingers_are_those_f_m
Great story