The Chelsea Pussy Groper

What happened moments after this photo was taken, is a story that I’ve told few. Enough time has passed, that I can finally share it with you, Possum. I’m sure you’d appreciate a good belly laugh. Even if it is at my expense.

I don’t usually rock around New York in a crazy hat, mirrored sunglasses dressed in a michelin jacket. On this unseasonably chilly day, SilverFox and I were playing around taking photos and I was hamming it up for the camera sliding around on the thin ice that coats the sidewalks in Winter (literally and figuratively). I really should have known better. Camera away, we were about a block from a restaurant (which by the way was earth-shatteringly, toe-curling good but more on that in another post) where we were meeting a close friend and his current for lunch.

We were in Chelsea, just outside Milk Studios and it happened to be Fashion Week so there was a throng of paparazzi loitering outside Milk as we walked by. And an equally large posse of fashion bloggers hoping to be snapped by aforementioned paps. We were walking on the other side of the street observing the spectacle when I saw a girl standing alone checking the pics on her camera.

She was gorgeous. Stunning, even. But it was her bizarre outfit that got my attention. She was wearing platform sneakers, about six inches off the ground. Teeny tiny shorts with sheer stockings and a small cropped biker jacket with her midriff showing. She could pull if off, but that’s not the point—it was bloody freezing! I get that it was NYFW, but just looking at her, I got the chills. And how the hell was she walking on this ice, in those shoes?

Just as I was just passing her, I hit some ice and went sliding. SilverFox caught me. (Bless. It’s not the first time!) He quickly moved in front of me, to make space for some people coming from the opposite direction. And that’s when it happened.

I lost my footing again.

In front of Miss Platform Sneakers. In front of a pack of paps. And worse, a million fashion bloggers. All armed with cameras!

It gets worse.

By now I’m half way down, and my gut instinct kicks in, so fast I grab at the closest thing to me. Her.

Wait for it. It gets worse.

I manage to grab Miss Platform Sneakers in the crotch of her teeny tiny shorts.

I’m mortified. Horrified, even. There aren’t enough words to express just how shocked I was. I just groped her like a dirty old man. Not to exaggerate, but it happened so fast, I actually, kind of, cupped her vagina—with my hand. No word of a lie, I felt camel toe. Did I mention, that I was mortified?

Halfway through apologising, I still hadn’t got my footing and that’s when I went slipping and sliding yet again, and yep—you guessed it—grabbed her again. In the crotch.

JUST KILL ME NOW.

Of course, I did the first thing anyone would do: I apologised profusely while wanting to die a quick painless death on the spot in front of everyone who just saw what went down. Here’s the thing, despite me, unintentionally (underline and bold please) sexually assaulting her, she smiled and laughed if off, asking me if I was okay in a sweet London accent. Can you believe that? What a doll!

Seconds after it happened, I half-expected to be tackled to the ground like a bad episode of Cops while the paps blinded me with their flashes. I had visions of my mum being harassed by A Current Affair back home, asking if I displayed any signs of being a serial groper as a child.

SilverFox didn’t see any of it, but he held my hand all the way to the restaurant to make sure I didn’t fall again (Or lest I start randomly groping people on the street. Just Joking!) while I nursed my bruised ego.All I could do once we got to the restaurant is order a stiff drink and tell the story, and that’s when my good friend Kevin, proclaimed me officially ‘The Chelsea Pussy Groper’. A title, granted befitting of the incident, and a nickname I’m yet to live down.

Ahhh, New York. Thanks for the memories. And for not getting me arrested.

I’m currently overseas with dodgy internet connection so I’ve asked a few of my favourite bloggers to contribute while I’m away until the 14th October.
Ms Critique is the editor of Ms Critique and you can follow her fabulous self on Twitter and Facebook too.