Jon Ronson, in his book ‘The Psychopath Test‘, buys a copy of the DSM-IV-TR and describes it after having looked it through and found that he apparently has no less than 12 mental disorders. But what was most funny for me is what he writes at p. 33:
DSM-IV-TR is an 886-page textbook published by the American Psychiatric Association that sells for $99. It sits on the shelves of psychiatry offices all over the world and lists every known menral disorder. There are currently 374 known mental disorders. … Surprisingly, this being such a vast book packed with so many disorders, including Frotteurism, including esoteric ones like Frotteurism (‘rubbing agaubst a non-consenting person in a public transportation vehicle while usually fantasizing an exclusive, caring relationship with the victim, most acts of Frotteurism occur the the person is aged 12-15, after wgucg there is a gradual decline in frequency’)
When I read this I burst out laughing. And here is the reason:
Despite the fact that I was called ‘pretty boy’ throughout my youth and even into my 20-ies, I have only on very, very few occasions been subject to someone making uninvited advances toward me. It simply did not happen. Ever! – And yet, there was this single, once only, time in my life that I did have a very unusual experience. It happened when I visited my fiance’s family in Japan when I was 16.
I was standing in a train during rush hour – Japanese trains during rush hour are extremely crowded in – and there was a man standing right behind me. He placed his hand on my bottocks, but he did it softly at first I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it. There wasn’t room to turn around, so I couldn’t look to see if what I felt actually was happening. But the pressure soon began to tighten and I knew someone was having their hand at my ass. I loudly stated that he must have misunderstood something (in half broken Japanese, it was the closest I could find that resembled saying: “Move your fucking hand or I’ll cut it off!”), but he kept at it even though there’s no doubt he understood what I was saying.
When we arrived at the next train station, and the compartment temporarily became less crowded, I turned around to let him see my face, knowing he would see I really was serious and that I wouldn’t back off from attacking him. To my surprise, the moment I turned toward him he took looked down (so he couldn’t see my eyes or my face) and began to bow while he repeatedly said: “Domo arigato gozaimasu!” (“Thank you very much, sir!”). But at least his hand was no longer on my but so I decided to do no more about and left him alone. After all, I didn’t know what it might lead to if I actually did attack him.
When the train started again, so did he. And the whole scene was repeated, with me yelling slightly louder and using a few curses I knew in Japanese, and with him actually taking his hand away from my but a couple of times, only to put it back as soon as I stopped threatening and shouting. Everybody else were poker faces. This is something the Japanese are really good at: Keeping up appearances. Sure, I could see that those closest and standing with their front to me were upset, frightened and embarrassed, but from a short distance I don’t think most people would’ve been able to see anything peculiar.
Anyway, the following train station was where I got off, my fiance’s mother stood there waiting for me, so I decided to not pick a fight and instead take it as the somewhat funny and peculiar incident that it was. As I got off the train and walked toward my fiance’s mother, I looked back at the guy. I could see him standing in the same manner again, bowing and saying “Domo arigato Gozaimasu!”. – Fucker, he actually thanked me for having molested me and traumatised me for life!!
All those years that have gone by, and it’s not until now that I know the name of the sexual assault I suffered: Frotteurism!… At times like this I thank the gods that I’m a psychopath. Think of the life long trauma and recurring nervous break downs I would otherwise have suffered, not to mention the horrible night mares! I would’ve spend a fortune on therapy… and would most likely have been molested by a few of them, so things would’ve gotten worse!… I’d have never had the courage to date the lovely women I’ve known! No sex!…
Oh, and I would’ve probably felt I was to blame, I’d have felt guilty! Maybe I’d have felt sorry for this guy, imagine that!…
All in all I guess, in the light of all this, that ten years in prison is a small price to pay for a strong and healthy psyche.
…..
In the video it’s a woman who practices Frotteurism. Apparently the word ‘Chijo‘ refers to females and there’s no male equivalent, except for the addition of the English ‘Man’, which makes the slang version ‘Chijo Man’… So would that be ‘Frotteuring woman-man’?
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