It was a sultry Saturday evening on September 7th, and I had a party to attend. My friend’s place in LB Nagar was about 20 kilometers away from my home in Gachibowli. Normally, I would drive or use my husband’s chauffeur-driven car, but this time, with the unpredictable weekend traffic in Hyderabad, I decided to take the metro instead. It was an exciting change of pace, and the night already felt like an adventure waiting to unfold.

I was feeling bold that night, so I chose a dress that matched my mood. It was a deep red, skin-tight bodycon dress, hugging every curve of my body with the perfect amount of stretch to allow me to move freely, while still showing off my figure. The neckline plunged daringly low, framing my décolletage, and the fabric clung sensually to my waist and hips, finishing just above my knees. The thin straps of the dress showed off my toned shoulders, and with each step, my high heels added an extra sway to my hips, accentuating my confident stride. I knew I looked incredible. The kind of look that would have eyes following me wherever I went. It was intentional, calculated even, and I loved the attention it would bring.

I draped a sheer, light scarf around my neck as a playful accessory, but certainly not to hide anything. The scarf barely covered the plunging neckline, adding a teasing element rather than concealing anything. With a final glance in the mirror, I smiled, knowing I was stepping out into the night with a sense of power and purpose.

At Raidurg station, I met up with my friends – five women and a guy, all dressed to impress. We were buzzing with excitement about the party ahead. As we boarded the metro, I could feel eyes on me already. I caught a few men sneaking glances, their gazes lingering a little longer than usual. It was the kind of attention I relished. The train wasn’t crowded at first, and we laughed and chatted, the atmosphere light and carefree. I could feel my dress brushing against my skin, the fabric gliding over my body with every slight movement as the metro swayed.

About fifteen minutes into the journey, at Ameerpet station, the metro became noticeably more crowded. People pushed into the compartment, and suddenly the space around us shrank. That’s when I noticed him. A man, probably in his mid-40s, dressed in formal office clothes – a typical businessman, nothing out of the ordinary. But the way his eyes settled on me, roaming from my exposed shoulders down to my chest, and then lower still, wasn’t subtle. He was devouring me with his eyes, and I could feel every bit of it.

At first, I acted like I didn’t notice. I’ve been in these situations before, and I knew how to handle myself. I shifted slightly, allowing my scarf to fall even further, exposing more of the skin that his eyes were so hungrily drinking in. I adjusted it slowly, just enough to show I was aware of his gaze but in no rush to cover up. His stare followed every movement, his eyes dark with interest. The thrill that coursed through me was undeniable – there was something deeply exciting about triggering that kind of reaction in someone. He wasn’t just looking; he was captivated, and that’s exactly what I wanted.

As the metro swayed, I could feel the subtle shifting of the bodies around me. The press of the crowd became more intimate, and soon, I felt a light touch on my waist. The man had moved closer. His fingers brushed against me, almost imperceptibly at first. The kind of touch that could be dismissed as accidental in a crowded metro, but I knew better. He was testing boundaries, seeing how far he could push. And rather than pull away, I let the moment linger, feeling the heat of his presence behind me.

I was aware of my friends, still chatting and laughing beside me, completely oblivious to the silent game unfolding between this stranger and me. His hand grew bolder, brushing against my lower back, lingering just a little too long to be innocent. I shifted again, this time purposefully pressing against him as the train lurched. His breath hitched slightly, and I could feel the tension between us build. I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him, locking eyes for a brief second. The intensity in his gaze told me everything I needed to know. He wanted me, and I was enjoying every second of it.

The train passed through several more stations, each stop making the compartment even more cramped, forcing us all closer together. By the time we hit the halfway point, I could feel his body pressed up against mine more deliberately. His hand, once tentative, now rested lightly on my hip. I let him believe he was in control, but I knew better. Every shift, every touch, every glance was calculated on my part. I wasn’t some passive bystander in this. I was a willing participant, enjoying the effect I had on him, savoring the power of being the object of his desire.

At one point, the train jolted more forcefully, and I stumbled slightly, catching myself against his chest. His hands instinctively steadied me, fingers pressing into my sides. I felt the heat of his breath near my ear, and I let out a soft laugh, more for my own amusement than anything. The tension between us was palpable, and I reveled in it. He thought he was being discreet, but I knew exactly what he was doing. And I let him.

The ride continued, each stop bringing more people, more opportunities for fleeting touches, more moments where I could feel his eyes burning into my skin. I shifted my body slightly from time to time, allowing him glimpses down my dress as my scarf shifted with the motion of the train. Each time, his gaze grew more intense, more hungry.

As we approached LB Nagar, the crowd began to thin, but his eyes never left me. Even as the compartment emptied out, I could feel his lingering presence. He knew our game was coming to an end, but the satisfaction I felt was undeniable. I had held his attention, teased him, played with his desire, all while maintaining complete control of the situation.

When we finally reached our stop, I stepped off the train, feeling his eyes on me as I walked away, my hips swaying with each step. I didn’t look back, but I knew he was watching. The thrill of the entire experience stayed with me as we hailed a cab and headed to the party.

That night, I was reminded of the power of female sexuality – the way it can command attention, create desire, and leave a lasting impression. I had embraced every moment of that journey, not as a victim, but as someone who thrives on the attention, the thrill of being desired, and the intoxicating feeling of being in control of that desire.

This is who I am – bold, confident, and unapologetic. I will continue to wear what I want, to flaunt my sexuality, to embrace my power. After all, isn’t that what being a woman, a true feminist, is about? Owning every part of yourself, including your sexuality, and enjoying every second of it without fear or shame?

That night, as I walked into the party, I felt empowered, alive, and ready for whatever the night had in store.