I'm Mandy (MF train crash) The stroboscopic effect of the low winter sun, flickering through the trees at the side of the track, irritated me. It was one of those crisp blue October mornings in which one should take the dog for a walk in bracing fresh air, and feel good to be alive, rather than commute to work on a crowded city train. At least I wasn't driving though. Driving into the sun on a day like today, one has to position the sun visor exactly right so that one can see the traffic ahead, but not be dazzled by the glare. Driving away from the sun is even more lethal. The brightness is often such that the brake-lights of the car in front are all-but invisible. This is almost as dangerous as driving through fog or ice, in my view. It is often impossible to see red traffic lights too. On the train, there are no such problems. The driver can see everything. At least, one assumes so. One can relax, read a book, have a nap. If one can get a seat, that is. There are other compensations too. For one thing this train was full of other commuters and at least 50% of these were female. Watching women 'strap-hanging' is one of my favourite pastimes. As I clung to a strap myself, my eye was caught by a pretty young brunette. During an extended period of brightness when the sun shone uninterrupted through the window, it illuminated her beautifully, shining through her blouse and catching the curve of her breast and the lace pattern of her bra. I absorbed this vision in for a while, before we were plunged into darkness again. Bright, dark bright, dark... It was giving me a headache. I turned away towards the interior of the carriage where the flickering sunlight was less intrusive, and I caught sight of a lovely pair of hips, swaying and flexing as the train jolted over points. Indeed, the woman's whole body moved sinuously against the train, as if she were dancing. I caught sight of her face. Framed with blonde hair, it seemed pure and innocent, and then it was struck with a shaft of sunlight, which gave it a truly angelic quality. I wondered, perversely, if her obvious beauty had made her selfish and callous, while the more 'lived-in' face of the woman standing further along indicated a warmer personality. I started looking at the faces, seeing what I could see in them. Was the woman with the thin mouth and the hard-bitten lines, over there, perhaps insecure? Maybe all she needed was a loving hand. What was occupying the pensive redhead's mind? Was she choosing between boyfriends, or perhaps between husband and lover? She could have been considering the relative merits of Tolstoy and Dickens, for all I knew, or perhaps she was simply wondering what to have for dinner that evening. The cuddly, fluffy woman staring into space clearly wanted sex. It was written all over her. Who were they all? Where had they come from? Where were they all going? The train jolted over points once more, and the carriage swayed as we were wrenched in a different direction. Not many people have actually seen a train crash. Not many have heard the grinding roar of the impact, or seen the carriages rear and concertina like fragile toys. Of those who have it is hard not to think of the 'poor buggers' inside as they are thrown around the inside of the carriages and out through the windows. The 'poor buggers' themselves have one thing to be thankful for, and that is that they are never aware of the crash itself. They don't actually experience the hard impact of being thrown against carriage seats and bulkheads and being crushed against each others' bodies. They will remember up to a few seconds before the event, and from when they regain consciousness - assuming they do - but never the crash itself. For me this was like some surreal disconnection. One moment the carriage was swaying over the points and the sunlight was flickering through the windows, and the next I was in pitch darkness, and everything seemed to hurt. I struggled to make sense of my situation. My left cheek felt warm, and when I moved my head, I realised that this was because what it was resting against was warm. I tried to move my arms and legs, and only succeeded in convincing myself that I still had control and feeling in all four of my limbs. The crushing weight on my back told me that I wasn't going anywhere fast. There was also a strange smell that I couldn't quite place. In coming to the understanding that something terrible had happened, I tried to match it with diesel or kerosene, but couldn't. I moved my head once more and tried to make out what it might have been resting against. My cheek brushed against the silkiness of a fabric which does not usually constitute any part of a train. I felt the warmth of another human body against it. I slowly realised that the smell was that of a woman's sex. I kept very still, as my brain furiously struggled with the actual geography of my situation. As far as I could tell, my cheek had been resting on her inner thigh, and now nestled comfortably in her groin. Gingerly, I tested my assumption by turning my head slightly. Sure enough, my nose came up against the hardness of what would have been her mons, and her scent became even more powerful. All that kept me from her flesh contact was her satin slip and, presumably, her panties. Next, I had the moral issues to struggle with. At once, I felt guilty that, at a time and place like this, I should find myself with my head buried in a woman's crotch. The obvious fact that it had not been intentional did little to assuage this feeling. Moreover, what if the poor woman were badly injured, or even dead? The last thing I should be doing - should *want* to be doing - is rummaging around in her nether regions with my face. For a moment I had a nightmare vision of rescuers pulling wreckage off me to find me buried between the legs of a severed torso. There was a movement beneath me and a reassuring gurgle beneath my ear. She was, at least, alive. Even so, I could not imagine that my presence between her legs would have been something she would welcome at that time, so I continued to remain still. There was another movement, which seemed to turn my head towards her, pressing my nose against her crotch. I tried to turn it away, even though my instincts shouted otherwise. I was pleased to note that another limb now showed itself to be in good working order, if a little out of my control. I couldn't make sense of the next movement. If I had not known better, I would have sworn that her hips were thrusting upwards. I put this down to some kind of subsidence underneath us all. When it happened again, my libido took command of my intellect and I pushed my face as hard into her crotch as I could, nibbling and licking at whatever was available. I felt sure that I would be jailed for some particularly obscene variant of rape for this, but I no longer cared. My penis was now fully erect. For all I knew, it might have been waving proudly in the open air for all to see, but I continued to luxuriate in the exotic warmth and scents of her crotch, oblivious of anything. I felt the friction of the satin slip on my cheek, and suddenly it wasn't there any more. My lips pressed directly onto the mound of her flimsy panties and my tongue felt the harsh texture of barely contained pubic hair. Now my cheek felt the direct warmth of the soft flesh of her thigh. I worked my tongue under the panties, whose wetness told me I might well get away without being charged with anything after all, and felt her body quiver as I found the slickness of her labia. Suddenly, she was moving again, but away from me. My tongue lost contact with her crotch and my cheek felt the garter top of her stocking slide past. Before I knew it my head was resting against cold metal which yielded just a hint of the warmth of her now vanished presence. Then I was blinking in the sunlight once more. Two dark figures stood over me. "Take it easy; mate, we'll soon have you out of here." "Can you move your legs? Good. Can you try to sit up?" As my eyes grew accustomed to the light, I saw blood-stained people wandering aimlessly amongst the mangled wreckage like characters from some horror movie. Where was she? I looked around, but there were no women who looked as if they had just... well, to be frank, they all looked as if they 'had just...'. I passed out for no immediately explicable reason. I learnt later that it was simple shock. I could hear voices as I started to come round. "...and did you see the hard-on on that one?..." "... you'd think they had something else to worry about, wouldn't you..." "...sometimes the presence of death affects people that way..." "...you think so? I think it's sick..." "...he's coming round." "You're back with us. Take it easy now. How are you feeling?" "Is she ok?" I asked, sitting up. "Who?" "The other woman... who..." "What other woman?" "You pulled her free from my carriage. How is she?" The man shrugged. "What does she look like?" He had me there. "I... er!" I fell, silent. The man shrugged and turned to his colleague. "Sounds like another 'Mandy' to me!" he muttered under his breath.