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From: Nick <nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk>
Subject: {ASSM} I'm Mandy (MF train crash)
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Date: Sun, 2 Jan 2000 23:10:02 -0500
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I'm Mandy (M/F black comedy)
by Nick (Copyright Nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk)
WARNING: If you have had any personal involvement with any train crashes,
you may find this distasteful, and I suggest you read something else.
Note that this story is provided free for entertainment. You may copy it
and distribute to friends but you may not make money from it or any part
of it without my agreement, nor must you claim it as your own. This story
is copyrighted to me (Nick) and I ask you to observe that.
This story is of an adult nature, containing some sexually explicit scenes.
I do not intend either for me or the reader to break the law in any
country where it may be read, and so if for any reason the law of your
country forbids you from reading adult literature, do not read any further.
'I saw her walking on the water when the sharks were coming for me.
I felt Mandy pull me up, give me the kiss of life, just like the girl in Dr
No.
When they pulled me from the wreckage and her body couldn't be found...'
from the song 'I'm Mandy Fly Me' which may be found on the album 'How Dare
you!' by 10cc. I mention this lyric by way of explanation of the title.
Note: Other 'credits' for inspiration go to the London Paddington rail
crash in October 1999 (in which I was *not* involved). It is thought that
the reason for this was bright sunlight shining directly onto a signal
light which was red at the time.
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.
A brief break in the story to make an authors note: S to r y c o p y right
belongs to N i c k at c a s s a n d r a dot d e m on dot c o dot u k as
should be stated at the top. Sorry for the interruption. Please carry on
reading.
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.
END
Please comment. This story is otherwise offered to you for your
entertainment for free. My mailbox is always open so don't be scared!
E-mail Nick@cassandra.demon.co.uk
For more stories by Nick visit the website: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Nick/www
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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