Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 THE MAN ON THE TRAIN

   by Schadenfreude

   As the District Line tube train pulled into Tower Hill station, Rosalind
Clark gripped her hand bag and anticipated the rush through the train doors
which always resembled a shoal of demented pilchards attempting to cram
themselves into the tin.  Pushing and shoving she found herself wedged in
the space at the end of one carriage accompanied by about eight other
perspiring souls.

   The train jerked into life and she lurched, bumping into her nearest
companion, a large black man who gave her a moon faced grin as she said
'Sorry!' and steadied herself.  She hung onto the overhead strap as the
train built up speed and she stared around vacantly at everything and
nothing as British train passengers are prone to do.  Despite trying not to
stare she kept seeing the rather vacant moon face of the black guy who
seemed to be staring at her like a child fascinated by a window display. 
She registered that he didn't seem to be quite normal, 'three bricks short
of a load' as her husband liked to call it and she smiled back in that
hopefully non-commital way that suggests no intimacy but avoids any hint of
hostility.  She wondered if that was a mistake, for he muttered something
inaudible and saliva appeared to form on his lips as the moon faced grin
became a smirk.  Hastily Rosalind turned her face skywards and stared
desperately as if there was something interesting about the light bulb
above her head.

   The train pulled in to West Ham station and two of the people cramming
her aisle got off.  She looked into the carriage and cursed silently, for
although there had been movement on and off the train, she had been too
slow to capture a seat.  She tried to ignore the black man, despite his
insistent vacant stare, but she began to feel uncomfortable, hoping that
soon a seat would become free or he would get off.  The train jerked into
life once more and Rosalind began mentally counting how long it would take
to get to Upminster and home.  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a
movement and her glance flicked to the black man, his face now beaming and
spittle running down his chin.  She followed the direction of his arm and
then she froze.  She felt her face becoming red as she jerked her head away
in a vain attempt to pretend she hadn't noticed.  He had unzipped his
trousers and she'd seen the curled up thick snake of his penis nestling in
the folds at his crotch.

   My God!, she thought wildly, he's showing me his cock!  He's flashing
me! Trying hard not to tremble, she looked around frantically at the fellow
occupants of the crowded corner to see what support and help she might
obtain.  There was a young male student, earphones in place, reading
Proust, two asian guys speaking in some native dialect and a young woman
with a baby in her arms.  She was wedged against the door of the adjoining
carriage directly facing her flasher, whose proclivities were hidden from
the other people.  She felt so awfully British not wanting to make a fuss,
so she hung onto the strap and gazed desperately skywards, terrified in
case the man made a move towards her.  But he didn't, content instead to
croon softly to himself, two stubby fingers now stroking the penis so that
it now hung,still flaccid, completely out of his trousers.  As her mouth
dropped open, he giggled and stuffed it back into his trousers like some
child playing a daring game.  Although the train stopped at three stations
the man was now blocking the doorway and to get to a seat Rosalind would
had have had to brush past him.  She preferred to stay on her strap, her
heart beating fast.

   The train pulled into Barking station and to Rosalind's relief the black
guy, with one last beaming smile, got off the train.  Her legs felt like
jelly and she was relieved that now there were seats free.  She moved into
the body of the carriage and sat down, suddenly realising that she was damp
with perspiration and her heart was pounding against the wall of her chest.

   By the time the train reached Upminster, Rosalind had calmed down a
little but found herself looking this way and that for potential molesters
as she walked the ten minute journey to her home.  She opened the front
door, still feeling tense and edgy, hoping that her husband would be home
and maybe had started the evening dinner.  She heard the TV on so knew he
was home then went into the kitchen and sighed with exasperation.  The
crockery was still in the sink from breakfast and there was no sign of any
other culinary activity.

   She walked into the lounge and Paul was sitting with his feet on the
coffee table watching TV.  "You might have started the dinner," she said
tetchily and he said "Just watching 'Weakest Link'.  I'll be out to help in
a jiff." She raised her eyes and snorted then went to hang up her coat.

   "I had a nasty experience on the tube today," she said, as she stood in
the lounge doorway.

   "Oh yeah?" he said absently, not really paying much attention.

   "I got flashed by a black guy on the way home" she said.

   He half turned and grinned.  "So is it true," he chuckled, "are they as
big as they're made out to be?"

   Rosalind banged the door shut and went out into the kitchen, tears in
her eyes.  Within a minute Paul had followed her.

   "What the hell was all that about?" he said angrily, "just because I
made a joke of it?  Sorry I hadn't realised this was meant to be a
melodrama!"

   "I was frightened, Paul," she shouted.  "That's never happened to me
before.  I didn't know what he might do - but thats typical.  You always
make a joke of everything.  You don't care about my feelings."

   "Oh Christ, I'm sorry I spoilt your dramatics," he said sarcastically, "
and sorry if you were scared.  But you always make a melodrama out of
everything.  These guys are harmless."

   "OK they're harmless, " she snapped, "go back and watch Anne Robinson. I
don't need any help."

   He shrugged his shoulders in resignation and walked back to the lounge,
leaving Rosalind angry and tearful to make the dinner alone.  She might as
well BE alone for all the support he gave her these days.  They never
seemed to talk, just argue and they hadn't made love in over a month.  He
had been working hard, his company threatened with redundancies, and she
knew it was preying on his mind but he was taking it out on her - not
deliberately, but by his single minded obsession with his job.  Rosalind
had never felt so lonely and unloved in the fifteen years of their
marriage.

   Maybe if they'd been able to have kids it would have been different, she
might at least have some alternative company when they got into these
spats, but once the specialist had established the damage to her fallopian
tubes that was that.  Their marriage had survived ups and downs but
Rosalind had never felt quite as desolate as she did now.

   The rest of the evening was spent in angry silence until she chose to go
to bed early, leaving him watching TV, seemingly oblivious to her mood. 
She lay in bed crying until exhaustion and sleep finally came.

   Over the next week or so they patched it up, almost by default rather
than any specific act or word of regret, and thats the way things always
seemed to work these days.  Each day Rosalind went to work and each night
she worried that she might see HIM again on the train, and got herself into
a state about what she would do if she did, but nothing happened.

   Then one Friday she decided to call on her married sister in Canary
Wharf after work.  It was nearly 9pm before they parted and she caught the
tube back to Bow Road.  There she had to change for the District Line and
she stood on the cold platform, her eyes darting nervously until the train
arrived, then got into a carriage that was occupied.  There were only three
people in it for it was late and the Upminster route was not crowded at
that time of night, two girls and a boy who were chatting in animated
excitement over some movie they'd seen as the train pulled away.

   Rosalind sat back in her seat and closed her eyes, her prevailing mood
one of sadness.  She had rowed with Paul again that morning and the visit
with her sister had been a much needed distraction from her domestic woes,
but now she had to go back to that simmering atmosphere and his coldness.
She felt the tears pricking her cheek as the train eased to a halt at West
Ham.  The train moved off again and something made her open her eyes with a
start.  She gasped aloud, for the three kids had left and HE was standing
there looking down at her, his big moon face grinning with childish delight
as recognition dawned.

   Rosalind's mouth went dry and her stomach gave such a heave that for a
second she thought she might be sick but the feeling passed.  There was no
way to escape for he blocked the exit to the next carriage, and behind her
was a locked door leading only to the driver's cab.  She tried not to show
any panic but sat grimly staring out of the window, hoping against hope
that he would sit down somewhere else and ignore her.  Her hopes were
dashed when he shambled towards her seat and sat down beside her.

   Rosalind continued to stare demonically out of the window, thinking, as
her heart raced madly, what a ridiculous thing to do for he was not going
to go away.  She decided that, whatever happened she would not make him
angry, just desperately hope that someone got into the carriage at one of
the next stops before he did anything serious.

   She felt his strong hand nudging her arm and she had no choice but to
turn around.  As she suspected, he had undone his trousers, his thick
flaccid cock hanging down between his legs.  Somehow, because she expected
it, Rosalind was not as startled as she had been the first time.  She
looked at his face and there was a quiet innocent pride there like an
infant who has just drawn his first picture.  She decided that she had to
remain calm and that maybe he would respond, like a child, to a stern but
gentle reproof.

   "It's very nice, " she said quietly, "now please put it away.  It's not
decent to do that in public."

   He frowned at her, uncomprehending, then suddenly grabbed her hand. 
"You touch," he said urgently, "you touch Jimmy."

   Oh Christ!  Rosalind began to tremble and nearly wet herself, but forced
herself to stay calm.  Someone will get on when the train stops and I can
get help.  She realised the train was already stopping at Plaistow but
there was no one on the platform.

   "No," she said, with more conviction than she felt.  "That's naughty.  I
don't want to do that."

   His face scowled.  "YOU TOUCH!" he said, glowering angrily and, with
trembling fingers, Rosalind forced herself to put her hand on his penis. 
It was warm and soft and, immediately he grabbed her hand and made it clear
he wanted her to enclose the shaft.  Choking back the fear, she did so and
he began to rock back and forth, making it clear that she should masturbate
him.

   As she choked back the bile in her throat, Rosalind began to slide her
hand up and down his warm shaft until she felt it begin to swell and grow
beneath her hand.  Immediately the anger left his face and he was once more
the big infant who was simply taking pleasure from his own natural
longings.

   As his penis began to throb and thicken beneath her fingers, Rosalind's
fear began to evaporate and was replaced by a strange sense of excitement.
She looked down at his cock and gasped.  It was huge, maybe 8 inches long
and thick with a prepuce which hung over the head, making it look like a
sinister black cowled snake.  She was sitting on a London tube train, alone
with a strange man and pulling him off.  The bizarre situation only seemed
to heighten an unexpected rush of moisture in the crotch of her knickers.
He lay back, burbling to himself, as she continued to minister to his
jutting cock, wondering how she would explain the semen stains on her
clothes when, as seemed inevitable, he shot his load all over her.

   Then he turned his face to her and grinned, leaning across to place one
large fat hand just above her knee.  Roalind stiffened and suppressed a
cry. She guessed this might come next but somehow she was much calmer than
she had expected.  He grunted with excitement and his hand began to push
her coat,and the dress beneath, higher up her thighs until her suspenders
and the hem of her pale blue panties was exposed.  Her heart was beating
fast with a mixture of sensations as he seized the thin material of her
panties and began to wrench.  Trying not to hyperventilate, her body
shaking, she put one hand on his arm, pausing in her masturbatory efforts
for a moment, and said quietly, "Please no, don't do that.I'll take them
off!" He seemed to comprehend and his face broke into a broad, inane grin
as she lifted her bottom off the seat, reached under her dress and pulled
her knickers down and off, daintily slipping them off her feet before
picking them up and handing them to him.

   The baby face broke into a broad grin and he burbled something before
holding her panties to his face and sniffing them as she resumed her manual
manipulation of his cock.  By now Rosalind had been consumed by desires
which seemed to have been long buried in her subconscious.  All her fear
had gone and what remained was a sexually deprived and frustrated married
woman of 40, stroking the biggest dick she had ever seen.  She sat upright
in her seat, conscious of the surges of moisture now flooding her bare,
unprotected cunt.

   Hardly able to believe what she was doing, she spread her legs, took the
big flabby warm hand and placed it under her skirt, making sure his large
fingers were positioned right on the fleshy, open lips of her pussy.  He
looked mystified and wide eyed, like a child on its first trip on a ghost
train, wondering what came next.  She whispered, "Rub it, gently." At first
he had to be shown, but he soon got the idea and,although his ministrations
were crude, he was gentle and firm and his fingers soon found their way
into the warm, receptive slit.

   Rosalind lay back in her seat, her eyes closed as the big man's fingers
rubbed up and down her cunt as she gasped and moaned, his fingers
frequently finding their way inside as she writhed on the invading digit,
still stroking his cock as she did so.  It took some seconds for her to
realise that the train had stopped in a tunnel somewhere.  She was moaning
and crying loudly now, 6 weeks of sexual deprivation having opened the
floodgates of need and she was past caring where she satisfied it, even if
it was at the hands of this dumb, mentally subnormal man who just wanted to
touch her.

   Trembling with desire, she stopped masturbating him, gently eased his
hand away from her cunt and stood up.  He looked angry, deprived but she
smiled and moved into the aisle beside the seats.  As he watched her, his
bewildered frown deepening, Rosalind took off her coat and laid it down on
the carriage aisle.  As he gazed in wonder, she smiled in encouragement and
then lay down on her coat, pulling her dress up to her waist and spreading
her legs.  His eyes widened as he stared at the moist pink cunt surrounded
by a nest of brown pubic hair, wondering what she wanted him to do.  She
beckoned him down beside her and held out her arms.  He grinned stupidly
and rolled on top of her like a big cuddly bear.  Once she had grown used
to his weight, she reached under his belly and found his erect cock,
stroking it gently and moving it to her opening.  She guided him in and at
first he was confused but then nature took its course and he began to move
his enormous buttocks up and down, fucking her with deep satisfying
strokes. His cock was so big that at first Rosalind gasped with the sudden
pressure on her cunt walls, but she dug her nails into his back as he
thrust back and forth as she screamed with pleasure.  He was at first
bewildered by the noise she made but soon threw back his own head and
burbled inanely, his brain-dead grin spreading across his face.

   At that moment the sliding door at the end of the carriage opened and
two London transport rail workers walked into the compartment.  Rosalind's
eyes saw them immediately and, in that split second of shock as they stood
transfixed at the sight before them, her defence mechanism came to her aid.
She began screaming as the big man on top of her stared at her in
confusion.

   Immediately the two men ran down the aisle, seized the big man round the
throat and hauled him off the screaming woman.  He was powerful and he
resisted violently until one of the rail men punched him in the mouth and
he rolled over and lay on his side, sobbing like a baby, where a kick in
the balls finally put paid to any last resistance as he vomited on the
floor of the compartment.

   Rosalind, shocked by the turn of events, pulled down her skirt and
staggered to her feet.  "He-he just jumped me," she said tearfully, "We-we
were alone in the compartment and - ".  One of the men put his arm around
her and led her away to another carriage saying , "Don't worry, love.  My
mate's telephoning the Transport Police.  They'll have that bastard off at
the next station and take you to hospital for a check up....

   She sat in her bathrobe in the hospital after the doctor had taken swabs
from her vagina and at last she could wash.  Paul had been waiting outside
for an hour and, once he had been allowed in, it was obvious he had been
crying.  He threw his arms around her and hugged her as if the world were
about to end.

   "Damn my stupid jokes," he whispered, "why didn't I take you seriously.
I never thought he might...oh God, Ros, I am so sorry.  Please forgive me.
I know things haven't been good between us lately but I'll make it up to
you, I swear I will.  This is a wake up call for me.  When they told
me....I ...I ..realised how much I love you!  We'll book a holiday and try
to take your mind off all of this"

   She put her arms around him and smiled with contentment.  Maybe they
could make a fresh start, maybe this was the catalyst they had needed to
put their lives back together.

   The doctor came in just then and said 'Excuse me but there is a
policewoman outside who wants to talk to you.'

   A pang of guilt crossed Rosalind's face but she swallowed hard and
mentally rehearsed her story.

   When she'd finished her explanation the young officer frowned and wrote
something in her note book.

   "I wonder what set him off, Mrs.  Clark," she said pleasantly, " you see
we've known Jimmy for a while.  He's been in and out of mental institutions
all his life and we know he likes to show you what he's got.  But he's
always been like a child just wanting to attract attention.  He's never
been violent before.  "

   She paused.  "We found your panties clutched in his hand.  They didn't
seem ripped or damaged."

   Rosalind shook her head.  "What would you do, officer, if a man was
threatening to punch your face in, and there was nowhere to turn for help?"

   The policewoman nodded.  "OK," she said, "just wanted to clear that up.
I assume you will be pressing charges."

   Rosalind looked at Paul.  "I don't know," she replied, " I think we both
just want to put it behind us.  What will happen to him?"

   The policewoman shrugged.  "Whether you press charges or not, I think
Jimmy will be put away in a secure unit.  He was on licence you see.  I
doubt if he will see the light of day for a long time."

   Rosalind's face paled slightly but she recovered quickly as the police
officer bade her goodbye.  She asked Paul if she could be alone for a while
so she could dress and be ready to come home and he kissed her passionately
and left the examination room.

   Left alone, Rosalind thought of those big trusting confused eyes and a
tear trickled down her cheek at the magnitude of what she'd done.  But he
would be better off being looked after, wouldn't he?  No more women
compromised on trains, no more trying to cope in a world to which he was
patently unsuited.  She had done him a favour.  Resolutely she dried her
eyes and mentally began to plan the holiday on the Italian Riviera that she
and Paul had promised each other for so long.  She promised herself she
would never think about the man on the train ever again.