The Mounting

There is no delicate way to put this. Yesterday, during my regular personality-bleaching commute, a woman attempted to mount me. In fact it wasn't even an attempt, it was an actual, pure, methodical mounting. I'd seen a similar thing on a nature programme earlier in the week, when one horny Horned Toad, took another by surprise from the rear. I was that baffled amphibian.

I like to look at the woodpecker. On my way to work, I walk a considerable distance to pass through some woods, where I often see a woodpecker. The sighting, or failure to sight the woodpecker, is a barometer for my day. A decent view of the bird tells me that my morning won't end in bloodshed, whereas if the animal is illusive, things are sure to go awry. This detour on my route ensures I will be late and have to jump on the tube to make up time. This is always grim. But I have never been mounted before.

Things seemed optimistic - I had seen the woodpecker and the tube carriage was relatively person-free. The crowds increased as we passed from station to station, until it was obviously full. I was crammed against the door, those around me were similarly pressed and the tube etiquette was in place. There was no space and thus no one attempted to rock the boat by attempting to board. Except this particular lady at Kentish Town.

My guard was down, certainly. The train was complete, no other passengers would be alighting, all was safe in the world. It was then I realised that something was moulding itself against my back body. Not simply pressing themselves against me in traditional commuter fashion, but attempting to clamber upon me, as animals have been prone to since developing the urge.

I let out a surprised 'Ooh'. The man next to me laughed at my startled expression. My assailant was unseen but was now squirming and gyrating against me, attempting to generate some space for herself in an area where none existed. Then the tutting began. First from those nearby, then from the mounter herself, until a tidal wave of tutting passed through the carriage. I didn't tut. I was speechless. Violated.

It's hard to know how to react to such a situation. We'd reached another station, people left the train, the mounter disengaged and moved directly in front of me and then attacked me from this position, now leaning back onto me. But this I could cope with, keeping her at bay with a rolled up newspaper. Then I was released at my own destination and the attack was over.

It was quite an odd experience, but I was left with a thought I've often had during a particularly gruelling commute. Why bother? Is it that important? Unless your transporting organs for immediate transplant, is it worth mounting an unknown man to get to your role at Charbroilled Marketing, where you will spend the first 45 minutes of your morning seeing if that young buck in Research has replied to the slightly flirty comment you made during an illicit game of Scrabulous?

I did not enjoy my mounting. I will be travelling by bus on Monday. The woodpecker will remain unspotted.