I used to take the train from New Haven to New York and back again all the time when I as in college. One night I was on my way to New Haven in an almost empty car. My head was resting comfortably on the seat back and I was about to drift off to sleep. To get more comfortable, I turned my head to one side -- and found myself looking at one of the strangest sights I have ever seen.
I found myself looking at a girl seated across the aisle from me. She was sitting in the window seat. She looked to be about my age -- maybe 19 or 20. She was dressed in a parka, jeans, and boots (this was winter). Nothing unusual about any of that. But as I looked more closely, I saw that her right hand was in her lap and her index and middle fingers were wiggling ever so slightly in her crotch. The movement was so subtle, and the idea of someone masturbating in public like that seemed so unlikely to me, that at first I didn't realize what I was looking at.
What was really strange was what she was doing with her left hand. With her thumb securely in her mouth, she was stroking her nose rhythmically with her index finger, at first slowly and then more urgently as, I supposed, her orgasm approached. I have no idea what this was supposed to accomplish. I can only guess that it must have been part of a routine she had been doing since she was very, very young. Like many such childhood masturbation rituals, it was probably automatic and unthinking: she just did it.
While her fingers continued their tiny movements over her crotch, the nose-stroking, which she accomplished with a circular motion with her curved index finger, sped up to a rather frenzied pace, as did her breathing. Her eyes were looking straight ahead but not seeing anything. Suddenly they widened and she leaned forward slightly. Her right hand was busy wiggling away, she was sucking her left thumb, and her left index finger was stroking her nose in rapid circles. I was watching a woman in the throes of an orgasm, and the sight was so funny it was all I could do not to laugh out loud.
A few stops later, she got off the train. I saw her walking along the platform, where she was met by a college boy type who might have been my age. He even looked a little bit like me. They hugged each other in the cold air and dim station lights. As the train pulled away, I reflected that I had witnessed something he probably never would get to see.