The Night Bus

It was a crap job anyway. But when you added an hour and a half on the night bus to get home, after a ten hour shift spent on my feet, then it went beyond crap to hellish.

Saturday nights were the worst because I had to share my journey with all the drunken idiots coming home after their night out.

That night was no different. I got on at Victoria, went straight to the back row of the upper deck, leaned my head against the window and drifted off into sleep.

The bus was full and as it pulled out and began the journey southwards, I drifted in and out of sleep, hearing the loud, drunken conversations going on around me:

"Mate, you were proper hammered!"

"Nah, nah – I weren't that bad."

"Yeah, you were dancing on the tables and everything - "

The bus stopped, jerking me dozily awake and the male voices were replaced by female ones.

"I came out with fifty quid and I've got a fiver left. What the fuck?"

"Well there was the money to get in and the drinks. The drinks were about a fiver each weren't they?"

"Yeah but I was only on singles."

I groaned inwardly and shifted my position, turning my head further towards the window. I opened my eyes blearily and saw that we were crossing over the river. St Paul's was lit up in the distance but I closed my eyes, willing the journey to be over by the time I opened them again.

"Clapham Junction."

The automated female voice woke me up and I pulled myself up in my seat, trying to stretch out the crick in my neck. People were piling unsteadily down the stairs to the bottom deck to be swiftly replaced by others coming up, talking and laughing loudly.

A middle aged man with stubble all over his chin sat on the seat in front of me and turned round. The smell of lager and cigarettes washed across from him.

"All right darling?" he asked, smiling.

"Don't bother," I said and closed my eyes again. I heard him snort and turn round in his seat.

Go away, please just go away I thought as I tried to shut out the drunken voices. I slipped back into the warm folds of sleep and the hum of the bus merged with the voices like a lullaby.

"Tooting Broadway."

I blinked and looked down. I could see people stepping off the bus onto the pavements and walking off unsteadily in all directions. I yawned and glanced around me.

The top deck had thinned out considerably. Stubbly man was long gone and there were only about four people left – all sitting by themselves near the front.

Finally! I turned myself away from the window into a new position and prepared to go back to sleep. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs and opened my eyes.

A girl appeared at the top of the stairwell. She looked like she'd come from a night out – tight jeans, sparkly top and fitted leather jacket. Her long dark hair fell almost halfway down her back.

She's fit, I thought. She made her way towards the back and I met her eyes briefly. Then, to my absolute horror, she sat down in the empty seat to me.

I looked straight ahead, my lips pressed together in fury.

What the fuck did she think she was doing? There were at least fifteen other empty seats – why did she have to take the one next to me? She must be foreign, that was the only explanation for such flagrant flouting of bus etiquette.

I could feel her looking at me so I turned my head. She was smiling, making dimples appear in her cheeks. Her gold eye shadow contrasted pleasingly with her dark eyes.

"Are you ok?" she asked.

She sounded like she had an accent, maybe Polish or Romanian. That explained why she was sitting next to a stranger when she didn't have to.

Normally, I would have been delighted that an attractive girl was chatting to me but I was exhausted and really, really pissed off.

"Yeah, fine" I said, forcing a smile. "I just want to go to sleep."

"Oh okay," she said, not looking the least bit offended. "What if you sleep past your stop?"

Her breath smelt of alcohol – not the stale, beery smell of the stubble man but a fresh, herbal smell that made me think of cocktails in the sunshine.

"No, it's fine – I'm the last stop," I explained and then pointedly closed my eyes.

"Ok," I heard her say. "Sweet dreams."

I frowned to myself as I felt the waves of sleep sucking me under again. They should really give non-Londoners handbooks about how to behave on public transport.

Images from my day at work flitted in front of my eyelids.

The grey speckled floor that I had to mop at least twice a day. The bright electric light in the kitchen, constantly flickering off the metallic surfaces, casting a harsh, unforgiving glare over everything. My boss Carl, skinny but incredibly hairy, waving his arms as he explained the finer points of customer service.

"Thing is Lindsey, customers want to be treated like an individual yeah?"

My eyes were drawn to the dark, wiry hairs that peeked from his nostrils.

"That means we need to give them a personal service. Try to think about how you would like to be treated yeah?"

Carl's whiny, nasal voice was merging with a humming sound coming from somewhere.

Of course – the bus. The thought bounced off the metal surfaces and I had to squint my eyes against the bright, flickering light.

Carl was suddenly standing much closer to me.

"It's about providing exceptional service, yeah?"

I leaned my head back because the hair from his nostrils was tickling my face. He was pushed right up against me, pushing me back against the worktop. His hips were pressing against mine, pushing right against my crotch.

"Morden."

I started awake. The lights of the passing streetlamps flickered against the window.

There was still a pressure on my crotch. For one horrible moment I thought that I'd been touching myself in my sleep but then I looked down and realised that it wasn't my hand resting against the crotch of my jeans.

The girl's face was right next to mine as she pressed her hand against me.

"What the - " She cut me off by pressing her lips against mine.

I tasted the alcohol on them. Probably gin and a hint of mint as well. Because she tasted nice I opened my lips without thinking and her tongue darted in and delicately caressed my own.

But then I remembered that I was essentially being sexually assaulted by a total stranger.

I pulled my head back, knocking it against the window.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, not wanting to raise my voice, not wanting to make a scene. I risked a glance at the few people still sitting down the front, oblivious to what was going on.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asked, raising her eyebrows innocently.

She moved her hand in a circular motion and white waves of pleasure flowed up my belly. She knows what she's doing, I thought.

My hand moved to hers, ready to pull it away. I closed my fingers around her wrist and then looked at her.

She stared back, waiting. She had long, dark lashes and that smell of gin cocktails filled the air between me and her pinkish, wet lips.

I pulled her hand up and slipped it under the waistband of my jeans and into my knickers.

She smiled and settled the heel of her hand against my clitoris. Her fingers curled up against me, pushing at my wet lips. I lifted my hips up to make it easier for her. She turned in the seat so that she bent over me.

She moved her hand, moving it back and forth against my clit whilst her finger flipped and dug at my entrance.

She kissed me again and I pushed my tongue determinedly into her mouth, drinking in her summer flavour.

Her other hand slid under my shirt and cupped my breast, gently kneading it as the tip of her index finger reached inside me.

I breathed heavily, gasping into her mouth, my eyes open and staring down to the front of the bus. All I could see was the backs of heads but I know we'll be stopping somewhere soon and then when they turn to get off they'll definitely see.

She rubbed ever harder, her finger flipping urgently in and out of my vagina. I whimpered against her mouth and she moved her hand from my breasts and snaked her arm about my waist, supporting me as I lifted my hips even higher.

I saw the familiar shops and houses flow past and realised we were nearing the end of the route, nearing my stop.

Her finger thrust in and out of me as her hand ground against my clitoris. My whimpering grew louder and she forced her tongue deeper into my throat.

The bus heaved over a speed bump, the motion causing her finger to knock hard against me, touching something inside that connected with my clitoris.

I squealed, the sound strangled by her tongue and her hand moved back to my breasts, pinching my nipples hard.

My hips bucked as I came, shuddering against her hand and almost choking on her tongue.

She withdrew her finger suddenly, almost painfully and broke the kiss. The bus had stopped.

She stood up abruptly, looking down at me with a smile.

"Last stop," she said.

My breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of the bus. I looked down to the front of the bus. The other passengers were getting off, a few of them flicking curious glances down my way.

I sat up in my seat, the contact of my pussy against the seat smarting deliciously. I couldn't quite take in what had happened.

"What – I mean how can you - "

"This is always your bus?" she interrupted.

"Er...yeah I guess so."

"Ok. Maybe I see you again then."

She smiled and then walked down to the aisle to the stairs.

I hurriedly rearranged my clothes. By the time I'd made it down the stairs, I could see disappearing round the corner.

The driver turned round in his seat and glared at me.

"Last stop," he said, pointedly.

I stepped out onto the pavement and watched as the now empty bus pulled off down the street.

The job was still crap but the journey home had just got a lot more enjoyable.