The overnight VIP bus to Chiangmai is filling up fast as Matilda climbs up the stairs to her armchair seat towards the front of the bus.

She is a little startled by the size and length of the dark man who is fully filling the neighbouring window seat. Must be a basketballer.

“Hi, I’m Al,” says the man with a smile. “I am going to Chiangrai.”

“Hello, I’m Miranda,” she says, smiling back.

As the luxury bus slides into the Bangkok night to head north, Matilda places a flat red pillow that she always travel with for her head on the back of the seat and takes the thin blanket out of it plastic bag. It’s going to be a bloody cold air-conditioned ride, as usual.

Before settling in, Miranda walks to the toilet at the back of the bus and slips off her flimsy pink bikini underwear from under her cool cotton skirt. She always sleeps naked, and this may be the closest way that she can tonight.

The black hunk of a man appears to be asleep, covered by blanket. Matilda loves men with dark skin and she loves the way her neighbour’s skin on his muscular arms and face gleams in the streetlight. She admires the fine features of his face that is like an African tribal mask, carved from ebony wood.

Matilda lifts up the armrest that separates their comfortable seats and sinks into hers. She enjoys the warmth radiating from the man muscular body and naughtily makes use of the bus bumping motion to ride her bottom to touch his musdular thigh.

This bumpy stretch of the highway pushes her bottom more firmly against her man. Riding the bumps, she enjoys what her bum is feeling for her. As the man moves, the back of his large left hand presses against her curves.

“Jesus,” Matilda mumbles to herself. This is going to be a good all night ride. Still with the back to the man, she feels him turn towards to face her body.

Then she feels his heavy right hand being placed as if accidentally on the full curve of her bottom, resting delectably on her filmsy skirt. The hand soon realises that she is bare underneath and in fact her lower half is all open to it.

“Scheisse,” Matilda thinks, she is in for it now.

The strong hand and fingers caress her very slowly and gently now. Like a sculptor’s hand, it shapes the ample globes of her soft flesh, then dips under into the valley of her anus.

Don’t stop, breathes Matilda, to herself. The wrong hand doesn’t stop and his index and middle fingers are now caressing the carpet of her fine copper pubic hair.

Scheisse. The man’s thick index finger now picks up moisture leaking from her vagina and rbs it on to her anus that is now at its mercy.

The strong finger draws small rings around her pucker target, poises on it then presses ever slowly inside the back gate.

Matilda tries not to cry out but instead pushes her face deep into her square red night pillow. The finger slips right in and slides back out again, ever so slowly.

The old paunchy and balding man with glasses, looking just like her old dad, is stretched out in the seat across the aisle. He is awake and is looking over. But it’s all very dark to see much.