A Bawdy, Tired, Little Number

We made contact and I saw the lights
I followed them and I pulled the handle up
Heard the click and I was in the seat as the motor started
You pulled out onto the road staring straight at the night
You asked me if I was going to get my cock out or not
Demanding and short like a stern high school teacher
One who was only there for the pay
I shuffled around in the seat constricted by the seatbelt
But I managed to pull it out for you
It was poking out of my jeans already stiff
Your hand went for it as the other one steered the wheel
Playing with the foreskin, tugging it towards you
Your breathing was overly dramatic
Something which I often find off putting
You were wearing sweatpants and I felt your thighs
They were well muscled like a retired sportsman's
Maybe, you were a P.E. teacher
At every set of traffic lights you would remove your hand from my cock
And place it back on the wheel
In case, I guessed, someone drove up and saw you
Messing around with the privates of another man
But as soon as the light went from red to green
I would feel your thick fingers curl themselves around me
And hear your loud exhales, hear your soft groans
Distracting, yes, but the feeling of having my balls roughly squeezed was more so
And we saw the lights and drove to a still
It was your house where I would be allowed to go
You quickly stepped out of the car
But I had a stiff cock to deal with
Fuck it I thought and I let it swing out
Facing the night as I walked up the steps
You didn't even notice and then we were inside
And we made contact
What then took place is the topic for another poem