On Stolen Time

 
For A Special Scotish Friend


Zones of time get in my way
limits chances for rolls in hay
eighty-eight the magic speed
to get me closer to my need

a gray two seater's what I lack
robs of pleasures on my back
to travel quickly cross the pond
my bod for you to touch upon
headrest keeps me in my place
mushroom head rubbed on my face
sausage dripping slippery sauce
placed in mouth, my head won't toss.
pumping slowly, gaining ground
down my throat and all around
grab the shaft and down I'd go
working hard until you blow
hands cup lightly, balls caressed
your fingers dancing under dress
my feet on dash, I thrust hips up
pushing forward enjoy the rush

taps on window he is knocking
wonders why his car is rocking
darkened windows hide my plight
stops from seeing my delight
roll it down, you smile most meek
I continue to work your meat

now he's pissed and shows no tact
guess he wants his DeLorean back.



This one's for you David.