Stuck in Traffic

The second she undid her jeans and slid her hand inside of them, the traffic slowed to a near standstill.

“Oh god no,” she said, with just a hint of a whine. “I was just starting to have fun.”

All around us the cars slowed down, and instead of zipping by us, barely able to get a glimpse of anything at all, it was suddenly very clear that the other drivers might, in fact, notice a girl with a hand in her pants.

“Don’t stop,” I told her, risking a quick glance in her direction.

“Are you serious? People can see me.”

“I know. It’s terrible. Whatever will they think?”

“This isn’t fair,” she said, squirming as she looked out the window. The woman next to us was busy on her phone, but she passed us by in a few moments to be replaced by an old man with his chin to the wheel. He was definitely not going to be distracted by anything we did.

“Why don’t you pull them down further,” I said, wondering how far she was willing to go. She looked at me, then back out the window, and then back at me once more. And then, with a wiggle, she slid her jeans down just enough that I could clearly see her fingers moving between her legs.

“Anyone can see me,” she moaned, closing her eyes for a moment.