Chapter 7: Short Work

On Wednesday we got the Diktat back we'd written the week before and I became the most popular guy for a different reason. There was one particular sentence in it:

Sein Lebensstil trieb ihn in den Ruin., which means someone was driven to bankruptcy by his lifestyle. I meanwhile had written.

Sein Lebensstil trieb ihn in den Urin., and yes the last word means the same in German as it does in English and the poor fictional sod had been chased into the urine instead. Jenny nearly suffocated from her hysterical laughter, as did some of my classmates, but the laughter wasn't malicious. Most of them knew from similar tests in English lessons, just how tricky they could be. The teacher had even drawn a LOL smiley next to it, and despite the hilarity of the mistake, I'd gotten my best grade so far on such a test and gotten a 3, which was more than I could have hoped for. There were three people who'd gotten a 4, and they were native German speakers. Jenny had gotten a 1 as usual.

Later we had Sports lessons. Those German schools really like to put their students through the wringer. Over the course of the year, we'd have graded tests in shot put, javelin throwing, long jump, high jump, 100m sprint, 3 kilometer run, soccer, handball, volley ball, horizontal bar exercises, floor exercises, pommel horse jump, rope climbing and we could select one of three martial arts – Judo, boxing or Karate. You'd almost inevitably fail in some of those. With me being a scrawny racer I did really badly in things like shot put and javelin throwing, but I seemed to be better at things that required coordination, like gymnastics and I seemed to be a fairly mean goalie in soccer and handball. It was quite a stark difference from home where we called a game football that realistically should be called hand-egg or knocked balls about with wooden sticks.

One thing was universal to every German sports lesson though – I was knackered after it. I shuffled home and fell face-down onto the bed, sleeping immediately.

In the evening I had another guitar lesson with Regina. Seeing how much fun she had teaching me, I asked her why she didn't take the exam as a music teacher as well. Even if there was no job as a music teacher, she could stand in if one of the schools' music teachers was ill and she could give afternoon lessons to people for added income. She told me she'd think about it and our lesson culminated in Regina and I playing the guitars with Jenny giving us a tear-jerkingly beautiful rendition of Brian May's "Let your Heart Rule your Head".

Thursday was a right ol' buzz, with the principal's incessant bragging about his two racer kids, even the part time janitor knew by now that we'd be off in the evening to race in Hockenheim and this being the season finale, it was shown on TV. Absolutely no pressure there – knowing that the whole school was going to watch us race.

We arrived in Dresden just in time to see dad's Dassault Falcon come in. Since he was parking his plane in the GA area, we didn't have to go through the normal security area. A solitary policeman checked us out at the GA Terminal and we were on the plane in a matter of minutes. I exchanged high-fives with dad and hugged my mum, unashamedly kissing her square on the lips. Jenny just grinned and just for good measure Regina demanded a smooch as well. Good thing that Peter was going with the team this time. It was of course 'pure coincidence' that with four seats on two tables inside the luxurious cabin of the plane, I came to sit across from mom. If Jenny's shit-eating grin was anything to go by, the boobs I'd be playing with tonight would be quite a bit larger than usual.

With a turnaround time that would have made Ryanair proud, we turned onto the runway again and were soon in the air. Being an aviation nut, dad had commandeered the jump seat in the cockpit. The flight was delightfully short. With a cruising speed of 566mph the craft made short work of the flight to Speyer, which had no regular flights apart from the odd holiday charter. Just fifty minutes after takeoff we were back on firm ground. That was quite a departure from our usual multi-hour slog in the Benz, although Jenny and my love-nest in the back of it made it usually quite bearable.

When we disembarked, I could see two hire cars waiting. Dad told me that he'd be staying in a hotel in Speyer, while we would stay in a rather posh joint in nearby Hockenheim. I didn't need a nuclear physics degree to work out what that was all about and sure enough when we arrived at our hotel, sans dad, mom was booked into a room with me, and Jenny and Regina in the other. That might have gotten us a few looks in Americaland, but here in Germany nobody batted an eye. With dad being absent, nobody thought much of a mother and a son sharing a room, even though it only had one king-size bed. If only they knew...

We had barely entered our room when mom started crying, which riddled the heck out of me. I soon realized what this was all about – she felt humiliated by having to arrange this for one purpose only. Instead of trying to tell her otherwise, because it would have been a lie, I started to do what the purpose of this arrangement so obviously was. Undressing mom wasn't difficult. Except for her underwear, she had worn clothing that was easy to remove. Heck, even her bra opened in front so I wouldn't have to fumble about behind her back.

I lay down on the bed, dragging mom down with me and we soon were entangled in a sixty-nine. Mom wouldn't have needed any preparation. She had been sopping wet from the moment I started to undress her. The problem here was me; my first shot was set more loose than a full magazine in an Uzi. All the bigger was my surprise when mom came very noisily after a relatively short tongue-lashing at her sweet spot, shortly before I spray-painted her throat.

I barely needed any recovery time and rolled us over to have mom beneath me. By now I had had ample training with Jenny to guide myself into a woman and, ignoring the faintly salty taste of my own juices, I started to kiss mom eagerly while starting to thrust into her deliberately, slowly and gently. I felt reminded of my first time with Jenny when mom slung her arms around my neck and her legs around my hips. I had had a few 'slow and gentle' times with Jenny, but I don't think I'd ever gone this slow and gentle. Mom ate it up with a spoon and came two times before my juvenile stamina ran out and I emptied myself into where I once came from.

I had learned my lesson and put a towel in reach to mop up spillage and leakage and once sure that mom wouldn't leak any more bodily fluids, we fell asleep, closely entangled in each others arms.

"Holy shit, what have you done?" Jenny whispered when mom had staggered off to get another helping of scrambled eggs during breakfast. "Whatever it was, I want it too. She's completely out of it."

Regina cackled and gave me a thumbs up and I had to admit, mom really seemed to hover about an inch above the ground. Not that I was much better off. I'm pretty sure, at the time, it would have taken some heavy-duty mining equipment to chisel the idiotic grin off my face.

"Get your fucking shit together!" Peter growled over the team radio after I'd goofed off for ten minutes in the free practice. We were running the Querspange of Hockenheim, the short version, which was even shorter than the lobotomized version Hermann Tilke had hacked out of the once legendary track. Basically you turn right after the first corner, go through two chicanes and you turn right again into the iconic stadium section, creating a fast and short 1.6 mile track that promised fast and furious action. With the start-finish-straight being the only piece of track that had more than two seconds of travel without a corner, I'd drifted and thrashed the thing, immensely enjoying myself. Well, Peter obviously didn't share my enthusiasm. I muttered an apology and got down to it. I would probably have gotten an earful upon return to the pits if I hadn't put in the third fastest lap in the closing seconds by leeching off some slipstream from Nico Rosberg. Harald finished 7th and Jenny stunned the masses by coming 9th in an old car.

Before qualifying I saw a familiar face.

"Richard!"

The Englishman came walking towards me, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"I thought you were switching to the world championships," I said.

"I still am," he said, grinning broadly. "Springbok needed someone for the weekend and I can't let you and your girl have all the fun. Better to get a first car race in than waiting all winter."

"Where'd you finish?"

"Twelfth. I'm driving a 2001 model and unsurprisingly I've been blown into the undergrowth by your lady – again," he groaned theatrically, but we both laughed about it.

"Care for a bite to eat?" I said and pointed to Peter Mücke's team trailer.

"You're eating at the opposition's?" he asked with a bewildered look.

"I smoked some tires for his team in an F3 test earlier this year. The guys are really cool," I assured him and with Jenny joining us, we walked into the Mücke trailer.

The big boss himself was waiting in line and grinned when we came in. When we had our food he had reserved a table of four and waved us over. I didn't need to introduce Jenny, but I did so with Richard. He seemed to be somewhat intimidated. Peter Mücke had his hands in many pies, including running a DTM team. Everybody in the paddock knew who he was.

"I'm surprised your TP hasn't kicked you off the team," he told me. "You were goofing off during practice."

I blushed and apologized. Peter Mücke had not given me the message with any stern tone, but from a man of his caliber, the disapproval was palpable and pretty damning.

"You are young and you have talent in spades," the man continued. "But you need to work on your professional conduct. You remind me of Jenson Button. He's a guy with a lot of talent, but he's way too distracted to make the most of it. I tell you what. You have two races to try. If you manage to beat both my guys, and from a talent point of view you should be able to, you get to test a Mercedes DTM car in Portimao next spring – deal?"

"Prepare your guys for a thrashing," I said and held out my hand.

"Words are cheap, Mark," Peter Mücke said. "Hope you can follow up on it."

We shook hands and Jenny sent me a disapproving look. I had just macho'ed the hell out of it in front of one of Germany's most influential team principals. That guy could easily thrash my career.

Jenny didn't dare say anything. I sat in the team's trailer, trying to focus myself. Qualifying was five minutes away and I had laid down a gauntlet for myself. It appears Peter Mücke and our Peter had talked to each other, as our TP looked at me in a mix of bewilderment and disapproval. I merely shook my head a few times to rattle my senses back in order and shoved my helmet on.

I went out and attacked the circuit right away. As much fun as I had had thrashing it around in free practice, I was deeply hurt by the disapproval of a man like Peter Mücke. I wanted to prove myself and I went at it as if my career depended on it, which in a way it did. I could see my name flash in second position on the big screen after a particularly well rounded lap when Peter's voice came on the team radio.

"Mark, you're not getting anymore out of these tires. Come in."

He was of course correct and I needed the second set for the second qualifying in the morning. Unfortunately the track got better towards the end of qualifying and I slipped to fifth, but a thumbs-up from Peter Mücke in passing told me I'd done better than expected. The next day I would have to try to time my qualifying better. Harold had finished 7th and Jenny had made a splash qualifying 10th in the 2001 car.

Knowing that our nightly shenanigans of the day before had probably contributed to my somewhat rocky day, mom and I just went to sleep without any action, although it was very comfy falling asleep with my head resting on her soft big breasts and enclosed in her loving embrace.