Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - An engineer becomes a rookie race car driver, and finds love on the track.
I was sitting at the Indianapolis Motor Speedway on Monday morning, watching rookie practice, an annual event for newcomers to the speedway for orientation; this track is so fast that there is little room for error.
The racing series' leading female driver, Patricia Dannon, was trying to get her rookie teammate up to speed by having him follow her around the course; however, with each succeeding lap, he fell further and further behind. Neither car was running fast enough to qualify, let alone run competitively. I watched the rookie's moves in and out of the first turn, through the short straightaway, and into the second turn; the car did the same thing every time, pushing out almost to the concrete wall, before turning.
For those of you not familiar to racing, the two terms most widely used to describe the handling of a race car are "pushing" and "loose". Pushing is when you turn the wheel, and the car continues to go straight-similar to trying to turn on snow. Loose is when the car turns too quickly, and the ass-end slides out from under you.
After watching this scenario over and over, I went to the opposite end of the track to see if the same thing was happening. It was exactly the same. I took the tram down to the pit area, and got as close to the team's pits as I could with no pass. The team owner was thoroughly pissed, snapping his stopwatch, and finally throwing his radio headset down and walking away. He walked right toward the fence separating us.
"Excuse me", I said, "I know you don't know me from shit, but I've been watching your drivers and have made a few observations".
"Yeah? OK, if you're so smart, what are you seeing that the computers aren't telling us?"
"Well, for starters, has your rookie told you that his car won't turn, that he's nearly hitting the short chute walls on every lap? I've watched him lap after lap for the last hour, at both ends of the track. The front end is pushing out so bad that he's hanging on for dear life before it turns."
The team owner calls his protégé into the pits, has him shut the engine off, and climb out of the car. He brings him over to the fence and says, "Larry, this wiseass says you're pushing out so bad that you're nearly hitting the wall at both ends; is that true?"
"Uh, well, yeah, it's pretty tight in the turns..."
"Then why the fuck didn't you say something? We can't fix the fucking car if you don't tell us there's something wrong!"
The team owner looked back at me. "OK wiseass, what do you suggest?"
I told him to take out a little right front down force, and to add just a smidge of rear down force. The mechanic grabbed a wrench, and did what I said. They sent the rookie back out, and within two laps had picked up four miles per hour, still not competitive, but better.
"Damn!" the driver reported in. "This feels like an entirely different car!"
"Come on", the owner said to me. We got into his golf cart and went to the sanctioning body's office, and got me Test Driver credentials. We then went to their garage area, and he rummaged through a cabinet, and came up with a threadbare driving suit that smelled like someone had died in it. It was a couple of sizes too large, the legs were too short, and the shoes were a size and a half too big. The helmet was way too big, so we stuffed it with shop rags. I looked like something out of Ringling Brothers' Circus.
We went back out to the track, and he called the rookie back in, and had me get in the car. He went over the controls, gearbox, shift points, etc. He then called Patty in, and told her to lead me around the track at medium speed. She left the pits in a plume of black tire smoke, and I did the same. I stayed on her ass pretty easily as she came up through the gears; we ran lap after lap, and I radioed in, "Is that all she's got?"
"Why?" was the response I got back.
"Because I'm still in fifth gear, nowhere near my shift point yet."
"Both of you, come in", was the reply.
He asked Patty if she was flat-out, and she replied she was. They looked at the computer telemetry, and it verified that she was; then they looked at mine. I had one gear left and more power to go. "Check her gear set", I suggested.
They pulled out her gear set, and found that they had left the previous street race's gear set in it.
"Think you can run around on your own, while we fix this car?" he asked me.
"Yeah, I think I can putter around for a while."
I went back out, and ran a half-dozen laps easy, and then put my foot down a little more. I ran a few more laps, and the flagman was giving me the black flag to come in. I pulled in, shut the car off, and raised my visor. "What the hell..."
"You broke the opening day speed limit", was the reply. "Plus, you don't even have a rookie license." That was a rather anticlimactic end to a fun day at the track.
"Come on", one of the crewmembers motioned to me. "We're going over to get you a real driving suit at the Simpson trailer." He took me over and they laid out several thousand dollars on a complete driving suit for me, new helmet that fit, good shoes, etc.
When we got back, Patty was climbing out of her car, and pulling her helmet off. This was the first good look I'd gotten of her, and I was in love. Long dark hair, tied up on top of her head so the helmet would cover it, a beautiful face with sparkling eyes, and as fantastic a body as I could see, covered by the driving suit. She smiled as she walked over to me, and shook my hand as firmly as any woman ever had.
"Hi; I'm Patricia Dannon, but just call me Patty." The smile got wider.
"I'm John Carpenter", I told her.
"You some sort of mechanical genius?"
"No, just an automotive engineer who happens to love racing."
Larry Wilcox, the rookie, walked up to me and said, "I don't know who you are, but you just made a world of difference in the way my car's handling. Thank you." He stuck out his hand and I shook it.
"Hey, wiseass", I heard. I turned, and there was a third car sitting there. "Climb in here a minute." I climbed in the car, and my knees hit the top of the tub.
"Damn!" I said. "Who drove this car, Mickey Rooney?" They laughed, and took the top off the tub, and adjusted the pedal linkage out about 8 inches. That felt better.
"Now just go out, and shake the thing down. No speed, remember?"
I went back out, and knocked off about 10 laps before getting that damned black flag again. I radioed in to the pits. "NOW what's his beef? I'm minding my own business out here."
"They say you're still running too fast without a rookie license. Bring it in."
I pulled into the pits, and Patty was just grinning.
"What's the matter with YOU?", I asked.
"You. Your last lap before the asshole black-flagged you was well into qualifying range."
I was taken back to the Big Red Truck, and issued a Rookie license, along with stripes of yellow tape I had to put on the back of the car to signify that I didn't know what I was doing yet.
The team owner told me that they were hosting a dinner and dance tonight for their sponsors, and I was to be there. I went to a men's store and bought a suit to wear. At the dinner, I was seated next to Patty, and we made pleasant conversation throughout dinner. Then, the team owner tinked his water glass with a table knife and said, "I have an announcement to make. I'm entering a third car, to be driven by a rookie, John Carpenter. John, please stand up." I arose to much applause and fanfare.
I looked down at Patty, and she had a radiant smile. "You should be honored", she said. "This guy doesn't spend his money foolishly." After dinner, the dance went very nicely. I spent a great deal of time dancing with Patty, and she felt very comfortable in my arms. After the dance, the owner gave me a hotel room key, and said it was mine. He gave me the room number. I walked Patty back to her room and, much to my surprise, it turned out to be next to mine. I bade her a good night, hugged her, and went to my room. Upon entering, I noticed that our rooms were actually adjoining. I had picked up a pair of sweat pants to sleep in, and was lying there watching TV, when I heard a soft knock on the door adjoining Patty's room to mine.
I opened the door to find Patty standing there in a black lace teddy with a light gown over it. "I just wanted to thank you for helping so much today, and for a wonderful evening." She reached up, pulled my head down, and laid one hell of a kiss on me; in short order, our tongues were wrestling in each other's mouths. I was running my hands up and down her arms, and could feel the goosebumps rising. She broke the kiss, said good night, and went back into her room.
The next morning, the team met for breakfast before going out on the track. "John", the owner said, "Today's the only chance we've got to get you ready for rookie orientation; you ready?" I told him I was ready. We went out to the pits, where the three cars were waiting. "Go on out, and shake it down", the owner told me. I went out, and within five laps, was getting that damned black flag again.
I came in, pissed as hell. "OK, here's what we're going to do", I said. "We're going to calculate the RPM's for 180, 190, 200, and 210; I'll write them on a card, and tape it to the wheel." We did the calculations, and prepared the card.
"OK", the owner told me. "You need to run ten consecutive laps at 180, ten at 190, ten at 200, and ten at 210 for them to pass you. You'll be under the scrutiny of former drivers, and if you screw up, they'll pull your rookie card faster than you can spit."
I went out, ran two warm-up laps, and said, "Let's Go!" The observers were given the signal, and I set the rev limiter at the RPM's for 180. I ran my ten laps, and reset the limiter for 190. Ten more down, and I reset for 200. Finally, I reset for 210, and still had plenty of pedal left. I ran my ten, and was motioned into the pits. I came around, and they pulled the yellow tape off the car. "Now go see what you can REALLY do", I was told. I ran another 15 laps before I needed to come in for fuel. I shut the car off, and climbed out. Patty was standing there, jumping up and down.
"Do you realize how fast you were going?" she asked.
"No idea", I answered, although I suspected I was well into the 220's.
"Just a hair under last year's pole speed is all."
"Damn, and I wasn't even pushing it."
I made some set-up suggestions for qualifying, and we parked my car. I went to work on the other two cars, trying to get them up to speed. One by one, I got them right at equal to mine, if not a little better. Patty took hers out and, since her driving style is different, made some slight modifications to the set-up. Larry did the same, but was duly impressed with what I had done for him.
With two days until qualifying, we just played with the cars, getting used to traffic, etc. We practiced pit stops, gauging entrance and exit speed limits on pit road, and other things. That night, Patty and I had sponsor commitments, and then a quiet dinner together. I kissed her good night at her door, and I went to my room.
Soon, I heard that knock again. This time, she was in just the teddy, with no gown. I could see her nipples trying for space in the fabric to come out. She didn't say a word; she just walked past me, and sat down on the bed. I sat down beside her, and soon, we were rolling, kissing, touching everything and everywhere. I stripped her, and she was magnificent. I sucked and licked those prominent nipples, and fingered her pussy, curling my middle finger to find her G-spot. She was writhing all over the bed, and finally sat up, saying, "John, fuck me. Fuck me now." Who was I to deny her, or myself, this chance at heaven? I stripped my pants off, and slid into her hot wet cavern.
We made passionate love for what felt like hours, until I realized we need to be well-rested for qualifying. I left a wake-up call, and she slept in my arms. The next morning at breakfast, the owner asked Patty where she was last night. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"I tried calling you, but didn't get an answer ... oh ... OH!" he said. "I guess I should have tried John's room, eh?" We both just grinned sheepishly. "Well, I hope you got SOME sleep."
We went out to the pits, and the three cars were staged. Patty had drawn the tenth qualifying attempt, Larry, the fifteenth, and I drew twenty. When Patty made her attempt, her four-lap average was more than enough to put her on the pole; Larry's was enough to be just next to her. Others made their attempts, but didn't come close to bumping either of them off the first two positions. Then, it was my turn.
I went out, made two warm-up laps, and took the green flag. The car was flawless, and there was no wind. I sailed around the famed oval with no problems. On my second lap, as I passed the pits, I saw my team jumping up and down, pumping their fists in the air. I still had a little pedal left, and it felt good enough, so I buried it. The front straightaway felt like a tunnel, with grandstands on either side of it. I finished my fourth lap and pulled into the pits. I was motioned to the area for the obligatory photos and interview. The owner was pounding on my helmet, and Patty couldn't wait for me to get out of the car.
"YOU DID IT!" she was screaming. "You broke the old track record, set 17 years ago, by over three miles per hour! You're on the POLE!" I figured she'd be pissed, but she was delirious. My take for winning the pole was well over a hundred grand. Nobody else came close. We had all three cars on the front row.
Patty's parents were there, and she dragged me over to meet them. "This is John", she kept saying. She wandered off with her dad, and her mother looked at me. "You realize my daughter's quite smitten with you, don't you?"
"I'm pretty crazy about her, as well."
"I don't want to see her hurt, so if you're not serious, tell her."
"I would never hurt your daughter that way; I care too much for her."
"That's all I wanted to hear."
Since we were qualified, there was no need to hang around the track. The owner flew Patty and me to a condo he had on Sanibel Island, Florida for a week. We spent the week swimming, sunning, and making love. When we got back, we were tanned, relaxed, and fucked-out.
Patty and I walked out to the track, holding hands; the cars were already on the track, eleven rows of three. I walked her to her car, next to mine, and gave her a long kiss. "Good luck, sweetheart", I told her. "Same to you", she replied.
There is a lot of history, tradition, and ceremony that goes with this race. The Purdue band plays Taps, followed by the National Anthem, the singing by Florence Henderson of "God Bless America", and then it's time for Jim Nabors to sing "Back Home in Indiana". I have always sang it along with him, and it brought tears to my eyes, as I started attending this race with my now-deceased father as a little kid. My crew didn't think much of my singing into my helmet mic, but they got over it. Then, it was time for Mary Hulman George to utter her six famous words, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Start Your Engines."
The crew hit the starter, and my engine came to life. I goosed it a couple of times to clear the cobwebs out. The engine idled down, and I held it until the pace car started moving. I goosed it a bit, and let the clutch out, starting my roll-out. I glanced over to Patty, and gave her a thumbs-up, which I got in return. We completed our two parade laps, which were pretty ragged, as the cars stagger and swerve to build up heat in the tires. On the pace lap, we realigned in our rows of three, and went into turn one. Again, I glanced over to Patty, and blew her a kiss. We continued around the track and, coming out of turn four, the pace car pulled into the pits. The race was under my control.
As we approached the start/finish line, the flagman raised the green flag, and I nailed it. Going into turn one, I edged Patty out for the lead, and she tucked in behind me. Larry fell in behind her. We ran this way for several laps, until Patty started feeling racy. She pulled alongside me, and I let her have the lead for a while. Then, I'd take the lead back.
We ran this way, one-two, for most of the race. Our pit stops were flawless, until the last one, with fifteen laps to go. Patty's was perfect, and she got away first. Larry's was nearly as good, and he was out second. My left-rear tire changer fucked up, and had trouble with the wheel nut. Finally, I left the pits in a screaming cloud of black tire smoke, a distant third. I was driving my ass off, trying to catch up; with five laps to go, I had closed in on Larry, who was right behind Patty.
Suddenly, with two laps to go, Larry blew a tire, went up, hit the wall, and slid down, just kissing Patty's right rear tire. I saw a light puff of smoke and knew they had made contact. I swerved around Larry, and caught up to Patty. The caution light came on, freezing the field. I resigned myself to second place behind Patty when, after taking the white flag, signifying one lap to go, her right rear tire came off the wheel, and she couldn't maintain pace car speed. The owner came on the radio and told me that Patty said to pass her on the outside. I went around her, and she tucked in behind me, falling further away, but still in second place. That's the way we finished.
The victory lane celebration was a wild one, mine having been the first rookie win in years. I received the traditional wreath and bottle of cold milk. I saw Patty standing there, tears in her eyes, for what might have been. I motioned for her to come up with me, and had her take a swig of the milk with me. The post-race ceremonies went on forever, but I kept her with me, as if she'd been in the car with me. She actually had been, whether she realized it or not. She went on the victory lap with me in the pace car.
The owner held a bash that night for dinner; Patty looked magnificent in a little black dress. Her mother got me aside during the celebration and told me that Patty was convinced she was in love with me. I told her that I was in love with Patty, too. That brought tears to her eyes.
That night, Patty and I made passionate love all night; I relished in her body, and couldn't get enough of her. In the morning, we cleaned up, had breakfast, and I told her I needed to go out for a while. I found a high-end jewelry store open, and bought her a flawless diamond that would choke a horse. It cost me a fortune, but I figured I was going to make enough that night to cover it.
At the Victory Banquet that night, they passed out the paychecks, starting with 33rd place. When they got to Patty, she made just under a million bucks. My take as winner was just over two and a half million. The car owner announced that he'd had winner's rings made for each team member of each car in case we won; he knew what I was planning, so when it came time for Patty's, he said that, due to her petite size, they had to custom-make hers, and gave it to me to present to her. When she stepped forward to receive it, I handed her the box; when she opened it and found the diamond inside, her eyes got as big as saucers, and she started crying. I got down on one knee, tux and all, and took her hand. I looked up at her and said, "Patricia Dannon, would you honor me by becoming my wife?" As I got up, she said, "Oh, Yes!" I embraced her, and she forgot I was wearing a lapel microphone. She mistakenly spoke directly into the mic, saying, "You just wait till I get you back to the room; I'm gonna fuck your brains out." The entire room broke up in hoots and laughter.
That night, we made plans for the future, both on and off the track. All in all, I'd say we made good teammates.