Leaving on a Jetplane
Copyright© 2024 by The Horse With No Name
Chapter 37: Meeting the Bonds
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 37: Meeting the Bonds - Ian, the son of British immigrants, finds his life changed after a family tragedy and decides to make the best of his ambitions and dreams. And nothing gets you to new adventures as fast as your own airplane...
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Workplace Sharing Polygamy/Polyamory Anal Sex Double Penetration Exhibitionism Massage Oral Sex Nudism
John unlocked the door for us and handed me the keys. “Have fun. Food and beer are in the fridge.”
“Thanks, John, much appreciated,” I answered and went in. Rhonda gave me another hug and then she and John left.
“So, champ. I’ve heard you’re smoking some serious tyres,” I told Matt as I put my suitcase down.
“Well, I was second in the championship,” he said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Matt,” I told him as I got myself a beer from the fridge and chucked a can of Coke his way. He caught it with ease. “You were second in the World Championships. As a racing driver you should know a really great champion who also finished second in the world championships.”
“I know,” Matt said with a chuckle as he opened his can. “Ayrton Senna, 1979 and 1980. Jenny has reminded me of that about a dozen times. Uncle Ian, do you know why she is not allowed to run in the world championships as well?”
I smiled and indicated he should sit down on the sofa. I commandeered one of the armchairs.
“Matt, do I really need to explain to you why Jeff and Regina don’t let the two of you run in the same competition before you are both fourteen?”
Matt blushed a lovely shade of crimson again. But then I could see he was getting angry.
“That’s not fair! Just because of me Jenny can’t do the World Championships. Maybe she would have won!”
“There’s a damn good chance she would have whooped your arse, mate, but she doesn’t miss anything. First of all she’ll hand out a collective spanking in the European championships next year, and secondly, as you will see, she is a bit too busy to be travelling all over the world.”
I handed him the photo album. He leafed through the first few pages and his eyes got wide as saucers.
“Jenny is racing proper cars already?” he asked me, looking almost shocked.
“She can’t take part in an actual race yet, but she is the unofficial test driver for Jonjo’s team. Did she never tell you?”
“No. She probably didn’t want me to become envious,” Matt said, but couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures.
“Are you - envious I mean?
Matt looked at me and shook his head. “If she can’t do the world championships because of me, it’s only fair she gets something to make up for it. That’s the Melkus her auntie raced on the Nordschleife, ain’t it?”
“It is, and Jenny drove it round that track as well,” I confirmed. “And quite quickly I might add. You’ll have your work cut out for you if you want to beat her.”
“Tell me about it,” Matt said with a love-struck grin. “But I’ll get a head start. I’m starting in some Formula-BMW races next year. Can I keep this, uncle Ian?”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s what I schlepped it across the Atlantic for.”
“Damn, thanks,” he said enthusiastically and jumped over to hug me.
I enjoyed my beer – it was a German one – and watched Matt leaf through the pages and back with fascination.
“Um ... this is Jenny’s auntie Nadja?” he asked, pointing at one of the photos. I nodded.
“Wow, she’s beautiful,” he said.
“Let’s see how beautiful you think she is when she has administered an almighty drubbing to you,” I said with a chuckle. “She didn’t finish sixth overall without a reason this year.”
“And the other woman?” he asked.
“That’s my better half Ira,” I explained. “She will get her racing license next year too.”
“Jenny wants to build an all-girls team, doesn’t she?” he asked.
“That’s what I’ve heard,” I confirmed. “Will that become a problem?”
“Not at all,” Matt answered, surprisingly confidently. “I’ll just drive for another team or in a different car for the same team. And besides, we’ll have to wait another four years to be old enough anyway.”
“That’s a refreshingly mature attitude,” I praised him, and I meant it.
Matt shrugged. “Look, uncle Ian, I’m only thirteen, but I know it will be a balancing act. For most of our careers, if we should have any, Jenny and I will be opponents on the track. The day we have a collision in the mayhem after the start is already in the calendar. I’m not kidding myself. That’ll be the day we have our first serious relationship crisis.”
“I won’t lie,” I said and got myself a second beer from the fridge. “The two of you are frighteningly serious for two kids so young.”
Matt shrugged again. “Maybe it is because I had to grow up without a mom, and Jenny never had a dad. I certainly don’t feel thirteen. It comes with the racing too. I can’t behave like a child on track. I could seriously hurt someone. You must know what it is like. You’ve been flying since you were fourteen.”
“I know what you mean,” I said. “I did a few stupid things at that age and had to grow up in a damn hurry.”
Matt nodded and put the album away. He looked at the ground and I knew something important was coming.
“One of the races this year was in Germany, on the track Michael and Ralf Schumacher started karting on. I was sure Jenny would come to watch it. When she didn’t I was completely beside myself and ended up breaking a guys arm, because I spun into his path and he flew over me.”
Matt started crying and I went over to the sofa to put my arm around him. He leaned in to sob against my chest.
“That’s where you lost the championship, isn’t it?” I asked him in a soft voice and he nodded.
“Look, Matt, yes you made a mistake, but that could just as well have been a tyre blow-out and you would have spun too. The other guy didn’t suffer irreparable damage and you’ve learned your lesson, just as I did when I nearly killed myself and the flight instructor too. You grow up in a bloody hurry after such a scare, don’t you?”
“You did a mistake?” he asked me, his sobs starting to subside.
“A big one,” I admitted. “I thought I had it all figured out and was showboating in the plane. The instructor sent us into a tailspin and I literally shat my pants, unable to recover from the stall. The instructor saved us and the plane just in the nick of time. Trust me, I never clowned around again.”
“Jeez, that must have been some instructor,” Matt said with a gasp.
“Airforce veteran,” I explained. “That guy had been dog-fighting Soviet Migs in the skies over Vietnam. He wasn’t going to take crap from a cocky 16 year old.”
We heard a car arrive outside.
“That’ll be dad,” Matt said. “I’ll be upstairs. Dad talking business always bores the pants off me.”
I smiled as he bounced up the stairs, but came back to grab the photo album before exiting stage left.
“I thought Matt was with you?” Jeff asked after I had let him in.
“He’s upstairs in Mark’s room. Apparently two people talking business bores him stiff,” I explained with a chuckle. “Fancy a beer, there’s alcohol free one.”
“I won’t say no,” Jeff replied and looked at the label of one of the empty bottles on the table. “I see you’re not into the unleaded variety.”
“I’m not flying tomorrow,” I said with a shrug. “And besides, it helps getting my internal clock back into the right time zone. I could lie in bed tossing and turning until three in the morning or I have two or three cold ones and get to sleep right away.”
“I was only kidding,” Jeff said and took the bottle of ‘unleaded’ from me. “If I didn’t have to drive I would have had the same. Even after 40 years I still can’t warm up to American beer. Thankfully Bill told me about this German shop around here years ago.”
“By the way,” I said with a chuckle as we sat down. “I’ve brought Matt a photo album of Jenny’s first test day in a proper racing car earlier this year. Just in case you wonder why he’s so quiet.”
“Considering that I didn’t have to go to the state penitentiary to meet you, I take it there are no dubious photos in it?”
“Certainly not,” I confirmed. “I had a hard enough time to explain to the customs agent why I was travelling with a photo album full of pictures showing an underage girl driving a 400 horsepower racing car.”
“They really let her do that?” Jeff asked with an astonished look.
“Only in private test sessions, but yes, that little girl throws 400 horsepower cars around really tight bends,” I said.
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