Chapter 35

FRIDAY, JULY 19, 1991

Edited by WRC264

I rumbled into Mandy’s driveway at the appointed time. This time she did let me get to the door and I did have a short and awkward talk with her parents, who were very nice. I knew them from years of being around their daughter. We’d been classmates many school years.

Soon we were off to The Corner for supper and shakes, or a shake, I should say. We shared a big one. I had an extra critical eye for Allison as she served us, knowing the advice Woody had asked about crossing home plate with her. The was nothing noticeably different about her, but I sort of enjoyed the secret knowledge I had about her. I always liked her and wished the best for her. Maybe later tonight those two would get it right.

Mandy insisted on paying that night, and I let her. We talked to a few people we knew, played a couple of arcade games and then left hand-in-hand.

I took her to the lone grain bin spot. I liked the cover from the surrounding corn.

The quarter moon was up and providing a bit of light for us, other than the dashboard of the Mustang.

“Can we have some music tonight?” Mandy asked shyly.

“Sure,” I shrugged, not having had much use for music during sex before. Besides, my style in music probably wasn’t ideal for the task.

Mandy pulled a cassette tape from her purse and popped it into my car stereo and set the volume low.

Already in the backseat and making out, Mandy started taking her clothes off quickly as Mariah Carey’s ‘Emotions’ started up. While not a big fan of her music, I thought Mariah Carey was an absolute hotty, and her voice was rather sensual.

I took my clothes off as well, getting into it quickly with Mandy.

“I’ve been waiting all week for this,” she cooed, her brown eyes seducing me.

“Me too,” I husked, kissing the nape of her neck.

Mandy changed gears, pushing me back into the corner of the back seat, then got on all fours facing me.

I relaxed and let her take me into her mouth just as Mariah hit some of her incredibly high notes.

‘I could get used to this,’ I thought.

Maria was hitting notes I assume only dogs can hear as Mandy worked me into a hard lather, then the song ended.

“Hang on,” Mandy slurped some excess saliva as she left my cock hanging angrily in the air.

She leaned her naked body forward over the seats we’d set forward and fiddled with the stereo control, seemingly fastforwarding through a song. I sat admiring her bubbly ass and tan skin as she worked.

Once she was satisfied, she turned back to me with a smile and put her back flat on the bench seat between us with her legs spread almost lewdly.

I gave her dynamic little body a once-over, from her big, round boobs to her shapely hips and dark little patch of pubic hair. She was an altogether different package than either Autumn or Betsy, closer to Betsy in form, but shorter and even curvier. I took my cue and slipped the condom I’d been holding over my cock and got into position over her as the first notes of ‘Can’t Let Go’ started.

The tempo of the song called for a soft and gentle style of lovemaking. Mandy was clearly pleased I took the cue. I drove my hips into her softly, measuring the pace of the song as I kissed her softly. She was letting me push all the way into her, but she was not pushing back.

‘Even though I try, I can’t let go... ‘ Mariah crooned.

It was soft rocking to be sure, but I made each thrust count with a grind of the hips at the finish. Mandy softly moaned out as I slowly thrusted. I leaned back, holding myself up over her, watching her breasts ripple with every move of my hips. A single tear fell from her cheek as she looked up at me.

“You OK?” I asked in concern, pausing for a moment.

“Don’t stop, I’ve never been better,” she said warmly, another tear appearing on her other cheek.

The song seemed to have special meaning for her. Music was rarely a part of my sex life up to that point, maybe background noise or maybe Mel and I forget to turn it off in her car. The experience was new to me.

The song ended and leaned down to kiss her softly again, taking a moment to dry each tear with a fingertip.

“All better,” I said softly.

Her eyes looked like pure liquid looking up at me as she gave me the softest puppy-dog look I’d ever seen. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me into a deep kiss. I remained lodged deep inside her as she rolled her hips once and sucked her breath in for a surprise orgasm that seemed to roll up her body as she writhed below me.

“Wow!” she gasped, her eyes unfocused for a moment.

The first cords of ‘Make it Happen’ started up. The pace was quicker, mercifully, and Mandy shook off her first orgasm and motioned for me to get up.

“Let me,” she intoned. “Let me drive,” she smiled.

I contorted my lengthy body in the small car to get my feet up on the back of my seat and laid down best I could on the bench seat, my ass on the edge of it.

She climbed atop me triumphantly and guided my hard cock back where it belonged. She started slowly, not paying attention to the beat, then caught up to the tempo. Mandy gripped my upper body, touching every defined muscle as she ground her hips into me with each thrust. It was the deepest I’d ever been inside her. I held her hips and ass in place on top of me, adding my own flavor to her sweaty work atop me.

“Make it happen!” Mariah sang out.

And so we did. Mandy, doing her best to keep from banging her head on the headliner of the Mustang, groaned out another nice orgasm.

The position was uncomfortable for me, so her orgasm was the perfect excuse to change it up.

The song ended as I cupped Mandy’s perfectly spherical asscheeks to get her in place, her upper body clinging to the back of the passenger seat. I slipped inside her from behind to her deep grunt of pleasure.

For the first time, she let me drive, taking all I had to give to her from behind. A steady stream of gasps, grunts and profanity followed as I kept up a fast, flesh-slapping pace. The soundtrack was inconsequential, as Mandy did her best to drown out Mariah. Certainly I was enjoying myself, but my only wish was for Mandy to grit her teeth, turn her head and push back against my thrusts like Autumn and I had come to love. Autumn challenged me in bed. She challenged both of us to be better, and it worked. Each time we got together it was a race to outperform the last session in some way. Mandy, bless her little heart, was content to let me drive, somehow believing whatever I was doing was probably best for both of us. This wasn’t bad sex. But it could have been better.

Thrusting my hips hard into Mandy’s bulbous little ass was getting me there. Watching it ripple with each thrust was mesmerizing. Why fight it? I let that tingling sensation climb up my spine and I unclenched my inner muscles to just let it happen. A very nice climax rushed out of me and into the bulging reservoir tip of the condom as Mandy, sensing my orgasm, closed her eyes and actually gritted her teeth for one more little orgasm.

I partially collapsed onto the small girl’s upper back, drowning her soft brown hair and lightly kissing the back of her neck.

She loved the sensation, cooing and squirming under my body. I pulled out of her gently, sitting back in the crowded little back seat of my Mustang and pulling her gently with me to snuggle up at my side.

She leaned into me and pressed her face into my arm.

“That was soooo good,” she crowed.

“Was good for me too,” I added brightly, if a little winded. “You let me put all of it in this time.”

“I think I finally fit you,” she said shyly. “You were too big for me at first.”

“I don’t think I shrank,” I shook my head.

“It just took time. Now we’re the perfect fit,” she smiled longingly at me.

The rest of Mariah Carey’s ‘Emotions’ tape was not doing it for me. Too slow. Too screechy.

“Bring any other music?” I asked.

“Nope, just the one,” she nodded toward my car stereo.

“Great,” I said flatly.

“We can go another round without?”

“We could,” I said with eyebrows raised.

“Go ahead,” she said with a touch of disappointment.

I reached forward and leaned over my seat, popping the tape out to the preset radio station.

‘Gonna Make You Sweat’ from C+C Music Factory was just starting up.

“Perfect,” I grinned predatorily. “I hope you’re ready to sweat.”

“Oh my,” Mandy answered with big eyes.

I gave the poor girl a workout, contorting our bodies as much as humanly possible in that tiny back seat and well into the front seats before I came hard again and collapsed against her little body.

Being somewhat of a gentleman, I retrieved my swim bag from the trunk and helped her dry off and clean up with my beach towel. You could certainly sweat a lot on a July night. We drove back to town with the windows down, and the cooler night air did feel nice on our skin.

Mandy gave me one last kiss as I dropped her off. She waved at me with just her fingers when she got to her door, then blew me a kiss. What a sexy little minx. Any guy in my class would be overjoyed to have spent the night as I just did, but there was something, some tiny nagging thing, that prevented me from enjoying it entirely. It was certainly in part that I was closer to Autumn, but there had to be something else. I’d mull it over later.

For now, I had sleep and a race I was very excited to get to.

SATURDAY, JULY 20, 1991

‘You can do this. Hold it together for 18 laps and you can do this!’

Hot laps went flawlessly. The car was blazing fast, and I felt very comfortable turning several laps at the top of the corner banking, throwing an impressive rooster tail of mud over the fence with each tire spinning slide through the corners.

It was an overcast day, hot, but humid. Track conditions were a little sticky during hot laps, and several of the 410 teams qualified at near-record times. The track was “bad fast” as uncle Tim would describe it. No one was putting any pressure on me but me. And that was plenty.

I was slated to start on the inside pole of heat number 1.

“If you’re ready for it, let’s start where we’re supposed to for once,” grandpa grinned.

I nodded wordlessly, gathering up my safety gear for the heat race. My stomach was turning knots. Inside the car, during hot laps, I felt perfectly fine. Now I felt like I could get sick.

‘Just breathe. Remember to breathe, idiot.’

It was like my personal mantra. I’d get myself worked up in any sport, forgetting to breathe. It should be simple. The first thing a baby does at birth is breathe, and you keep doing it the rest of your life without much thought.

It was me on the inside of row one. It was the number 15 of Kerry Butler on the outside of me. He was just 20 years old, and we were the two youngest drivers on the track. Troy Ward would be in the other heat, so I didn’t have to worry about him yet. This one would likely come down to Troy or me.

We rumbled together down the backstretch, the pace car turning off ahead of us and leaving the pace to me. I kept up that same speed, rolling through turn three and watching for the green flag from the flag stand. I put some pressure on the brakes and started to rev the engine. The air crackled with electricity as I saw movement on the flag stand and let out of the brake.

The car roared to life, flying down the front stretch. I wasn’t quite sure where Kerry had gone, but I kept the car to the bottom lane through turns one and two. Sensing he was nowhere near me, I let the car slide up to the outside lane as I rocketed down the backstretch. The car was glued to the track, and ripping the top around turns three and four felt like the best half lap I’d ever ran. The car just roared down the front stretch and I couldn’t hear anyone, feel anyone around me. I kept the car up high around the turns once again, putting down an incredible lap. On the front stretch, I chanced a glance at the backstretch scoreboard. “42-15-55”

That #55 car had started a few positions back. He was making passes already. I’d have to watch for him.

Another lap passed, the flagman crossed his flags for me, signaling the halfway point. I needed four more good laps.

Lap five was another good one. Lap six was slightly slower with a bobble in the middle of turns three and four. The 55 was in second on lap seven. I kept the car near wide-open around the top of the turns for another lap, then cut down to the bottom as the checkered flag waved for me. It was a defensive move just in the cast that 55 car was coming for me in the end.

My robotic state, my complete focus had kept me from the emotion of just winning my first heat race. It hit me as I ran one more lap at full speed, letting the rest of the field finish their last lap.

I counted more than a dozen thumbs up from team members standing around the inside of the tack, those who watched their own teams.

I turned into the pit entry on the backstretch and shut down the motor, letting the car coast into my pit box flawlessly.

Mom and dad were there first. I decided to get out of the car with my helmet still on. Mom smothered me in a big hug, dad pounding me on the shoulder and even the helmet.

“You were perfect out there!” mom screeched. “This is actually fun!”

I laughed as she let me pull my helmet off. I was just as emotional as she was, tears of joy welling up in my eyes as I leaned my lower back against the tire and took a deep breath.

“That WAS fun!”

Uncle Tim was next to offer his congratulations.

“Damn good piece of driving. You’re getting about everything out of the car now.”

I shook his hand as he clapped me on the shoulder. Grandpa and Louie ambled up next.

Louie went straight for the TelTach, looking at the top RPM. Grandpa was glassy-eyed and seemed to struggle to speak.

“That,” he cleared his throat. “Was damn good driving,” he finished.

With little time for talk, dad had the car up on the jack with both rear wheels already off. He was picking off some mud and washing the wing while grandpa and I talked tactics.

“Was it loose at all?”

“It was perfect!” I beamed. “Don’t change a thing!”

“Well, we can’t do that,” grandpa went into explanation mode. “The track conditions will be entirely different when you go out for the feature, and you’ll want the car much tighter.”

“I know,” I agreed mournfully. “Let’s watch the track and decide in the middle of the street stock feature.

“It’s a deal,” grandpa agreed.

Leaving nothing to chance, grandpa chose brand new left and right rear tires for the occasion. Dad hand-scuffed the right rear before mounting it. He did the same with the left. I asked about fuel, but it was already done. The 410 sprints were buzzing around for their heat races, but I hardly noticed. I was in my world. Prepping the car and my mind were the only things that mattered right now. Part of that was my walk to the concession stand and checking out the lineup.

As the last 410 heat race ended, I ordered a chili dog and a Pepsi. With both in hand, I checked the freshly drawn lineup on the whiteboard. On the front row, 42-47. I didn’t notice that old Nels had won his heat race. He must have been thrilled. I’d have to congratulate him on the way back to my pit. Also of note, the #33 car of Troy Ward would be starting in row three on the outside. That was uncomfortably close. He was the points leader and a badass in this class. He could win from anywhere under the right conditions, but from row three it could be a forgone conclusion. There was no doubt we would cross paths before this feature was over. I was going to have earn the win here.

I strode back to the our pit with a few head nods in my direction, congratulated Nels on his heat race win, and he was even more complimentary to me on my first. I ate my chili dog and drank my Pepsi as mom busied herself with my helmet. Dad fiddled with tire pressures with Tim and grandpa and Louie held court with a couple of other car owners.

Grandpa caught sight of me and excused himself, nodding his head for me to follow him out to the track. We walked around twisting a heel here or there to check the surface. Grandpa shoved a screwdriver into the track, discovering deep moisture.

“This might actually not slick off at all,” he reasoned. “With the humidity, it might draw more moisture out of the dirt.”

“So no big changes?”

“Nothing big, other than new tires. Oh, and I might raise the right front a touch.”

We walked off the track as lineups for the street stocks began.

Grandpa made his final changes to the car and dad dropped it off the jack. That pretty white and blue car was ready for me. I had to admire how it fit right on with any school uniform we had. We’d done well with the design.

“What are you smiling about?” uncle Tim questioned me.

“Oh,” I broke out of my reverie. “This car is going to look nice in victory lane.”

“Haha!” Tim laughed at my bravado. “Kid, you’re driving real good right now, but that black #33 is probably going to eat your lunch about lap three. Be humble. Be happy if you can hang on for a podium. You’ll look good taking your picture with whoever wins, OK?”

He was right, he had the experience. He wasn’t trying to squash my dreams, he was keeping me level and it was the right move.

“You’re right,” I let the smile fade from my face. “But still...” I said with longing. “You have shot,” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “But don’t expect to win.”

As the street stocks took the green flag in their feature, I strapped in. Mom brought me my helmet and gloves, tugging my safety belts with all her might.

“You know I just loosen them a bit so I can breathe once I get out there, right?”

“Oh, I know. I just can’t let it be MY fault if you get hurt,” she smiled smugly, popping me on my forehead.

“Ow,” I complained flatly.

“That’s right, use your head out there tonight.”

I slipped the helmet over my head sock, the put my gloves on, making sure the steering wheel was pinned in place.

My crew backed the car out of our stall, awaiting a push truck. One ambled along a few minutes later, and bumped up against my push bar. I steered to the frontstretch lineup area while he provided the power. Mom made the walk over to where I had parked.

“In order to finish first.”

“You must first finish,” I cut her off, remembering her advice each night.

“Be careful out there,” she said for the first time. “You’re learning how to go fast now. Learn how to be safe too, OK?”

“I will one way or another, I guess,” I shrugged, not at all to mom’s delight.

The street stock feature ended. Mom tapped me on the helmet and left me to my own thoughts.

I set a steady breathing pace. In the nose. Out the mouth. I was already sweating a little, the heavy firesuit and helmet wasn’t ideal in the heat and humidity.

Time seemed to stand still. All I wanted was to get this car fired off and get into my robotic zone. Everything had started to slow down for me in the zone. I’d just been there in the heat race.

The last stock car rumbled out of victory lane, and the pit steward was motioning push trucks to get going. With the car in gear, I felt the shove from behind and the wheels were soon turning, creating enough oil pressure inside the engine for me to comfortably hit the ignition and turn on the fuel.

The beefy engine belched to life, quickly finding a rhythmic pace at idle as I rolled onto the back stretch at pace speed.

The pace car soon passed me, and I took up my position behind it, waiting for Nels to pull along side me.

We rolled around the track twice more, waiting for the rest of the cars to get into formation.

We were nearly ready as we performed one last parade lap in front of the grandstand, the cheers of the standing and waving crowd actually audible over the rumble of 17 other cars without a muffler among them.

I waved a hand over my right arm guard, not certain anyone could see it.

We rolled through turns one and two and pace car took the turn into the pits.

It was just on me now. Nels kept relative pace with me, just to my outside and a foot or two behind me as we rolled into turn three.

I dragged my left foot over the brake and pressed down on the throttle, bottling up a burst of horsepower for the moment I’d see a hint of green from the flag stand. We rolled into turn four, my eyes peeled for the flagstand, delayed it seemed, before it suddenly flashed.

I lifted my left foot from the brake and hammed the throttle. Nels was a distant memory as I cruised down the front stretch, sliding up the track and bumping the right rear into the cushion. The car seemed to like that spot, spitting a spray of dirt from the big spinning tires as the car slid through both turns one and two, then came down the banking and rocketed down the backstretch. I kept the car up top, knowing I needed to stay up here to avoid simply being passed by Troy Ward when he reached me. I chanced a look again at the scoreboard as I hit the front stretch. “42-47-55”

The good news was, no #33 in the top three yet. He’d be lurking.

I kept my central focus on hitting good laps, running all-out with the throttle nearly buried all the time. The car was set up flawlessly again, and grandpa had to be praised for his ability in this area.

I had lost track of the laps, but the only change in the order was “42-55-47.”

‘Breathe, hit your marks, make good laps. This thing will be over and you’ll win it.’

My mind was a blur. Driving against the track had become almost easy for me. I was done wrestling the car and track. Now it was time to face my next challenge. Other cars. It came first in the form of the 55. I could hear him behind me, making attempts to cut under me. I tried to ignore it, knowing a mistake up top would give him the lead, or potentially wreck us.

The reprieve came suddenly and definitely unexpectedly. The caution was out, the yellow lights flashing. I slowed down greatly, the 55 passing me as I slowed. He did the same, running a few feet in front of me.

Down the backstretch, I couldn’t see the issue. I saw it in turn four. Nels was turned around, with likely minimal damage. A push truck was there to send him off, either back on track or to the pits. I couldn’t see what was wrong, but I gassed it up a little once we were clear of the problem and got my place back just behind the pace car. The pit steward was pointing and gesturing for other cars to get into place. I checked the scoreboard again. “42-55-33.”

‘Shit,’ I thought ruefully. I didn’t catch the laps left, so I had to check that again on the way back. Grandpa was clapping in his corner, giving me a thumbs up. Dad and uncle Tim were pointing up, indicating I should keep the car up high. The 55 hadn’t passed me yet, so it had to be decent advice.

Under laps, “4” showed on the scoreboard. If I could hold them off for four complete laps, I’d have a win.

I was surprisingly comfortable in the car. We felt like one being, car and man, connected at the wheel and the pedals. Most importantly my backside and the seat, where the feel for what the car is doing comes from.

The track was clear. The lineup was set. The pit steward gave me a “1” index finger to let me know we’d be under green next lap. I let the pace car get a bit of a lead on me, then hammered the throttle, giving the tires a spin to keep them hot and sticky. Down the backstretch, the pace car took the sharp right turn, leaving me to start the race. I rolled through turn three, applying pressure to the brake as I brought the throttle down, revving the engine for a burst down the front stretch.

There it was, green flag waving, I lifted my left foot and felt the car blast forward, rocketing down the straight.

I knew I wanted to keep the car up top. I touched the brake entering turn one, setting the car to bump into the cushion and slide through the turns. For a moment I thought I could see two cars under me in my peripheral vision. Maintaining my focus, I drove a flawless set of turns and sailed down the backstretch. I could hear loud engines right on my tail tank. It was going to be close.

I kept the car high entering turn three, again applying enough brake to set the car into the turn. I could feel, and just barely see a car under me, trying to pass. Who it was, I had no idea. I still had clear track in front of me, and three to go as I ripped down the front chute and entered turn one, with a tap of the brake. This time though, there was no mistaking it. A car was to my inside and pulling even with me, and close to me. I did my best to maintain my focus, running my line with my right foot nearly buried in the throttle. What I didn’t expect was the view of the car under me starting to make the full pass.

For a moment in my mind, second didn’t sound so bad. My expectations were still high, and I still hadn’t reached a handful of races ran yet. Still it would be disappointing. That moment of disappointment became shock when the fast-spinning right rear tire of the car passing me struck my left front tire, banging my car up the cushion and into the marbles.

Time stood still now. The sharp smack had turned my car toward the wall, nearly facing it. I fought the instinct to let off the throttle and bury the brake. I actually stood on the throttle, and turned sharply left, hoping the effort would keep me from a headlong slam into the concrete wall and likely a wild set of flips into the fence.

The second impact was softer, actually, than the first. My effort to save the car actually worked for a second or two. The nose of the car no longer faced the wall, as I slid the rear tires around. However, the lower part of the car caught the rough mud collected on top of the cushion and pitched the car hard to the right. I was nearly sideways when I realized it was all over.

The forces of gravity and inertia from fighting the car through the turns was suddenly gone as I felt a certain weightlessness as the car flipped through the air. I suddenly had a view of the lights shining down on the track, then the darkness of the dirt track, the lights, and the track again before I decided to close my eyes. The hard impact I was waiting for never came. The car hit something with a loudly audible crunch, then seemed to yo-yo me back to the impact point.

No longer in motion, I opened my eyes. My top wing was crushed down into the top of the cage, but I could see. I was looking straight down at the top of the concrete wall, my car somehow balanced on top of it with the top of the car facing the fence.

The roar of the engine was next to catch my attention, and I lifted quickly off the throttle. The roaring engine quieted, and I had the sense to reach forward and hit the kill switch, quieting the engine entirely after a moment.

My visor, complete with a full load of tearoffs I hadn’t touched yet had flipped up in the series if rolls I’d gone through.

Two things then happened at the same time. I instinctively started reaching to unlatch my safety harness, and a man in a firesuit asked if I was injured in any way.

“ARE YOU OK?”

I actually had to think about the question for a moment. I hadn’t really felt anything up until that point, but felt my legs radiating a little pain for a moment.

“I think my legs got banged around, but I think I’m OK.”

I fought to say the words as I was pretty winded.

“OK, don’t move in there!” the safety worker commanded me. “There’s no fuel leak and we gotta get you down safely.”

“OK.” I didn’t smell any fuel, only the smell of hot oil and tires.

“Stay buckled in!”

I took my hand off the latch, realizing I’d fall straight down into my dash and wheel if I had unlatched myself.

“Hey, who ran into me?” I demanded to know.

“We’ll figure all that out once we get you out of there safe, OK?”

“OK,” I said, realizing I was saying that a lot.

I could see a bit out of the left of the car, mostly a little view of the parking lot. From my right, I could see the safety worker and a firetruck behind him, several other safety workers, mom, dad and grandpa.

Another safety worker was climbing up the fence to my left.

“You OK in there?”

“I’m OK,” I said calmly.

“Your wing is stuck in the fence, and it’s the only thing holding the whole car up here. We gotta figure out how to untangle this without dropping you ten feet.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do that.”

He laughed and climbed a little higher, carefully looking over the crumpled wing above me.

“Can I at least talk to him?”

That angry voice was sure distinct. Mom was getting into it with a safety worker trying to keep her away from the crash scene.

“Jake? Are you OK in there?”

They had successfully kept mom about 10 feet from the car. I put an arm out the right side and gave her a thumbs up.

“I’m OK, just stuck in here.”