An All-American Teenage Sex LifeChapter 33 free porn video

SATURDAY, JULY 13, 1991

‘Breathe. Remember to breathe, moron.’

By mutual agreement, we decided I’d opt to go to the back of the heat race again. I needed the laps of experience before starting up front. That didn’t stop me from ripping off some fast laps in hot laps. I actually came up on a slower car in front of me, and had to back down or figure out a way to pass him on this narrow, tacky surface. I let him get a lead on me again, then tried some different lines, letting the car drift up a bit more than I had intended. I was just settling into the next corner before I had to remind myself to breathe. Holding my breath was not making me any faster, but it might make me pass out.

Grandpa, mom, Rossy, uncle Tim and dad were in the pits to help again. I could tell dad was about hooked on the whole racing thing once again. He just loved it. He would be the dirtiest crew member in the pits each night, but you couldn’t slow him down, and he was ready to spring into action the moment grandpa said something needed to be done. But he also knew his place, and would be cleaning the car or doing some other maintenance he knew how to do at all times.

Mom concerned herself only with my safety equipment, squeezing my belts as tight as possible, layering on my tearoffs and keeping my helmet clean. And she was a constant coach for me, keeping me up when I felt down, and leveling me out when I was getting too big for my britches.

Tim was there for advice, and he was having fun. Grandpa and Rossy were living old times again, marveling at how little the cars had really changed in the years they had been away from the sport. They seemed ready to pounce on even better ideas for more speed. It was easy to pick up on what they were conspiring about, since both were hard of hearing. Something about nitrogen was on their minds, and they had plans for next week.

That all left me with little to do, and too much time to overthink things. I could go over 1,000 scenarios in my head, and it was just getting me too worked up. Mom could tell, and she’d have me go get a pop from the concession stand, or try to go talk to other drivers.

There was little of that. I was 15. The next youngest driver was 20. There was no natural course to strike up a conversation with these guys, and I was a natural target as a rookie and a teenager. I was certain many of them saw me as a threat to their equipment as an inexperienced driver, or worse, a threat to their standing if I had the talent some thought I might have.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. It was already a longer day than it should have been.

Saturday started out about like any had this summer. I went to the shop a little earlier than I should have, but grandpa was already there with a steaming cup of coffee, staring at the car.

It was as if he could look at it and figure out how to make it go faster. He once said he could imagine in his head a night of racing and how the track would change, bringing needed changes to the car.

There really wasn’t a whole lot to do to get the car prepared for the race. We’d done the bulk of it the Sunday before. There was, however, something I wanted changed.

“Do you think we could adjust the throttle pedal, or maybe tape down a wooden block under my heel?”

Grandpa looked at me, suddenly pulled from his reverie.

“Adjust it, huh?” he mused. “Why don’t you get in the car and show me?”

I climbed into the cockpit, putting my feet where I had to have them for the races. Grandpa grabbed a screwdriver and removed the dzus tabs holding the right mud guard in place. It protected my feet and legs from big mud clods.

I showed grandpa how I had to hold my leg up in the air under idle, and how much that wore me out. He gave a little laugh, and said he might have something in mind. Then he grabbed a Sharpie and marked where my heel should rest on the aluminum plate.

“Go ahead and get out.”

Grandpa rummaged through the tool box, finding a cordless drill. Then he got an odd smile on his face and walked outside.

I shrugged and started looking through some odd metal scraps, hoping to come up with some sort of box I could attach to the floor of the car to boost my heel up.

When grandpa walked back into the shop, I couldn’t help but laugh.

“What the heck is that for?” I chuckled.

“This will be your heel rest,” he said matter-of-factly, carrying an old metal trash can lid into the shop.

He set the lid on the workbench and started drilling out the rivet holding the middle handle on the lid, like it was some sort of old viking shield.

In less than a minute, he pulled it off and held the handle up for my inspection with a grin.

It was strong, light, and it should hold my heel up for me.

I laughed and let him go about his business as he brought it to the car, crouched down and set the handle on the spot he’d marked on the floor of the cockpit.

Less than a minute later, he was rummaging through tools to find his riveter, and he had it fastened to the floor of the car before I could even be surprised.

“Try it now,” he smiled.

I climbed back into the car, immediately noticing the difference as my heel rested right on the garbage can handle. I could push down fully on the throttle pedal, or lift it quickly, without my entire leg floating in agony.

“It’s perfect,” I said incredulously.

“The simple fix is usually the best,” grandpa said off-handedly. “I couldn’t have welded up a box stronger than that, but it would have been heavier. We don’t want heavier.”

I nodded in understanding.

“This is going to help more than you know,” I said in gratitude.

“The more comfortable you are in the car, the faster you’ll go,” he grinned.

With nothing left to do, we put tires on the car, packed up everything we needed and rolled the car up into the trailer.

Grandpa took me for lunch, as was becoming the custom. I felt like lighter fare than usual, and stuck with a cheeseburger and fries. Grandpa had a pulled pork sandwich with potato salad.

We laughed and teased about the night ahead. Grandpa had a way of making me more relaxed about the idea of racing. It was in my blood. The family had been doing it for years. It was just natural. All I had to do was go out and do it.

So we had opted to start at the back of the heat race. The last rays of sunlight were fending off the darkness of a warm July night. The air was thick with humidity, and I was sweating again. Four rows of cars would form up in front of me, leaving me ninth in the starting order.

The adjustment we’d made under my heel was perfect, and I felt like I looked like I knew what I was doing in hot laps. The track was still a little tacky, and I felt the tingle of goosebumps on my flesh as I drew as close as I dared to the car in front of me, anticipating the drop of the green flag.

Both cars in front of me took off, but not out of my reach, as I gently shoved the throttle down, my right foot and the engine now an extension of my will, working in complete unison.

I shot down the front stretch as close as I dared to the cars in front of me, lifting a little early as we entered the corner. That action naturally left the bottom open for my car, and two cars in front of me fell into place up top. The car rolled perfectly through the corner on the bottom, and I felt I had cleared both of the cars in front of me at once. The car came to life again as I squeezed down on the throttle, bottoming it out near the end of the backstretch, where I was already catching another car. He came down into the corner, cutting me off abruptly. Thankfully he missed me, because I didn’t have time to do the wrong thing and react. I was inches from his bumper as we powered through the corner. The car in front of me drifted up the track exiting turn four, and I simply shot straight down the front stretch, pulling even with him, and forcing his hand. As we entered turn one, I had the preferred line, and simply ran it as I would have. He was forced to run up top, and fell behind me.

I wasn’t sure how many laps we’d run, but I was already coming up on yet another car, this one hugging the inside line, as I had been.

I immediately recognized the white number 47 of Nelson Hill. He was the kindly older guy we’d pitted next to last week. There wasn’t much time to think, but I knew I didn’t want to get stuck behind him through turns three and four, so I ran it hard on the backstretch and pulled even with him going into three. He seemed to slow even more than I thought he might, and I dove down heading into turn four, right in front of him. The move let me make an incredible run down the front stretch, where I ran the bottom again. I could see two cars about eight car lengths in front of me, but as the laps wound down, I knew I couldn’t reach them. I was running good laps, so I just concentrated on hitting my marks and was surprised to see the white flag waving already. One last lap to go, and I wasn’t making headway on the cars in front of me. Even better, I couldn’t hear anyone coming up behind me. I laid down a very fast last lap, sliding up a little in turns three and four to give the top a taste. It was still a little slick up there, but I still ran a good lap and took the checkered flag coming down the front stretch.

I felt pretty good about that heat race. I had sort of entered a focused place in my mind, without panic or exuberance. My breathing was level, almost robotic, and I didn’t leave this sort of trance state until I was clearing out the engine in our pit stall, and was getting slapped on top of the helmet vigorously.

Rossy was peeking at the tachometer. I pulled my helmet off and could finally hear the high-pitched screech of pride from mom.

“Did you know you were up to fifth?” mom gushed as she grabbed my helmet from me.

“I hadn’t really thought about it, but I passed the two in the first corner, then got two more, so yeah, fifth I guess.”

“That was your best piece of driving yet,” uncle Tim quietly. “I can tell you’re very comfortable in the car.”

“You hit 84-hundred,” Rossy wheezed. “Not far off redline. We’re going to swap gears before the feature for you.”

Dad didn’t need to hear another word. He had the pit jack under the back of the car, lifting it up before another word could be said.

Grandpa was quiet and reflective, maybe more so than usual.

“You know Nels started that race on the pole?” he asked me cautiously.

“Yeah, that’s how the points work, right? Lowest in points start up front.”

“You might well have won that race if we let you start where you should have.”

I let that sink in for a moment. Winning a heat race on your second night out would have been pretty awesome.

“Well, I guess we can think about that again before the feature starts,” I said bluntly to grandpa. I didn’t know if I had the courage to actually start where I should, but at least we could think about it.

Dad busied himself with cleaning mud off the car. Grandpa was thinking about setup and Rossy was asking me to find a different pill for the fuel system.

I found it for him, then wandered off to the concession stand to peek at the lineup as the 410 heats roared into action.

I ordered a hot dog, a Mountain Dew and a small bag of chips. When they gave me my order, I checked the white board mounted to the side of the little shack just as the pit steward was writing down the lineups.

“360s, 18 laps.”

I checked my starting position, and it was dead last in the feature. Since he was standing right there, I waited for the pit steward to finish the 410 lineup before asking him a question.

“Can I start where I’m supposed to by heat finish, or am I stuck at the back?”

He had a quick answer.

“Since you opted to start at the back again, you don’t get your finish in the heat. If you start where you’re supposed to next week, you can start where the heat should put you.

And it was that simple. Tonight I would start 17th. If we felt froggy, I could start up front in the heat race next week.

The idea put a smile on my face as I took a bite of my hot dog and headed back to our pit.

The car sat mostly clean on the jack with the rear tires taken off. Dad had taken the cover off the center of the rear axle, allowing him access to change to another gear. A five-gallon bucket with a hand pump on it would help him remove the lubricant from the quick change, and pump it right back in when he was done. It was pretty ingenious.

Grandpa and Rossy were in conference while Tim and dad laughed and joked. Mom had my helmet cleaned and ready and was sitting in a lawn chair with her feet up on the toolbox.

I sat in a chair next to her and finished up my hot dog.

“Where’s mine?” mom asked jokingly.

“They’re still making them,” I shrugged. “I dunno, I just needed something to fill the pit in my stomach I get before the races.”

“I see,” mom said, dropping her feet off the toolbox and looking me over. “You’re going to race hard tonight, aren’t you?”

“Well, I feel a lot more comfortable in the car, and it’s damn fast,” I admitted.

“Just remember, you will crash at some point, and it might not even be your fault. It’s like a rite of passage, and you’ll have to go through it. It’s inevitable,” she shrugged.

“OK?” I said questioningly.

“OK, so don’t beat yourself up over it when it happens. I’ll be freaked out enough for both of us until I see you’re safe anyway,” she grinned.

Some great decisions had apparently been made. Grandpa handed dad a little case with two thick gears in it. Dad deftly slipped under the back of the car and slid them over little spuds, the teeth of each fitting together perfectly. The change would give me more overall speed, as the car was plenty fast coming out of the corners.

Dad pumped the fluid back into the gearbox, then sealed it up.

Uncle Tim put the tires back on, let me cinch the wheels up with the big lug wrench, then he dropped the car off the jack. We were ready to roll well before the call was made for the street stocks to have their feature.

The track lights were the only source of light now, shining off the white concrete walls surrounding the little joint. Mom was gathering up my equipment as the stock car feature started. I zipped up my fire suit and climbed into the car.

Mom handed me everything in order, silently watching me gear up. I left the head sock and helmet for last, hoping to stave off that extra heat for a few minutes.

Dad and grandpa pushed the car back and we simply waited for a push truck as the noisy stock cars peeled around the track. I beckoned grandpa over to talk to me.

“How’s the track look?”

“Well, we should have checked it out better, but it still looks just a little tacky. It will probably slick off during your race, so watch for that.”

I nodded in understanding.

“Do what you were doing in the heat race, and you’ll move forward plenty.”

A push truck nestled up against the push bar. I gave him the signal and he pushed me up front to the rest of the line.

Just a minute later, mom walked up and motioned for me to put the helmet and head sock on.

Pulled the Nomex fabric over my head, then set the helmet over my head, looping the chinstrap into place tightly.

Now I could focus and get into my zone.

Except for the tapping on my helmet.

“Yes, mom?” I asked, popping my visor back up for the moment. “In order to finish first, you must first finish.”

“Yeah, got that one last week,” I shook my head a little at her.

She paused for a moment, and I nearly popped my visor back down.

“You can’t win the race on the first lap, but you can lose it.”

This made sense, just as much as her first proverb. But I was sensing this wasn’t so much for me as it was for her. She was nervous too, she just wouldn’t let me sense it.

“You got that right, mom,” I smiled, then popped my visor down, back into my own little world.

The stock car feature came to a quiet end. Moments later, cars in front of me were getting the push off, then I was as well.

The car came to life under my control, and I rolled around the track looking to find my place at the end of the line.

Two rows of cars formed up and I simply tagged the back, starting 17th. Another pace lap went by and I saw the pace car take the sharp left turn off the backstretch.

The air crackled with electricity and anticipation. As the front of the field entered turn four, I could see the flagman wave the green flag and we were off. A smooth start to the feature race, everyone took off and worked gentlemanly into turn one, where it seemed like everyone in front of me had chosen to run the bottom of the track. I had to get into the brake to slow down, then made a decision that would change the course of the night for me. I was going to try to run up top by the wall.

A narrow ledge, about a foot tall, had formed at the top of the track in the corners. It could be your best friend or your worst enemy. A skilled driver could run his right rear tire up against that ledge in the mud and find great speed, or he could bounce over it and flip the car into the fence.

As I came out of turn four, I let the car drift up toward the backstretch wall and buried the throttle. I passed a car going down the back chute and gave my full attention to the track, as I slid the right rear tire into the berm with a slight bump, then kept the throttle nearly all the way down as I powered through the corner.

I came out of turn four in great shape and rocketed down the frontstretch. I could tell I had passed a car or two, still no one was in front of me for some distance up top, so I kept to the outside lane, with the throttle nearly buried, my hands sawing away at the wheel to keep the car going forward with as little slide as possible.

I’d lost track of laps already when I ran up behind a car running my line. Now I had to pay attention. Now I had to race the track and other cars. I followed what looked like the number 6 for a lap before slipping to the bottom again going into turn one. I had to touch the brakes to set the car up to run the bottom. I had a glimpse of him as I exited turn two, and I could tell I had cleared him by at least a half a car length.

That was my chance. I let the car drift back up the track down the backstretch and kept the car up top entering turn three. I could hear the other car just behind me as I sawed away at the wheel, willing the car to stay snug up against that treacherous ledge.

Another clean lap zipped by. I could no longer hear that 6 car behind me. I was just peeking ahead around the corner entering turn one when the yellow caution lights started flashing, letting me know we were under yellow conditions, and I needed to slow way down.

I kept the car rolling forward under caution, looking for a car in front of me to pull up to. As we rolled into turn three, I could see the white #47 and the black #15 tangled together. It looked like one had spun and collected the other.

The pace car was out. I could see flashing amber lights on it, and the field formed up in front of me. I was a little surprised to see only four cars between me and the pace car.

‘That can’t be right,’ I immediately thought.

As we rolled down the front stretch, the pit steward was listening intently to his headphones and waving around some cars behind me to get into position.

‘I can’t be in fifth?’

Time to get some information from the pits. I knew grandpa would be standing in turn two. As we rolled around, I spotted him and gave him an exaggerated shrug. All he had to offer was a big grin and a thumbs up.

‘I’m in fifth!’

We rolled slowly down the backstretch and I knew mom and dad would be standing in turn four, near our pit stall.

I gave them a head nod. They clapped and smiled. Dad pointed a finger up, indicating I should stay up top.

I gave a thumbs up, acting cool and loose in the seat. I could tell both my parents were thrilled.

As we passed the crash scene, the #47 car was already gone and the #15 was being pushed, perhaps to start at the tail.

Grandpa gave me a thumbs up again as we rolled through turn two. The pit steward indicated one more lap under yellow before we’d restart. There were five laps left to race. It would be a single-file restart, and I couldn’t believe how far I’d moved up. It was time to put full focus into this and finish in at least fifth, or maybe fight for a podium finish.

Next time around, the pace truck peeled off on the backstretch. The cars in front of me bumped up their speed, and nearly in unison, we rolled into the throttle in turn four as we got the green flag.

I let the car slide out toward the front stretch wall, as close as I dared run it and once again ran the top through turns one and two. I could see only two cars in front of me now, but I hadn’t cleared the car inside of me. We were wheel-to-wheel down the backstretch, then wheel-to-wheel again down the straight. I was focused on making fast laps, but I barely noticed how much slicker it was getting near the ledge. I drifted into turn one a little harder than I should have, the right rear bumping the berm in a manner that upset the car slightly. I stayed in the throttle, but the damage to my lap time was done. I exited turn two behind the #55. It put me in fourth place, but I still had time.

I had to lift a bit earlier going into turn three. I knew I was close to disaster in the last corners. The car slid gracefully through three and four, as I worked the wheel, keeping the car going forward, turning right to go left and making tiny corrections as the rear tires spit dirt behind me.

I hadn’t caught up to the #55 and the white flag was out. He entered turn one on the bottom. I entered once again up top, and lifted a touch earlier again. I made a lovely lap powering around the top, but just didn’t have the momentum to catch that #55. One last set of corners was left.

He made up my mind for me, entering on the bottom again. I had no choice, but to rip the ledge one last time. I smoothly let the car bang up against the berm and sawed away at the steering wheel, exiting turn four with a little more speed. I gained quickly on the #55, wondering if he bobbled on the bottom. We nearly came together wheel-to-wheel on the front stretch and I lifted slightly before our wheels touched. It was all he needed to get a wheel in front of me at the line.

I wasn’t sure how we finished, but I felt like I was behind him at the line. More importantly, I had another set of turns to negotiate at near full speed again. Before I suffered brain fade and crashed the car, I refocused in a panic and ran one more blistering lap around the top, letting the car bounce off the ledge once more.

I was a little confused about what to do, and no one can really explain it to you from outside the car. I normally entered the pits from the backstretch, but I would need to be on the front stretch if I had finished third. I rolled around turns one and two at a slow speed and looked across the pits to the backstretch scoreboard.

“33, 28, 55.”

‘So close!’ I thought with a slap to the steering wheel. Could I have outdueled Troy Ward for the win tonight? We’d never know. We had opted to start in the back.

And maybe that was OK. Maybe I needed this night of experience to see what we could do next week. Maybe this was OK after all. I rolled through one and two, and saw grandpa still standing in his spot and clapping for me.

It was the first time I got a little choked up instead of just surprised at how well I’d just raced. It’s odd to admit, but it was sort of easy. The car was badass fast and set up to my comfort level. I couldn’t ask for more to start a racing career, and it was all mostly due to that old, balding man clapping for me in the infield.

I pulled the car into the pits, cleared out the engine as it rolled into our pit stall, and shut it down.

I needed a moment or two to collect myself. I sat for a moment in the now silent car, a tear or two of choked up emotion leaking out of me.

Both mom and dad were all over me in moments. Clapping me on the shoulder and head.

“Great racing!” mom enthused.

“You just got fourth!” dad enthused through my helmet.

I nodded to both of them, still not ready to pull my helmet off.

I slowly unbuckled my safety harness, freeing my arms as well. I pulled the steering wheel off and set it on the steering arm.

Finally I pulled my helmet off and used my head sock to dry my welling eyes, hoping that would be enough.

Mom and dad looked at me strangely, not sure what to expect.

I climbed out of the car and sat in a heap on the left rear tire.

“So close,” I said a little dejectedly.

“So close?” mom said derisively. “What do you mean so close?” “One more and I would be up there,” I indicated with a thumb toward the front stretch celebration and photos.

“You have got to be kidding me!” mom groused. “You should be jumping up and down!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, looking her in the eyes. “The car was perfect. I wasn’t. We should all be up on the front stretch celebrating.”

“You should be celebrating anyway,” mom laughed. “Where did you expect to finish tonight?”

Dad looked on with a smile, ready to roll his eyes at either of us.

“Well, we didn’t really talk about a goal for tonight, but I guess top 10?”

“You just finished fourth!”

A small smile formed on my face and I had to grudgingly give it to mom. She was right.

“Yay!” I gave a half-hearted cheer and a soft fist pump.

Rossy and grandpa shuffled into the pits just then.

“Not bad,” grandpa said quietly, but with a big grin. “Not bad at all.”

“I should have had one more,” I apologized. “The car was perfect.”

“Nice piece of drivin’ kid,” Rossy clapped me on the shoulder.

We watched the 410 feature from our pit stall. It was a wreck-fest, with three different red flags for flips. Five cars were junked in total. It was getting to be a late night because of it.

Once it was over, I was in for another surprise.

If I thought I signed a lot of autographs last week, this week was at least double. I signed tearoffs until I ran out. I signed T-shirts and programs and talked to a bunch of people. Beast and Tree had made it to the races again. There was no teasing about the location of the throttle this time. They were both suitably impressed with my driving.

“You passed more cars than anyone all night,” Beast said in earnest. “Between the heat race and feature, you passed like 20 cars.”

“Why did they make you start in the back?” Tree asked.

“Well, we chose to for the heat race for more experience,” I admitted. “Then I had to for the feature. I have a feeling we’ll start somewhere closer to the front next week.”

My friends smiled at the idea.

“We’ll be here for sure,” Beast added.

Grandma Vos had kept little Josh busy in the stands all night, but he was back at it again, sitting in the car and sawing away at the wheel. I’m sure he thought he could do better than fourth.

Grandma and Grandpa Parker had come to watch again and were all smiles as they congratulated me.

I didn’t recognize anyone else from my class, but a few students I recognized from other grades stopped by to say ‘hi,’ or even get an autograph.

A couple of groups of girls looked like they were working up the courage to come talk to me. I simply tried to concentrate on the people around me, figuring life was as complex as I needed it to be at the moment.

I was wrong. It could get more complex.

SUNDAY, JULY 14, 1991

The rains came. It had been a bit dry lately, and the skies opened up Sunday morning to some mild thunderstorms, mostly a little lightning mixed with gentle rain.

It made for a nice day of reflection. A long sleep in. A brief trip to the shop to do maintenance on the car with grandpa, a tenderloin sandwich at the diner, and a quiet afternoon of reading and a Cubs win on WGN.

It had been a while since I’d been so relaxed and carefree. No fewer than three girls called my teen line to get a full recap of the night’s racing. I was proud to tell Shelby, Mandy and then Autumn how I’d ended up fourth. I had to tease Autumn a bit more for not coming to see me. She wanted to see me Monday afternoon, and I thought I could arrange that, remembering at the last moment that I had tutoring once again. Mandy wanted nothing more than a Friday night date, and Shelby wanted details on what was going on with both. I was able to give everyone what they wanted.

MONDAY, JULY 15, 1991

Rain again. Dad had me help move some equipment around the yard in the morning, knowing I’d be back at tutoring in the afternoon. He was taking the day to do some equipment repairs, and had me pack some wheel bearings on a hay wagon. As long as I could do it in the shop, I had no problem with it.

Getting all that grease off my hands was problematic as I took a midday shower, wondering exactly how many days had passed since I had last seen Betsy. My entire world had changed, with getting publicly dumped by Deedee, a birthday complete with a life-changing day with my best friend, dates and sex with not one, but two more girls and the start of what I hoped would become a racing career.