Racer
I’m simmering with energy, my dick hard as rock after stopping myself from blowing up inside my warm, wet Lana. I’m ready to prove myself to the Heyworths. To her. It’s me against 22 assholes, all with fast as fuck cars.
It’s hard to pass in this track—twists and turns like a rollercoaster, the moment we get green flag, the track’s got my heart pumping and my lungs working like mad. Every one of my muscles is engaged as I twist and turn, accelerate and brake.
The Clark’s #2 driver tries to push me off the track when I try to pass him, and I spin and take a few seconds to regain control. I pull back onto the track, losing position. My anger mounts, and suddenly I’m shifting gears and charging back after him.
“Car ok?” Clay asks.
“Yeah, I think so but it’s fucked up in the straight.”
“Shit. Use your talent.”
“Hell I am.”
I try to recover my place, and it takes me a full lap to get back behind P2.
I’m biding my time, upshifting as I get closer, aiming my nose cone at the gearbox behind Clark’s #2 driver car.
No one fucks with me—and gets away with it.
I narrow my eyes, my heartbeat slow and steady.
My car rumbles down the straightaway, the wheel shuddering in my hands, the seat vibrating from the power. I stay on point. If the nose hits a moving part, like a wheel, it’ll fly off and I’ll get fucked. And yeah, that’s not the point.
If our wheels lock, we’ll spin and crash. Maybe even flip.
That’s not the point either.
Eyes narrowed as I aim, I aim for the gearbox, outbrake him, and touch my nose to his gearbox and take him out—I watch as dust flies behind him and he spins off the track. Arrivederci, fucker …
I upshift and push forward and watch, through my rearview mirror, as he tries to recover and pass me; his aim fails. His nose touches my wheels, and I flip him. The car flips and flies across the track.
“Holy shit,” I hear on the radio. “You all right?”
“Dandy.”
I smile and approach a heavy braking turn, after P1.
This car’s got a lot of torque—torque is acceleration power, and horsepower is velocity. When you’ve got both of these working for you, you’re flying.
“There’s a yellow flag of caution. Debris on track.”
“Got it.”
A yellow light is flashing at the wheel. We all need to slow down—we cannot pass until we get green again.
We drive around for two laps and green flashes.
I jump the green flag, accelerating to full speed and jumping the start without being too obvious or I get a pit drive-through penalty.
I wait to see if I get away with it, I think I do. I upshift and hear myself growl and narrow my eyes at Clark up ahead.
Oh yeah, I’m coming for you.
