Hold On

I grabbed the largest towel and wrap it around her body, trying to hurry and get her dry, hoping we don't need an extended period with the blow dryer on her hair before festivities can resume. Eventually I get her pretty dry, except for the slick spot between her perfect thighs. Then Megan drys me off, spending quite a lot of time teasing my rod to keep it full up.

Then she says, "done now," and bends over between the dual sinks. I want to just stand there and look at her perfect buns but I can't, I grab her by the hips and rock her back until she impales me in one stroke. And then it's off to the races... for both of us. I'm holding on to her hips, hammering myself into her, she's pushing back into me in time, causing her ass to shake and generating a rhythmic slap, slap, slap. She's moaning, I'm panting, in minutes, it's over, I shoot deep inside of her.

Megan is still for a moment, then pulls away... and me out, and turns around and asks, "how was that lover, for your first time?"

I'm smiling, nodding my head, trying to speak... but all I can say is, "nice."

Fast and Fuckable

Two hours later.

Megan keeps some cars in her garage that look less exotic and less expensive. But once I'm driving one and following her directions somewhere I realize this car might be more expensive and her car mechanic must have an unlimited budget. This car has crazy horsepower, all wheel driving, racing quality traction control on top of super wide slicks that definitely aren't street legal.

While the car might look slightly unassuming on the outside, Megan is sitting inside and is dressed to show up any ring girl at the most high end Las Vegas prize fight for heavyweight champion of the world. I want to look at her, but I know I've got to keep my eyes on the road. It doesn't help that her hand keeps wandering down my leg... on the inside of my thigh... and yelling things like, "I like to go fast!"

It's midnight now. I'm running on adrenaline, Red Bull and lust. I didn't realize we were entering the street racing scene from Fast and Furious but we rock up to the edge of town. The place is packed with people and cars and music. The girls are dressed for the club, some for the strip club; the cars are dressed to impress; and the music is full of driving bass, made to get people fired up and dancing.

A fiery redhead in heels and short skirt with tons of cleavage on display runs up to M and kiss her on both cheeks, Euro style.

"Megan. You made it. I thought you were in South Beach."

"I was. But I found a driver. Now we are here," and she winks at me.

I'm again knocked back. I'm driving?!!

"This is Steve. He lost his virginity this afternoon. And now he's going to drive my car."

My eyes bug out.

'Against your ex? Are you sure?" red-head asks. "BTW, I'm Heather. And I'm here for a good time. And the racing of course." and she winks at me.

More speechlessness from me.

"Don't worry," M implores me. I've seen you drive. You're fine." She winks... again. "You also have the best car. I made sure. Although the Scuderia Ferrari team might not be as good this year," she shrugs.

A long line of people flow up to greet Megan. She appears to be royalty here. I'm living a scene from a rap music video. After an hour, M says, "It's time."

Her (apparently) ex drives up in a Mitsubishi Lancer, modded to the hilt. He looks angry; and hot, Ricky Martin hot. Shirt unbuttoned, gold chains, hair slicked with product.

I'm wondering where my racing suit and helmet are stowed.

The crowd forms around us. M negotiates the course and the prize: Counter-clockwise course, 3 left turns, have to stay on the road, the start line is the finish line, start once the flag touches the ground, winner takes her home with both pink slips. The DJ is repeating all this over the loudspeaker. The crowd goes wild. The flag girl magically appears once both our cars are set. She is wearing a gold bikini and matching high heels. I don't see a flag. The crowd is chanting but I'm not sure what.

She whips off her bikini top and swirls it through the air. The spectators erupt even more. I realize they were chanting 'take it off!' And that the bikini top is the flag. I'm trying to ignore her nipples and her tan lines while I look over my dashboard and grip the wheel with both hands.

"Three!" the flag girl yells. I manually shift into first gear with the paddle shifter.

"Two!" I rev the engine up to 5,000 RPMs.

One!" and drops the flag/top. When it hits the ground I release the brake with my left foot and feel for the tires catching, feathering the throttle down. Both cars leap down the road, pressing me back in the seat. Now I realize why this car has a racing harness instead of a seatbelt. Focus, I tell myself. Ex-pretty boy has a slight lead. I intend to erase that. Fuck if I'm going to make it easy for him to take Megan home. I manually shift through the gears as our speed increases. He is crowding the center of the street, making me worry about the passenger side paint. The nose of my car is next to his driver's door. The first turn, left, is approaching. My speed is over 110 mph. The turn looks 90 degrees left.

"Press here for speed," the car intones in a voice that sounds very KITT (Knight Industries Two Thousand) and a round button starts flashing red near my right thumb, on the wheel. I hadn't even noticed it before. I remember how nice Megan looked bent over the guest room sink in front of me and I press the button. Additional HP is routed to the wheels and I overtake the ex. We are now wheel to wheel, approaching my best guess of the braking point for this corner. I think I will have to brake earlier than him, to keep from sliding into his line. And I do. But I'm not far enough behind him so that he can get to the inside on the corner. And he carries too much speed, and slides way wide, into the gravel on the exit.

I maintain my traction and I'm back on full throttle at the apex. Safe in my lead.

Three turns later, I win but not without a sweaty ass and cramps in my hands from clutching at the wheel. After crossing the finish line, I slew the car sideways to a stop. M runs and leaps into my arms just as I exit. The crowd has their arms up cheering, so loud that we can almost can't hear the approach of the sirens.

"Let's GO!" she screams and we pile back into the car as the bystanders flee for their own wheels.

Shuttle to heaven

Later we pull up at the beach. It's deserted since it's 2 AM. The full moon is illuminating the few high light clouds, the crest of the waves, and the grainy, rough sand.

"Sorry. I didn't plan on springing that on you. I wasn't even planning on showing up for that race. And then when we could make it, I was going to drive. But anyways, Carpe diem. You did a fabulous job." M tries to look apologetic. But I'm not entirely sure it's sincere.

"Skinny dip?" she asks. And then without waiting for an answer walks to the surf, shedding clothes as she goes. I was that sweet, rich, wild Southern ass move side-to-side, revealed by the globe above. I wonder if they still do night launches from Cape Canaveral, and if so, can you see the flames from here. I know I'm going to get burned... but pain is temporary... and chicks dig scars.

I drop my own shorts, after I pry the waistband over my again hard self, and follow.