Soccer Mom - Chapter Sixteen
By Pac (pac)
One last competition


I was beginning to formulate a plan for winning at something: a real victory, and I figured it might just 
work. Something had to break this tension.

I say tension, but it really wasn't. Things were wonderful and comfortable, and always exciting, but 
there was that constant nagging reminder in the back of our minds that things might not be... I don't 
know... permanent? For keeps? I guess that was the thought, that ephemeral ideal relationship that 
people talk about but so seldom experience. It just felt like one small push the wrong way, and things 
would fall apart. I was determined to end that uncertainty.

So I began doing a lot of work on my car. I always tinkered with it, but now I was interested in really 
putting some time in on it. I had an idea on how I could finally win at something, even if it wouldn't 
exactly be completely fair. I looked at it this way, though: Terri already had the deck so stacked 
against me just through her sheer awesomeness that I needed to make a little of my own fortune. It 
wasn't like I was doing what her ex-husband did, outright cheating, but suffice it to say that I wasn't 
100% aboveboard.

I was as nonchalant as I could get about it. I never begged off on time together, but I would take 
some time for myself and do some work when I could. The work I couldn't do, I got a guy I'd 
known for years to do. I would still help, but he was the expert.

Anyway, the following spring came right before soccer camp was about to begin, and I thought the 
time was right; I was ready.

Terri and I were driving to a movie with the girls. We were sitting in her car at a red light. I was 
driving. On the way she was doing this little thing that sometimes drove me mad. She would "ghost 
shift": she'd move her hand a little, almost a twitch, crabbing her hand a little like she was palming a 
shifter, when she felt the optimal shift point came as the car tached up through a gear. It was sort of 
second-guessing my driving, I suppose. It was totally unconscious, and I almost called her on it one 
time, but just didn't have the heart. It was maddening, but kind of cute, too, so I guess I was torn.

"You know, you should bring your car to the track some time," I said, as offhandedly as I could 
make it sound.

"Yeah?" she said, staring out the window, not focused on our talk; very unusual for her.

"Yeah," I said. "It's a lot of fun. You can do laps and see your times. You're really fast on your stick 
(I couldn't help but get in a little dig, even if she didn't realize it), so I think you would do well."

She stopped staring out the window and looked at me. I couldn't tell if there was an undue level of 
scrutiny there or not.

"Time trials?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said. "It's fun."

"Hmm," she replied, noncommittally. "When were you thinking?"

"Saturday," I said. "They have an open track then. I'll call them if you like. I know all those guys 
from going down there. Bob's son has my car in his shop right now anyway. That's why I'm glad we 
could take your car today."

I needed to call Bob's son the next day. My car was probably having the pi#ce de r'sistance installed 
as we spoke.
"We both have performance cars, so it might be fun to take it there and really see what the Bimmer 
here can do. I take the 'Stang there a lot, you know that."

"I would like to open it up for once," she admitted.

Heh. I knew she'd enjoy that.

"Good," I replied. "These cars understeer a bit, so you'll have an easy time navigating the curves."

"Heh," she said with a hint of a smile, looking down at her voluptuous figure. "I own the curves."

"Yeah," I said, admiration evident in my voice, "I am the one who usually navigates them. All that 
practice at the track really pays off."

She pulled my hand off the gearshift and took it in hers. I compensated as the light changed by 
quickly upshifting with my left hand, taking it quickly off the wheel and replacing it. The shifter of her 
M3 was soft enough I didn't miss a beat.

She gave me a sexy smile while I fantasized about us racing each other.

Like every other aspect of her life, Terri was an excellent driver, always in perfect control. She had a 
very alert driving posture and was never caught off guard. Perfect, like everything she did.

"Okay, great!" I said. "We can meet there right after lunch."

I'd spring my trap once we got there.

Saturday came, and we pulled into the main track, since I called ahead. I knew the guys here pretty 
well, and cautioned them against making any undue comments about my girl. They were all good 
guys, anyway, so I really didn't need to say anything, but I didn't want Terri being self-conscious. She 
got far too much attention like that, poor thing.

As I expected, she hopped out of her car in a light leather jacket and fairly loose-fitting jeans, 
downplaying her devastating figure. She had her hair pulled back, and a black scarf tied into her 
ponytail. She looked absolutely beautiful, as always.

I had on an old t-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans, trying to look as casual as possible, not wanting 
to raise suspicions until the last minute.

"Hi, Gorgeous," I called to her, giving her a hug. That incredible hard body pressed against me, a little 
self-consciously, it seemed.

"Hi, Honey!" she said. "What do we do?"

"Come with me, and I'll introduce you to my friends," I said, taking her hand and leading her into the 
track office.

The track was a small one, for sprint cars and the like, so a quarter mile was two laps. The curves 
were a bit tight for fast runs, so her car with its excellent balance and control would have an 
advantage, but I had an ace up my sleeve. I had to, right?

I made the introductions, and eyes went wide as the guys drank in those amazing curves.

"Jesus, Eric!" Bob, the track manager, said. "No wonder you don't come around as much!

She blushed prettily, always modest.

"Don't let that self-effacing look fool you, Bob. She's hell on wheels, especially in her Bimmer!" I 
said, and she elbowed me gently in the ribs.

"Yeah, we get a few M3's in now and again," he said. "It's a good car for these short tracks, not like 
your sloppy-cornering Pony."

"Bite your tongue," I said. "The '11's are almost as sharp on the corners as her M3, but it's the 
horsepower matchup that's really appealing to me today."

Terri cast a sidelong glance at me. Sharp as a tack, that woman.

"They do stack up pretty well," he said, "but if your-"

"Hey, Terri," I said, cutting Bob off and casting a glance his way, "Let's get you a helmet."

"Okay," she said, hesitantly, but seeming to get more enthusiastic about putting her car through its 
paces.

I took her to a room near the track, and there was a box wrapped in a black bow on the table, with 
a big tag with Terri's name on it.

She looked at me with a sly smile, and went to the table pulling up on the box. I got her a classy-
looking black helmet to match her black on black car. On either side was written "The Boss". And I 
couldn't help myself. In small letters, at the nape of the neck was a small picture of a cocked arm with 
a big muscle and the words "Might Makes Right".
                                     
"I like it!" she said, and set the helmet on the table and gave me a big crushing hug, picking me up off 
the floor.

"I was shopping online and knew it was you as soon as I saw it," I said.

"Might Makes Right, huh?" she said. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Nope," I said with a smile, "that's just encouragement to keep on doing what you're doing, Sexy."

"I think you like it when my might makes things right," she said, lifting my body up in her arms until I 
was high over her.

"I think you always win and you're seldom wrong," I replied, "and look damn good doing it."

"Now you're talking, Baby!" she said, and brought me down for a big kiss, wrapping her steely 
sinews around me. "When we get home, we can do more than talk."

"Let's drive first, Gorgeous," I said. "I think you're going to have fun."

"I'm getting excited!" she said, and let go of me, grabbing her helmet.

We got her suited up in her helmet, and gave her a headset to talk to the timekeeper's booth. I wired 
her helmet and clipped the little battery pack to the waist of her jeans, and couldn't help but feel the 
gorgeous expanse of her tight buns.

"Hey, is that what all crew guys do?" she said with a smirk.

"Just the ones who crew for blazingly hot drivers," I said.

She grabbed my hands and pulled them up to her breasts.

"Then you might as well get the full effect," she said, moaning slightly as I cupped her bounteous 
bosom. 

I loved how small my hands looked trying to hold her curvy chest.

"Mmm," I said, and pulled back. "You know, your track times might suffer if you drive while you're 
turned on."

"It's worth it," she said, and grabbed me under my arms and yanked my body into hers, planting a 
scorching kiss on my lips. 

She leaned back and I felt my body press into her chest as my toes lifted off the floor.

We kissed for a little bit, and I heard Bob's voice over the track PA system.

"Hey, gang? Are you ready? You're burning your track time!"

She set me down, and our lips parted.

"That's your cue," I said. "Just remember to ease into the curves a bit early until you get the feel of 
how the track lays, then come out of 'em hard. If you time it right, you can decelerate a bit going in 
without the brake and get a good kick coming out."

"Okay, Baby," she said, squeezing my butt and taking me with her out the door.

She went to her car and buckled in. I got my own helmet out of my car, making sure to avoid some 
of the newly installed hard lines and the fat little cylinder in the trunk. I took a quick glance at its 
pressure gauge before I closed the trunk.

I walked over to her and leaned in to give her a kiss.

"Give 'em hell, Gorgeous!" I said and backed away as she drove out onto the track.

Bob guided her through the headset to take a few warm up laps, then open it up on the last before he 
lined her up on the starting line. I made my way up to the timekeeper's booth overlooking the track. 
Bob sat there with his son, Luke, my ace mechanic.

"How's the wet-injection doing, Eric?" he asked me.

"It fucking rocks, man!" I said. I had been at the track a few hours earlier than Terri, playing with my 
new toys.

We turned to focus on Terri's first quarter mile run.

She took the first few curves a bit early, but, true to form, she mastered the feel of them quickly and 
banked in on them like a pro after a few laps. She really put it down on the last, and her M3's stock 
engine took the track like the fine piece of German craftsmanship it was. The driving was top-notch, 
and anyone who didn't know her would have sworn she was a track veteran. She ran four ten-lap 
trials, each successively better than before.

"Damn, can she drive!" Bob swore.

"Yeah, there's not much she can't do," I said with pride.

"Beauty, brains, and built like a brick shithouse!" he said. "How the hell did you get so lucky?"

"I ask myself that at least once a day, Buddy," I said. 

"Does she like football?" he asked. "If you say yes, you may well have found the perfect woman."

I dodged the question.

"She's as perfect a woman as I've ever met, my friend," I said. "Hey, I'm going to get out there. She's 
getting ready to come in."

"Are you driving today, or just her?" Bob asked.

"I'm driving," I replied. "I have to try out some of my new toys for real. I also was going to ask you to 
open up the drag track if you've got time. I want to drag off against Terri."

"Geez, Eric," he said. "You said this is her first time to the track. You don't want to scare her off, do 
you?"

"Trust me, she'll give a good accounting of herself," I said. "But I'm doing it to prove a point."

"Is this a testosterone thing?" he asked.

"Nope, it's a love thing," I said cryptically. "I'm going to go get wired up."

"Okay. Just key your mic a few times when you're on so I know it's you."

"Will do."

I walked down to the track just as Terri pulled off into the service lane. Terri jumped out of her car, 
excited as could be, and snatched me off my feet, twirling me around.

"That was AWESOME!" she said, giddy as a schoolgirl.

"I knew you'd like it," I said, laughing as I spun dizzily above her.

"Jesus Christ!" Bob exclaimed from his vantage point in the booth. "That girl sure ate HER 
Wheaties!"

I had my mic on vox already, and replied to his comment. "You have no idea, Bob!"

After a few more twirls, Terri set me down and gave me a big hug.

"My turn, Baby," I said. "Let's see how I do against you."

Her smile vanished as if someone had erased it from her face.

"What do you mean?" she asked, hesitantly.

"I'm going to match times with you," I said, innocently. "It's not like we're racing. It's just for fun."

"Eric," she said, her voice diminishing. "I don't want to compete!"

"Oh, Honey," I said, "You knew this was coming, right?"

"No I didn't."

The hurt in her voice stabbed at me.

I gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, not denting it in the slightest.

"Don't worry," I said. "Nothing's going to happen. I'm not going to freak out when I lose, okay?"

"Oh, Eric," she said, her eyes bright. "I thought we were done with this."

"Honey, there's a point I'm going to make today. You'll see." I said, holding her shoulders. "I love you 
very much. This isn't going to hurt anything. If I'm right about this, it's going to help. A lot."

Terri took a deep breath and blew it out. It did the most amazing things to her leather jacket. I could 
actually hear the leather groan trying to contain that marvelous bosom.

"I'm going to trust you," she said, her voice quavering the slightest bit, "because I love you, too. So 
much, Eric. Please don't ruin us." 

"Trust me, my love," I said, and got in my car.

"Everything okay?" Bob asked through the headset.

"It's going to be," I said. "Are you ready for me? How'd she do?"

"How'd she do?" Bob exclaimed. "Holy shit! On that last run, she averaged a 12.7-second quarter 
mile! That's a track record for ALL of the M3's we have come here, and she did that on street tires!"

"I told you she'd give a good accounting," I said casually.

"A good fucking accounting? Is she a professional driver?" Bob asked, thinking I was pulling one 
over on her. "We had a Car and Driver guy come here one time, and he didn't hug the track 
anywhere close to her! If your car wasn't tinkered with, you'd eat her dust!"

"I know, Buddy... that's why Luke put the supercharger and nitrous in," I said. "I also put on my 
racing slicks, and Luke put in the suspension improvements he suggested to stiffen up the rear-end 
and stick tight in those turns. I'm going to kick her ass!"

I looked at her in my rearview as I drove onto the track. I waved, and she gave me a little half-
hearted wave in return. She looked despondent.

"But you're cheating," he said, "your car has at least 100 more horses with the supercharger alone."

"Yes," I said, "but it's to prove a point, my friend. Trust me. I'm going to softball the first few trials, 
and then open it up at the end."

"What the hell are you playing at, Eric?" Bob asked.

"It's personal. I have something special planned after I kick her ass, so keep your mouth shut about it. 
Just act like the first few lap times are good times for me."

"Okay, Buddy," Bob said, unsure, "if you say so. Go do your warm-ups."

"Thanks, Man. Just keep me posted on how far back off her times I am. And give her a running 
commentary on how I'm not driving as well as her. Be convincing, okay?"

I took my car out on the track and got ready for my run. Bob called Terri up to the booth.

Just to clue the novice drivers out there in: the M3 and Mustang GT stack up remarkably close in 
their stock (unaltered) forms. They are within a couple of horsepower of each other in engine output, 
but the Mustang generates a lot more torque. That's helpful to launch your car off the line and take an 
early lead. My car is NOT stock, however. I put in a Vortech supercharger, and gave it ANOTHER 
100 horsepower over stock. The 0 - 60 mph time for my car stock was about 4.4 seconds (if I was 
a drag-racing legend), but now it's closer to 3.9. And that's without the nitrous, which will knock 
another few tenths if I fire a small 50 cc shot in the middle of my drag (I planned to drag race her 
after doing my laps).

The other thing I did to my car was stiffen the suspension so it didn't roll in the curves. The M3 is has 
a tightly tuned electronically-assisted suspension, which really helps it grip the corners and not 
oversteer. The Mustang has an archaic live rear axle, not an independent rear suspension, so you can 
get skips and hops if it's a little loose, the way it comes from the factory. Luke's suspension tweaks 
took care of that. AND I had racing slicks on my car, not treaded tires, so they gripped the track 
even better.

So I limped through my first trials, coming in at a sorry 14.5 average quarter mile, shitty even if my 
car were stock, and Bob left the mic open when he told Terri about it.

"Is that bad?" she asked, unknowingly.

"Yeah, it wasn't one of his better runs. Hey, are you okay? It's alright, you don't have to cry. He 
always picks up on his later runs."

Bob sounded distinctly uncomfortable talking to a crying Terri.

"Um, Terri, why don't you do another run or two? You've both got plenty of time for more."

"No, I think I've had enough," I heard a crying Terri say through the open mic.

That was the hook.

"How'd I do, Bob?" I called through the mic after my laps, pretending I didn't hear her.

"You looked like shit," he said, not lying. "That's at least a second off the best time I saw you do 
stock."

Dammit, I thought. She's uneducated, not stupid. She knows what stock means.

"Ah, shit!" I said, faking a little frustration.

"Hey, Eric," Bob said. "Terri here isn't doing so great. She seems upset."

"Tell her to relax," I said loud enough that I knew she'd hear it over the PA. "I want to do one more 
run."

Terri's voice came over the headset.

"Please don't, Eric!" she said, and I could hear her choking back tears. "Please."

"Honey, get ready to be amazed," I said. "I love you, Honey. This is for you!"

I lined up for the last trial and hauled ASS! I put that supercharger through its paces and practically 
laid the car on its side coming out of the curves, the new stiffer suspension doing wonders to improve 
my g's in the turns. The racing slicks hugged the curves better than Terri's street tires could, and my 
changes to the suspension put my handling at least on par with her M3's superb suspension. My final 
track time was under 11 seconds, way better than her 12.7.

I burned across the finish line and Bob whooped and called out the time.

"Woo hoo! Hot damn, Eric!" he yelled, as stoked as I was. "10.8 seconds! Jesus! That dude with the 
GT500 couldn't get under 11 and he had 500 horses stock! Damn good driving, Buddy!"

"Yeah, but that guy corners like a wet turd," I called back through my headset. "Such a waste of that 
monster car."

Terri's shocked voice came over my headset.

"Did... did he BEAT me?" I heard her voice, hopeful, in my ears and broke into a big grin.

"Honey, he kicked your ass up between your shoulder blades!" Bob said, and I could hear the gloat 
in his voice. "It wasn't even close! Urghh!"

I could hear Bob grunting and groaning over the open mic, followed by his wheezing voice.

"Jesus, lady, put me down! You're gonna break my fucking ribs!"

"Bob?" I called. "Have I told you Terri's kinda strong for a lady?"

"Shit!" he exclaimed. "You don't have to now, you asshole! Damn, woman!"

I could hear Terri laughing through the mic. I guess it worked....

I got back to the entryway of the track, and she was there, waiting for me with a huge smile on her 
face.

"Eric... oh my God! Oh my God!" she practically screamed and wrenched me out of the car as soon 
as I got my belt off. She crushed the hell out of me and danced around with me in her arms. "I can't 
believe it!"

"I thought you'd like that, Sweetheart!" I said. "But there's more."

She set me down, practically bursting with excitement.

"More? What else?" she said, giddy.

"Okay, here's what I've figured out," I said, taking it slow. "You are damn near perfect, Honey. No, 
don't give me that look. Here's what I've seen that makes me say that. First, as soon as you find out 
about competing, you read up and study, because it's in your nature to know as much as you can. So 
I didn't let you know this would be a competition to take away that prep advantage. Second, you 
have incredible physical abilities, ones I can't even come close to matching. For that reason, I picked 
an event that negates all but a tiny bit of your huge advantage. Your reaction time is way better than 
mine, but I can't do anything about that. Third is your natural ability to improve dramatically in such a 
short time. I overcame that by giving myself a huge advantage in performance. My car is WAY faster 
than yours now, and I have a lot better traction."

"So, you stacked the deck in your favor," she said, a sly gleam in her eye.

She'd been hoodwinked, and she knew it, but the gleam in her eye told me she approved.

"Would you like a little more?" I asked her.

"Yes!" she almost moaned.

I keyed my mic since I took it off vox to talk to Terri without the entire track hearing me. 

"Hey, Bob," I said. "I think we're ready for the drag track."

"Come back after lunch and I'll have it all set up for you," he replied. "I have a few more trials and a 
dyno to do before I can get to that."

"No problem," I said through the mic. "We'll be back in an hour or so."

"Take your time," he said. "and tell your lady no more hugs! I'm gonna be sore for a week!"