This story is about how Gail became the seductress she is. I really encourage you to read my first story "GTO" to understand fully who Gail is as I spent much more time on her background there. This story takes place at the beginning of summer between her Junior and Senior year of high school.
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GTO – The Beginning.
For those of you who may not know me, my name is Gail. Gail Theresa O'Malley. GTO. If you want a really detailed explanation of who I am, you might want to read my first story, "GTO" Short intro here, Just the relevant info.
I am 5 feet 6 inches tall, weigh approximately 120 lbs., hypnotic emerald green eyes, flaming red hair that reaches to the center of my back, and legs that go for miles. No matter how busy I am, I still manage to spend at least an hour a day in my home gym. Personally, I think my best feature is my tight ass and miles long legs, but it seems that most guys (and a fair number of women) tend to drool over my 38D breasts. Let me tell you, trying to slide under a car with those things can be a real challenge.
Both my parents really made an effort to explain to me what they did in their jobs. I ended up having a knack for mathematics, and I would spend countless hours on weekends working on cars with my dad while I was growing up. By the time I was 10 years old, I could rebuild a carburetor practically blindfolded. Mom also taught me the basic physics of engineering in the evenings while she was working on one project or another at home. Unfortunately, mom died in a car accident caused by some stupid drunk driver when I was 11 years old, so from then on it was just me and dad. Dad made a pretty decent living on his own, but because of a really good life insurance from mom, we were pretty well set. Dad did date occasionally, but he really never seemed overly interested in it. I think he just did it because I would mention to him that he needed to get out of the house occasionally.
With mom gone, I really didn't have a female role model to teach me the finer points of being a lady. I grew up more of a tomboy wearing jeans and tee-shirts, and working on cars. When I turned 15, I went to work at my dad's shop on weekends and during breaks in school. I was pretty much an outcast in high school because I didn't fit in with any of the cliques. I was a girl, so the gearheads really didn't take me seriously. Obviously, I was not feminine enough for the prissy popular girls. I never got into sports, because that would take time away from working on cars with my dad. And I found the nerds to be boring. Dad did insist that I focus on my studies, and he would insist that all my homework was done correctly before he would let me help him in the shop. Truth be told, I actually liked doing my schoolwork, and, because of the work ethic instilled in me early by my parents, I strived to always be at the top of the class.
It should be obvious that I didn't have many friends in high school. I was pretty much a loner. I was also usually pretty laid back until I was pushed too far. That would happen occasionally. Some cheerleader would start making comments about me, and when I didn't retaliate she would escalate the bullying. Eventually, she would go a step too far by pushing me in the hallway, knocking the books out of my hands, or throwing something at me. Big mistake! Working on cars can really strengthen you. Lifting transmissions, torqueing head bolts, and carrying engine components around the machine shop can really build some muscles. So there I would be with the crying prissy cheerleader in the principal's office. I never really got in trouble, usually just a warning about bitch-slapping her. I'm pretty sure that the principal knew what was really going on, because he would dismiss me, then talk to the other girl for a few minutes longer. The other girls would avoid me after that.
Anyway, my dad gave me a really nice built up 1969 GTO for my 16
th
birthday. Me, being me, I soon began street racing with it and relieving a few pretentious rich boys of their cars. (FYI, as soon as dad figured it out, he put a stop to my street racing for pink slips career). Read all about that in my firs story.
Anyway, just as soon as summer break started after my junior year, dad called me into the living room for a talk. He told me that he was proud of the person I had become, but was concerned about the lack of a female role model to teach me about being a woman. He said that he had discussed it with my Aunt Elizabeth (Mom's younger sister) and they had agreed that I would spend the summer with her in Boston. No cars, no racing, no mechanics. I protested. I pleaded, I cried. I begged. All to no avail. I was going, and that was that! Dad actually laughed when I offered to race him for it. He politely declined, saying that it was already decided, and he was not going to change his mind. So that summer, I grudgingly went to Boston. Let me tell you, after a couple of VERY interesting confrontations during the first two weeks (Apparently Aunt Elizabeth is really good at hiding her true persona from the rest of the family) it became a really educational summer. I'm sure if dad really knew who Aunt Elizabeth was behind the classy reserved exterior she showed to the family, he would have freaked out and forbade me to ever associate with her. And this is the story of that summer.
So here I am getting off the plane in Boston. Attitude? Check! Yep. GTO was running on High Octane. Not a happy camper. My temperature and oil pressure gauges were dangerously in the red. Dad told me that he shipped most of my clothes to my aunt a couple days before I left, so I only had a carry-on with two changes of clothes and the necessities. That explained by bare closet and dressers when I packed. I was able to skip baggage claim, and go straight to Passenger Pick-up. My Aunt was waiting for me, and, even though I hadn't seen her for a couple years, I spotted her immediately. Shoulder length flaming red hair, check. 5' 6" (if you subtracted the 4" heels), Check. Ginormous tits, Check and double check. She looked just like mom would have.
So here I was in my sneakers, faded jeans, and Aerosmith tee-shirt with my hair in a loose ponytail. And there she was in a form fitting grey dress, 4" open toed grey heels, stockings, and hair that looked like she just came out of the salon. This should be interesting!
"Gail, my how you have blossomed into a beautiful young woman since I last saw you!" Her smile was genuine with a certain sparkle in her eyes.
I reached in for a hug. "Nice to see you again Aunt Elizabeth." She surprised be with a big kiss. This will probably surprise you, but I am not really a huge fan of intimacy – at least I wasn't yet.
Perhaps I should explain a few things about my aunt now. It might help to understand the nuclear war that was coming. While mom went into engineering, Aunt Elizabeth went into law school. Perhaps you've seen those movies and TV shows where the beautiful, sexy, ball busting female lawyer comes in dressed to kill and proceeds to crush the opponent? That's her. She revels in making powerful CEOs start to cry on the witness stand. Therapists send her Christmas cards every year thanking her for the business they get after she completely crushes the poor souls who take the stand for the opposition. Shark doesn't even begin to describe her. At 32, she is already a full partner at her law firm. She laughingly told my dad and I one time how, just for fun, she sent the opposing council a friendly greeting card just after she took on a case. The next day, they were at her office with a VERY generous settlement offer. She isn't just great at winning battles of wills, she relishes the fight. The "Taking any Shit" circuit in her brain has been hardwired out of order. And the GTO show up at the starting line with the engine revved up and ready to launch down the strip. This should be interesting. Unknown to me at that time, I was about to get an education.
"Where's your car? I'll drive, and you can give me directions." I really hated riding. If I wasn't sitting in the left front seat with the wheel in my hands and pedals under my feet, I felt completely out of control. After riding in the passenger compartment of the airplane for the last 5 hours, I was starting to go through withdrawals. Yeah, my drug of choice is the adrenaline I get from driving.