This is the first story that I have written. It is a little long because I want to introduce the character. There will be several stories about her, so I want to make sure that you have a good understanding of who she is, and what her motivations are. I hope you like her.
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Fuck! This has been a long month. Client meetings, Design meetings, meetings with contractors, design reviews, more client meetings bringing up redesigns, meetings with the partners, performance reviews for the new engineers, and on, and on, and on. Being the Founding Partner of an engineering firm can really be a pain in the ass sometimes. When I haven't been working at my "real job" I've been in my shop upgrading the suspension on my 1971 Corvette. With all the long hours at my firm and in my personal auto shop, it has really taken a toll on my sex life. Adding to this misery, my VERY Personal Assistant had a family emergency and needed to take an extended leave of absence. I can't even get my "afternoon break", if you know what I mean. All this probably explains the nervous faces when I walk into a meeting room with my junior engineers. Finally, I get a break. Friday evening! This is the first weekend I have had free in over a month. Damn, I really need to relax.
Now that you know my frame of mind, I should probably tell you a little about myself. You are probably thinking right now that I am a man – typical stereotype. You would be wrong. I am a 42-year-old woman. My name is Gail. Gail Theresa O'Malley. GTO. Remember that. It might make sense later. 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.
You may be curious about me working on my own car, since that is not typically what a successful female engineer would normally do. This is true. My dad was a very successful auto mechanic with his own shop. Mom was a mechanical engineer. 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 never really 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.
Dad and I had been working on a really sweet 1969 GTO that apparently belonged to some really important client. He told me the guy bought it in decent condition and brought it over, so dad could really build it up. Cost really wasn't a big issue. Let me tell you, we really went to town on that thing. Built up big block 455 engine, Borg Warner 4-speed manual transmission, 4.11 locking differential, well – too much to list. Let's just say that this beautiful machine would be just as much at home on the drag strip as it was on the street. On my 16th birthday, dad revealed who the customer was. ME!! Wow!! Any wonder that my favorite care would be a GTO? This care was ME! Now some of you may be thinking that this is too much car for a new driver, and you would be correct. Fortunately, I was not a new driver at that point. You see, besides being a mechanic, dad was also a regular on the Friday night drag races at the local strip. He started quietly letting me make runs down the drag strip when I was 14. I got the hang of handling those powerful cars pretty quickly. Dad even taught me the finer points of drag racing during those years, so I was pretty comfortable handling that car by the time I actually got my driver's license.
About 6 months after getting my license, I was out cruising the main drag in town when a really sweet '70 Chevelle pulls up beside me. The guy looks over at me and starts going off on how crappy Pontiacs are. He says that GM uses the Chevy rejects to sell to idiots under the Pontiac brand. Look, insult me all you want, but NEVER rag on my car! Of course, I reply that a Shovel is only good for scooping up crap. He replies that obviously I have no idea what I am talking about and need to be taught a lesson. I then challenge him to back that up with a race. Laughing at me, he responds that he doesn't waste his time racing for free suggesting that we race for Pink Slips. Smiling, I happily agree. I won't bore you with the details, but I was nice enough to give him cab fare after he signed the title over to me and dropped the car off at my dad's shop.
The next morning, I was able to come up with a plausible story about helping someone out with car trouble that night and we now had a new customer. I even managed to sell it a few day later without my dad knowing. I realized what a rush that was taking cars from arrogant fools. I started getting excited every time I saw a nice car driving around, and soon found myself prowling for suckers. After about the 4th time "finding a broken-down car on the road and getting a new customer" dad pretty much figured it out. He gave me a stern lecture about my behavior, then enrolled me in a professional drag racing class at the local drag strip. I started racing for real on weekends, and I did pretty good. I won more than I lost. Turns out, I had a knack for drag racing.
That went on for a couple of years until the summer before my senior year of high school. Yeah, I turned 18 the summer before my senior year. I'm not going to get into it here, but there was a reason I started school a year late. 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, but that is for another story. I came back home a true lady – and a very good seductress. I will leave that and my new adventures during my senior year of high school for another time.
Anyway, after I graduated high school, I had enough scholarship offers to end up following in my mom's footsteps and get a degree in Mechanical Engineering. Then I forged my own path and continued on to earn a PhD, in Mechanical Engineering as well. While I did use my engineering skills on creating wicked fast cars, that was really just for my own hobby. I eventually went to work on pipeline systems and high rise commercial office buildings. I eventually started my own consulting firm and became pretty successful. Successful enough that I could purchase a really nice house – more of a mansion – on enough land that I built my own shop to indulge in my favorite hobby, Classic American Muscle Cars. Good old American Heavy Metal. These vehicles are the epitome of automotive innovation. Powerful, awesome looks, fast, and exhilarating to drive. Foreign cars just don't have it (except for the higher end Supercars and the Datsun 280Z – I have a couple of Z-cars that I enjoy driving occasionally too).
So, now you know all about me and where I was coming from that night. One, I was horney. Two, I was in a really bitchy mood. Three, I was needing to blow off some steam. Since, as I said above, my normal daily driver was out of commission, I was driving my trusty GTO. Yep, the GOAT my dad gave me for my 16th birthday. Of course, it had been upgraded significantly throughout the years. It was always my favorite, so I had used every bit of my engineering and mechanical knowledge on it to make it exceedingly fast and powerful. I was on my way home from work and decided to stop at the local liquor store for a case of my favorite wine, as I was low at home. I was planning on calling one (or more) of my little playthings over for a night of debauchery and needed to stock up.
As I pulled the GOAT into a parking space, I noticed a small group of kids (late teens, early 20's) gathered around a couple of euro-sport street racer cars. You know the type – Hondas, Mitsubishis, Nissans... Nothing worth a second glance at – although a couple of the girls did look kind of hot. As I got out and started walking towards the entrance to the store, one of the guys calls over to me and says, "Nice car – for and American Dinosaur."
