Journal 109
Rhea 28
Amateur rally driver
- Life
- A garage apartment and a car that is louder than her neighbors like.
- Temper
- Competitive and easy to talk into a pulloff
Kinks
- Hood, seat, and the door propped open
- Hard and fast, stopped by one word
- Men from the diner next to the meet, not her crew
I am Rhea, twenty-eight, and I drive rally because the car is loud and the stages are short. I do not run a team. Nobody in a service park takes orders from me. The garage apartment shakes when I start the engine, and the neighbors can complain into their pillows. Men I want come out of the diner next to a meet, not out of anyone's toolbox. I do not keep one of them. If a fuck is going to be rough I say so while we are both still dressed, and the word that ends it is brakes. I like a hood, an open door, and a cock I will not call in the morning.
The blog
2 entries, newest first.
The hood
Different meet, different diner, dusk already going purple over the gravel. I was sitting on the hood of the plain dark car in the denim jacket and a white t-shirt with nothing written on it, braid over one shoulder, jeans still done up, boots on the bumper. Two men came out with paper cups. Gil was forty-one, broad, quiet mouth. Noam was twenty-six, taller, a grin he had not earned…
Read full postThe turnout
The meet was done and the diner beside it was still frying eggs for people who had not showered. I walked in with the denim jacket on, jeans buttoned, braid sun-bleached and stiff with dust, the nick on my chin left alone. Wes sat at the counter with coffee he was not drinking. Thirty-four, hands that did not belong to a service park. I asked if he wrenched for anybody…
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