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Fast Cars, Fast Sex, Fast Me

I was flying down Oakland hills, hair swirling in the wind, skillfully dodging pot holes, eyes darting to the clock, radio blasting this afternoon to make my target on time: the 3:00 school bell toned as I walked up the stairs to the playground.

Only moments before, in my mind I was aggressively wrestling the steering wheel of a race car but in reality it was the mini-van Jackie got us when our family went from 3 to 4. I love to drive fast. I love to drive a challenge. I time how long it takes to get to places–just for fun–and I try to beat my own time. When I drive and there are those yellow signs suggesting how fast you should go (like the speed limit is 55 but it’s suggested you go 35 around this curve) I push it to see what speed I have to go. There’s everybody else and then there’s me.

Once the kids are in the car I am the conservative tortoise behind the wheel. whaaa whaaa. Good Mom.

Isn’t driving about the Great Sex days?

Not just “parking” (which by-the-way used to be synonymous with making out or having sex) but also sex while driving. Just that perfect hand-job while you giggle and then moan, one part of your body wanting all the attention while you fight to divert enough attention on keeping your eyes open and foot steady! Or sex while someone else drives. Personally I do not understand giving a BJ because I would worry about my head hitting the steering wheel, but that’s me.

I think parents when they are finally out of the house without the kids need to have some car sex. Put that mini-van backseat to better use than a pile-up of soccer balls and sweatshirts on a bed of crushed cheezits and cheerios!

Driving is sexy. I guess I relate it to my father who was a notorious speed demon and also a sexy man and pretty cocky to boot. My mom hated his driving as it gave her a nervous breakdown. There was a family joke about his thigh being bruised from her squeezing it so hard when he drove.

Riding with Daddy just gave me an adrenaline high. I loved it. Jumping hills, passing cars, racing trains (not over the tracks but beside them on the road), and driving really really fast on old 2-lanes rarely manned by cops. And let’s face it. He partied with the sheriffs so if someone would have ever stopped him I doubt that he would have gotten a ticket. I replicated all it before I was a mom. Even drag racing as a teenager  in my dad’s 1977 Trans Am.

Now the race-cars have to wait but my children do not. I can get to the school–and not hit the holes–faster than any mom there.

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