by Stahl, Shey
“Apparently not...”
“Well, do you remember that time outside of Williams Grove when you fell asleep on my lap and we woke up like that the next morning? You complained about my...uh...flash light as you called it, digging into your hip.”
She giggled like I thought she would.
“Yeah...not a flashlight,”
“Wow,” was all she said.
“Wow what?”
“I didn’t know you were attracted to me back then. I mean, I know we made out occasionally but I guess I just thought maybe it was a means to an end or something.”
I groaned wrapping my arms around her waist, pulling her on top of me. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this...but I’ve always been attracted to you in the worst way.” I intoned. “I didn’t know what those feelings meant for a long time. That summer...” I shook my head at the thought. “Watching you run around in those tiny jeans shorts you wore all the time and those skimpy tank tops, it was hell.”
Sway giggled again.
“It gets really hard to discretely adjust yourself when the reason for the hard on, is sitting next to you or on your lap.”
Another giggle.
“Okay, stop with the giggles...wounded ego here.”
“Wounded you say?”
“Yes, very much, now heal me.”
“Healing...hmm...what classifies as healing?”
I reached up to touch her cheek. “You know exactly what kind of ego healing I need.”
“Ego stroking I suspect?” Sway smiled widely as if I just gave her a year’s subscription to free ice cream.
“Yes, yes, ego stroking is good.”
Although we’d spent hours and hours like this over the last day or so, the excitement of her touch hadn’t waned even remotely for me. It was pretty much all I wanted to do, all of the time: hold her, kiss her all over, and feel her skin against mine. Given the sound of her heart rate, she appeared to feel the same.
Our lips moved against each other for long moments, until I pulled away only far enough to move to kiss under her ear and down her throat. When I shifted back to gaze at her face, her eyes opened and met mine, warm emerald green.
“I love you,” she whispered tracing my jaw. “And this beard,”
“More than ice cream?”
“I don’t know if that is something I should answer.” Sway tapped her finger to her nose lightly. “Ask me again when I’m not pregnant.” She reached up with her hands to pull my face back toward hers.
“Fair enough,” I muttered, clutching her torso to mine.
Sway had dosed off watching television, so I quietly watched her sleep. It felt so good to be home with her, in my arms where she belonged, where I belonged. I took comfort in knowing I only had three races remaining and I’d finally get a break. As it was, I had to leave Wednesday morning and seeing how it was Monday night now, I was getting anxious about the departure already. At least I had a few days with her though, enough time to basically recharge myself for the end of the season. I needed this.
Reaching for the laptop beside the bed, I checked the NASCAR website and found yet another article about me and my mission to success. It’s funny how quickly they wrote about the rise and fall of what they called greatness to now the rise again, as though it had never happened before in the sport.
October 28, 2003 – SteelSpeed News Charlotte NC
The talk of the racing community has been Jameson Riley, or as some would say, Rowdy Riley. I caught up with him outside Lernerville on Wednesday night before the Bass Pro Shops MBNA 500.
Jameson’s head was bent forward, his arms folded over his chest. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think this was just some kid, or just another dirt track racer.
Only the JAR Racing suit and the signature number nine combined with the familiar rowdy way stand told you otherwise.
The man next to him held clout at this track couldn’t fly under the radar as well.
Jameson stood, nodding to everything his legendary father was saying. And once again, some might think, “Here’s a kid that daddy fed the way, footed the bill.”
The thing was, Jameson worked harder than anyone to get to where he was now and there was no doubt he would be what he set out to be.
Jameson drummed his fingers against a stack of tires during the drivers meeting, uninterested in the conversation around him and the fans surrounding them. He appreciated the fans but in reality, this kid didn’t see himself as someone to be worshipped. He just wanted to race. You see a guy like Jameson Riley wasn’t in it for the fame and never would be. He was in it for his love for the sport. Although unavoidable at times, he shied away. Avoiding eye contact with most everyone that night, it wasn’t from intimidation as one might think. It was from vulnerability and his indifference. He just wanted to race and that’s what people forgot when tragedy stuck his family. And that’s how greatness emerged from a melancholy and fatalistic view.
It always felt strange to me reading articles about myself.
I checked my messages. There were about ten from Alley, going over my schedule of appearances for the next few weeks. A couple from Van letting me know he’d be back Thursday night, I told him to take a few days off since I’d be with Sway. He needed it after spending that much time around the girls.
Sway’s Bob Marley tank top rose slightly when she moved, revealing the bulge of her stomach. I smiled reaching down to touch it. I was utterly fixated on her baby bump these days, knowing that was my son growing inside there. Sure enough, he kicked me back. I knew he liked the sound of my voice so I maneuvered myself so my head was right at her stomach.
I ran my hand back and forth, tracing his kicks. The more I touched, the more he kicked me. It was like a little game between us. I would press my hand to a certain spot and he’d kick me.
Since I knew he liked the sound of my voice, and I knew Sway did, I decided to sing to him. I didn’t really choose any one song, just hummed a few different ones to him. As soon as he heard the vibrations of my voice, his kicks stopped.
“What are you doing down there?” Sway mumbled softly and stretched her arms above her head.
“Singing to the spaz,” We shouldn’t really call our son a spaz, but he was one, an adorable one.
Sway sighed curling into a ball beside me, bringing her knees up as much as she could with the bump in the way.
“Are you hungry, do you want some food?” I asked kissing her forehead, my hands still resting on the baby.
As soon as I asked that, her stomach began rumbling. “You shouldn’t have mentioned food.”
“I’ll get you anything you want,” I kissed her again. “You name it and I’ll go get it.”
“I want those coconut shrimp we had in Key West.”
“Okay...well that will be a little harder to do.”
“Harder?” her tiny hand slipped inside my jeans.
“If you distract me...I can’t go get you food.” I hinted but really, I didn’t want her to stop.
I rolled over her so I was between her legs, ready and willing.
And by the look of pure sexual frustration on Sway’s face, she did too.
“Food?” I suggested when her stomach growled again.
“Yes, food.” She agreed and sat up when I felt the baby kicking against my stomach. “See, he wants food too.”
“He’s not even here yet and he’s already running our lives.” I teased rolling off the bed. “I shall return with food, and then you have some ego stroking to do once again.”
“Yes,” Sway smiled. “Ego stroking,”
The following day, after food was delivered and egos were stroked, we once again had to take Sway to the doctor. She went every few days now to check the baby’s progress and to be sure she wasn’t dilating any further.
There we sat in the waiting room of the doctor’s office. I had to fly out to Texas tomorrow so I was spending as much time with Sway as possible even if it meant we were at the doctor’s
office.
Sway glanced through a magazine I couldn’t see the cover to and I tried to figure out the woman next to me. It was public office, about ten other patients waiting to be seen and she is breastfeeding, I assume. If not, what the fuck? I don’t have anything against breastfeeding and agree with it being best for the child but isn’t there an age limit?
The child, definitely not a baby, eventually pulled away and wiped his fucking chin. I’m not shitting you either.
“Hi,” the child said to me. “What’s your name?”
Don’t think I wasn’t tempted to lie, ‘cause I was.
Sway nudged my ribs so I felt the need to tell the truth.
“Jameson,” I said politely.
His mother looked at me, comprehension flashed. “Like as in Jameson Riley the race car driver?”
“Yes ma’am,”
“Wow,” she gasped scrambling for words. “I’m Emily,” she pointed toward the boy. “That’s my son, Ben.”
Trying to change the subject away from me, I asked her, “How old is he?”
“Oh, he’s thirty-seven months.” She informed me.
While I sat baffled trying to figure out what thirty-seven months added up to, I decided to focus on the bigger issue at hand and not my poor math skills. Why the fuck was she still breastfeeding? Do women breastfeed that long? Alley didn’t. Would Sway breastfeed that long?
Thankfully, Dr. Sears called Sway back so I politely excused myself. The ultrasound was entertaining. Our flailing spaz didn’t disappoint. He was getting much bigger, and was practicing his breathing, which Dr. Sears told us was a good sign. Sway was measuring at twenty-four weeks, another eight weeks of bed rest.
Sway voiced her anger rather loudly about being on bed rest which had Dr. Sears laughing, or feeling sorry for me. I’m not really sure by his harried expression.
As we were exiting the room, Emily was being escorted back to a room, carrying her thirty-seven month old kid-baby on her hip.
“Bye Jameson, it was nice to meet you,” she told me. “Can you say bye to Jameson?” she asked in baby talk to this Ben kid-baby, who she held like a baby kangaroo and took the pacifier out of his thirty-seven-month old mouth.
“Bye,” he said shyly, and then nuzzled his head into Emily’s shoulder.
“What the hell was that all about?” Sway asked as we got inside the car. “How old was that kid? He looked eight-years old.”
“How long do women usually breast feed for?”
Sway shrugged. “Fuck if I know. I’m hungry.”
While we were making our way home from the ultrasound, Sway was exceptionally horny. It took some herculean self-restraint not to find a bathroom with her when her hand was running up and down my thigh as we waited for Dr. Sears, we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves lately, probably because of the three week separation we just endured and the fact that I was once again, leaving tomorrow for another three weeks.
Once we were on the road, Sway unbuckled her seat belt to unzip my pants.
She moaned, fucking moaned, when the unbuckled my belt. “I love the sound of your belt clanking.” She looked up at me. “It reminds me of that first night in Charlotte.”
I smiled but was too focused on what she was about to do to answer.
Reclining the seat back slightly, I gave her more room to do her thing. I was all for a little micro polishing. I do have to admit that it was rather difficult to concentrate on driving with her mouth wrapped around me.
Although that didn’t stop my conscience from telling me this was a very bad idea. Because it was indeed a very bad idea to be doing this, but there I was with my pants unzipped and my pregnant fiancée stretched across the center console of the car with her head in my lap.
I cradled the back of her head in my hand as she slid her mouth up and down. It wasn’t until I was groaning and begging her to continue that I realized we were approaching town with a restricted school zone.
“Not again,” I groaned as I slowly brought the car to a stop. Sway chuckled softly at my sudden road rage.
In the tiny of Elma, population 3,049, you wouldn’t think it was possible to have a traffic jam, every day, in the exact same spot, no matter what time of the day it was.
But alas, there I was once again, a mere mile from the Elma Post Office and sitting in the bottleneck thinking of how good this felt and how embarrassing it would be if we were caught. Just as I was thinking I should have her stop, since we are in the middle of town, she doubled her efforts causing me to throw my head against the headrest and moan.
“Jesus...Sway...” I groaned tangling my hands in her hair.
She laughed.
Traffic started moving again so I decided to pull off W. Main Street and take E. Waltrip Road to avoid being caught by Sheriff Taylor. At least I thought I did.
As I started to get the tightening in my stomach and any will I had to have her stop was now gone, I noticed the buildings going by at an alarming rate. I was doing nearly ninety miles an hour and now see flashing lights behind me.
“Fuck,” I groaned wondering how much trouble we would get in for this, most likely speeding and probably indecent exposure. When I looked up, I realized that I had not taken E. Waltrip Road like I thought but was now directly in front of the elementary school. Apparently, my mind was elsewhere and not on navigating through town to avoid this.
“Sway,” I tried to pull her up but I think she got the impression I was trying to warn her of what was about to come. Which I was, but clearly we weren’t thinking about the same type of coming. And yet again, she doubled her efforts making me gasp out loud.
I looked up to see that school was now being let out. So there we were surrounded by nine year olds, shaking with laughter as they watched Sheriff Taylor exit his cruiser, swinging his completely-unnecessary-for-Elma-night-stick as he slowly approached my car.
My first instinct was to laugh at the situation, and the ridiculous scene as it played out before the whole town, including a group of nine year olds.
Everyone knew Sheriff Taylor had a total dislike for Spencer, Sway and me, not that his hate for us was unwarranted. We certainly did cause a shitload of problems for him when we were growing up, but come on, we were kids, right?
The fine officers of the Elma Police Department had detained me and Sway numerous times and charged us with a few offenses but I had a feeling this wouldn’t be easily explained to my sponsors or my dad. I could just see the headlines of: NASCAR superstar gets pulled over while getting micro polishing.
Well clearly it wouldn’t say that, but it might as well.
The Sheriff continued his march toward the car. I realized the only way to get Sway to stop was to physically pull her on her.
“Sway, get up.” I demanded tugging on her shoulders. I hated saying it because honestly that had to be some of the best micro polishing she has done. The fact that we were about to get caught made it sexy as hell.
“Why?” she asked sitting up but still leaned over the console.
Just as I was frantically zipping my pants, the Sheriff took the stick and rapped it against my window, as if I didn’t know he was there.
“That’s why.”
Comprehension flashed across Sway when she finally noticed Taylor standing there. Falling back in her seat, she tried, and I will say tried because it was a doomed effort at that point to straighten out her clothing and make it look like she wasn’t just micro polishing. Her hair was all over the place, her face flushed, lips were swollen and bright red. Like I said, it was a doomed effort.
Needless to say, even in my moment of sheer panic, this was unbelievably entertaining to watch.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier asshole?” she seethed fixing her hair. “That sheriff hates me.”
“I tried.” I pointed out throwing my arms up in frustration as I proceeded to roll down my window.
“Well if it isn’t the NASCAR superstar himself,” he bellowed. “Shouldn’t you be racing?”<
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“Ah Taylor, I thought you could use some entertainment for the afternoon.” I joked.
“Do you realize how fast you were going Riley? This isn’t the race track.”
You would think I would be trying to distract him from the fact that I was moments ago frantically zipping my pants and trying to get my pregnant fiancée’s mouth off me. But no, I wasn’t trying to do that when I stuttered out an “Uh.”
“Well let me jog your memory son, ninety, in a school zone.”
“I’m sorry Sheriff. I was distracted.”
For the love of idiocy, why can’t I think of anything remotely responsible to say?
He looked at me like I was stupid and then looked over at Sway who was still flushed and trying to fix her bra. At that point, Taylor looked between the two of us and comprehension finally flashed across his face at what exactly we had been doing to be going ninety miles an hour.
“I see.” He muttered looking again at Sway.
My head fell back in frustration. I wasn’t sure who was more mortified at that point. Me, who was desperately praying my camshaft to lose the lift. Sway, who was bright red, and completely oblivious to the fact that her bra was still showing. Or Taylor, who was seventy years old and just caught two kids having sex in a car, driving down the road at ninety in a school zone.
By the grace of god, I can only assume, Taylor mumbled a “Slow Down,” and quickly returned to his cruiser thankfully before Sway and I both burst out in uncontrollable laughter.
Once we slowly, and I mean slowly at twenty-five miles an hour, started driving home we made a new rule: No micro polishing in the car, ever again.
20. Splash N’ Go – Sway
Splash and Go – This is described as a quick pit stop that involves nothing more than refueling the race car with the amount of fuel necessary to finish the race.
When Jameson wakes up in the mornings, his reaction is something similar to waking a bear from hibernation, the only difference being, he’s not in a cave. I also have a similar problem when he doesn’t get his way as he acts like a large toddler; the only difference is that he doesn’t cry, but the tantrum is the same.