1. Sparking the Flame
How completely like her girlfriends to bail out at the last moment. Each one had come up with a different excuse, from Candice’s straightforward “Sorry, work called”, to Kumi’s sidestepping “Was that this weekend?” From Jezebel’s rambling, “My, uh, shower head broke, and now I have to... wait here all weekend for the plumber to show up, so, you know, he doesn’t look through my things”, to Saffron’s refreshingly honest, “I deliberately left my phone at a one-night stand to make it a two-night stand. Maybe three. I’ll get back to you.”
Never mind that they planned this weekend six months ago. Never mind that they came up with a team name and had matching outfits made. It frustrated Trixie to no end that her girlfriends could be such wimps. They could care less about their non-refundable hotel deposits and race fees. It meant nothing to them when faced with the prospect of enduring a little pain. Well, that really depended on what kind of pain you were talking about. They never complained about being driven all night by a random hook-up until they were two-inches shorter. Screw them. She would run this race alone if they were going to be such cowards. The whole thing was her idea anyway.
Trixie walked into a moderately busy hotel foyer with two suitcases, one filled with sportswear, the other with come-hither apparel, just in case. She was well equipped for the weekend, in excellent shape, and her flaming red hair had been recently henna-glossed to a shine. Trixie wore it long and straight, so she could easily braid pigtails for the race. For now, her hair swayed like a cat’s tail as she walked.
Two aging gentlemen watched her procession across the lobby with openly lascivious smiles. A young porter standing next to the service desk completely forgot about the guest he was attending, distracted by her cleavage. The guest, an elderly woman, scrutinized Trixie’s short skirt with disdain through her thick spectacles. A middle-aged man standing by the elevator with a woman, likely his wife, drank in Trixie’s long legs. The poor woman had to point out that their lift arrived, twice. As entrances went, it wasn’t a bad one, but she wasn’t interested in any of these admirers.
Surely there would be other racers, preferably unattached, arriving early for the event. Trixie kept her eyes peeled for a robust male specimen to ensnare. She’d grown frustrated in the city, with an endless supply of men who were easily offended, easily startled, or both. Maybe a secluded mountain village would yield better results. She certainly wouldn’t object to something chiseled, sturdy, and tall, but Trixie knew she couldn’t afford to be picky. Not while playing the numbers game at any rate. Right now, anything to forget about the treachery of her girlfriends would be a welcome diversion.
The hotel was a lot fancier than she expected, featuring old varnished wood married to an understated modern aesthetic with lots of light. Nothing she could afford on her own, but easily manageable when split five ways. She could smell the chlorinated water of a pool and the heady scent of lotion wafting through the air. There was likely a spa on the premises, but it would be well beyond her budget in a place like this. Trixie waited for the female concierge to acknowledge her existence, which, despite the fact that nobody stood between her and the service desk, took slightly longer than it should have.
“Checking in Misses…?”
“Ms. Harridan.”
She typed her name into a computer and eyed the screen.
“The Fairview Suite for you and…T.A.R.T.?”
“Right, I forgot about that. That would be our group name. It stands for ‘Tight Assed Racing Team’.”
The attractive middle-aged woman gave her flank a cursory glance before focusing back on the screen. Her ass still wasn't where she wanted it to be, especially now, being the sole representation of T.A.R.T., but at least she had spent time
How completely like her girlfriends to bail out at the last moment. Each one had come up with a different excuse, from Candice’s straightforward “Sorry, work called”, to Kumi’s sidestepping “Was that this weekend?” From Jezebel’s rambling, “My, uh, shower head broke, and now I have to... wait here all weekend for the plumber to show up, so, you know, he doesn’t look through my things”, to Saffron’s refreshingly honest, “I deliberately left my phone at a one-night stand to make it a two-night stand. Maybe three. I’ll get back to you.”
Never mind that they planned this weekend six months ago. Never mind that they came up with a team name and had matching outfits made. It frustrated Trixie to no end that her girlfriends could be such wimps. They could care less about their non-refundable hotel deposits and race fees. It meant nothing to them when faced with the prospect of enduring a little pain. Well, that really depended on what kind of pain you were talking about. They never complained about being driven all night by a random hook-up until they were two-inches shorter. Screw them. She would run this race alone if they were going to be such cowards. The whole thing was her idea anyway.
Trixie walked into a moderately busy hotel foyer with two suitcases, one filled with sportswear, the other with come-hither apparel, just in case. She was well equipped for the weekend, in excellent shape, and her flaming red hair had been recently henna-glossed to a shine. Trixie wore it long and straight, so she could easily braid pigtails for the race. For now, her hair swayed like a cat’s tail as she walked.
Two aging gentlemen watched her procession across the lobby with openly lascivious smiles. A young porter standing next to the service desk completely forgot about the guest he was attending, distracted by her cleavage. The guest, an elderly woman, scrutinized Trixie’s short skirt with disdain through her thick spectacles. A middle-aged man standing by the elevator with a woman, likely his wife, drank in Trixie’s long legs. The poor woman had to point out that their lift arrived, twice. As entrances went, it wasn’t a bad one, but she wasn’t interested in any of these admirers.
Surely there would be other racers, preferably unattached, arriving early for the event. Trixie kept her eyes peeled for a robust male specimen to ensnare. She’d grown frustrated in the city, with an endless supply of men who were easily offended, easily startled, or both. Maybe a secluded mountain village would yield better results. She certainly wouldn’t object to something chiseled, sturdy, and tall, but Trixie knew she couldn’t afford to be picky. Not while playing the numbers game at any rate. Right now, anything to forget about the treachery of her girlfriends would be a welcome diversion.
The hotel was a lot fancier than she expected, featuring old varnished wood married to an understated modern aesthetic with lots of light. Nothing she could afford on her own, but easily manageable when split five ways. She could smell the chlorinated water of a pool and the heady scent of lotion wafting through the air. There was likely a spa on the premises, but it would be well beyond her budget in a place like this. Trixie waited for the female concierge to acknowledge her existence, which, despite the fact that nobody stood between her and the service desk, took slightly longer than it should have.
“Checking in Misses…?”
“Ms. Harridan.”
She typed her name into a computer and eyed the screen.
“The Fairview Suite for you and…T.A.R.T.?”
“Right, I forgot about that. That would be our group name. It stands for ‘Tight Assed Racing Team’.”
The attractive middle-aged woman gave her flank a cursory glance before focusing back on the screen. Her ass still wasn't where she wanted it to be, especially now, being the sole representation of T.A.R.T., but at least she had spent time
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