Super Tex
Featuring American former racing driver, A.J. Foyt
CHAPTER ONE: Giving In to the Young Gun's Crush
The old garage on A.J. Foyt's sprawling Texas ranch smelled of motor oil, fresh cut hay, and the faint tang of burnt rubber from the practice tires stacked in the corner. Late afternoon sun slanted through the high windows, catching on the chrome of half built race cars and the heavy gold Rolex on the 91 year old legend's left wrist. A.J. stood at the workbench in his usual branded polo and faded ball cap, thick fingers turning a socket wrench with the same calm precision that had won him the Indianapolis 500 four times. The burn scars on his face and neck stood out like battle ribbons against his ruddy, freckled skin. His stocky 5 foot 7 frame was still barrel chested and solid, powerful arms corded from decades of wrestling steering wheels and bulldozers. The short cropped white hair under the cap was thinning, but those piercing blue eyes still cut like a fresh set of slicks.
Across the bench stood Thomas "Scooter" Gavin, the 23 year old phenom A.J. had been mentoring for six months. Scooter was lean and athletic at 5 foot 10, his racer's body carved by endless gym hours and seat time, narrow hips, long runner's legs, and a flat, smooth stomach that disappeared into oil stained racing shorts. Tousled sandy blond hair fell across his forehead, framing bright hazel eyes that had been sneaking admiring glances at the old man all afternoon. His skin was sun bronzed with a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose and high cheekbones, giving him a boyish, eager look that made him seem even younger than his years. A light trail of blond hair led down from his navel to the modest but already half hard bulge pressing against his shorts.
"You listenin', son?" A.J.'s gravelly Texas drawl rumbled low as he set the wrench down. "That throttle response ain't gonna fix itself. You gotta feel the car like it is part of your damn body."
Scooter swallowed, cheeks flushing.
"Yessir, Mr. Foyt. I… I feel it. I feel everything you are teaching me."
His voice cracked with something more than respect. He stepped closer.
"Been feeling it since the first time you took me out on the private track. Hell, before that. I have had a crush on you longer than I should admit."
A.J.'s bushy white brows rose. The old racer had been hollowed out since Lucy's passing in 2023, sixty eight years of marriage gone, four kids grown, grandkids racing now, but the nights were long and quiet. He had buried the loneliness under ranch work and mentoring, but the way Scooter looked at him tonight, hungry and worshipful, cracked something loose.
"Well, goddamn, boy," A.J. muttered, voice rough as gravel under racing slicks. "You serious? Old man like me? Scars, wrinkles, balls hangin low as my damn lug nuts?"
Scooter dropped to his knees right there on the concrete, hands already reaching for A.J.'s belt.
"Dead serious, sir. You are Super Tex. You are everything."
His fingers worked the buckle open with racer quick precision. The heavy zipper rasped down. A.J.'s thick, cut 7 inch cock sprang free, veiny, hefty girth, the broad helmet shaped head already glistening at the slit, heavy low hanging balls swaying beneath a sparse salt pepper bush.
Scooter's hazel eyes widened in pure reverence.
"Jesus… look at you."
He wrapped one smooth hand around the thick shaft, stroking slowly from root to tip, thumb circling the wide head and smearing the bead of pre cum that welled up. He pumped with long, twisting strokes, squeezing firmly on the upstroke so more clear fluid oozed from the slit.
"So fucking thick."
He leaned in, lips parting, and dragged his tongue flat along the underside, tracing every pulsing vein from balls to tip while his other hand gently rolled and tugged those heavy balls, feeling their warm weight. His tongue flicked rapidly against the sensitive spot just under the head, then swirled in wet circles around the broad helmet, lapping up every drop of pre cum with hungry moans.
A.J. groaned deep in his chest, one scarred hand settling on the back of Scooter's blond head.
"Ahhh, shit, son… that mouth. Easy now. Been a long damn time since anybody touched ol A.J. like this." His Texas drawl thickened with arousal. "Suck it proper, boy. Show me what that pretty mouth can do."
Scooter took the broad head between his lips, sucking wetly while his tongue swirled nonstop around the sensitive ridge. His hand pumped the thick shaft in steady rhythm, twisting on the upstroke, thumb pressing firmly under the head on the downstroke. He bobbed lower, taking more girth until his nose brushed the sparse pubic hair, throat relaxing to swallow around the fat head. Thick strings of saliva drooled down the veiny length, coating A.J.'s heavy balls as Scooter sucked harder, hollowing his cheeks with powerful suction. Wet slurping and gagging sounds filled the garage, mixed with A.J.'s gravelly grunts. Scooter pulled back to focus on the head, lips sealed tight around it while his fist flew up and down the slick shaft in fast, twisting strokes, tongue lashing relentlessly inside his mouth.
"Fuuuuck, Scooter… yeah, just like that. Milk it, boy. Goddamn, you got a vacuum on you tighter than a fuel line."
A.J.'s thick thighs flexed, hips rocking gently as he fucked the young man's eager mouth.
"You been dreamin about this, ain't ya? Suckin Super Tex's cock in his own garage?"
Scooter pulled off just long enough to gasp, strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to the glistening head.
"Every night, sir. Jerked off thinking about your big cock down my throat."
He dove back in, taking him to the root again, throat working around the thick girth while one hand kept stroking the base in tight, twisting pulls and the other fondled and tugged those low hanging balls, rolling them gently then stretching the sack downward. A.J.'s breathing grew ragged.
"Alright, boy. Fair is fair. Get up here. I ain't lettin you do all the work."
He hauled Scooter to his feet, yanked the kid's shorts down, and spun him toward the old leather couch in the corner. Scooter's own cock, 6 inches, cut, flushed dark pink and leaking, bobbed free, smooth balls drawn tight with excitement.
They crashed onto the couch in a tangle of limbs. A.J. lay back, pulling Scooter on top so they faced each other's groins. "C'mere, son. Let me taste that young dick while you finish what you started."
Scooter eagerly straddled A.J.'s barrel chest, lowering his cock toward the old racer's thin lips while diving back onto A.J.'s thick shaft. A.J. opened wide, taking Scooter's entire length in one smooth motion, his gravelly groan vibrating around the younger man's cock. He sucked hard, tongue lashing the underside, lips sliding up and down with wet, noisy suction. One scarred hand gripped Scooter's firm ass cheek, pulling him deeper, while the other wrapped around the base to stroke in perfect time with his mouth. Saliva coated Scooter's smooth balls as A.J. bobbed his head vigorously, sucking with surprising power, tongue flicking the slit on every upstroke to catch the leaking pre cum.
"Fuck… Mr. Foyt…," Scooter moaned around the thick cock stretching his lips. He redoubled his efforts, head bobbing fast, one hand pumping A.J.'s veiny girth in rapid twisting strokes while the other gently squeezed and tugged those heavy balls. The garage filled with loud, obscene sounds: wet slurping, sucking, muffled grunts, the creak of old leather.
A.J. pulled off just long enough to growl, "Gonna fill that pretty mouth, boy. You ready? Swallow every drop."
Then he dove back down, sucking Scooter with fierce hunger, tongue swirling wildly while his hand jerked the shaft.
They came within seconds of each other. Scooter's cock pulsed first, shooting thick ropes straight down A.J.'s throat. The old man swallowed greedily, not spilling a drop, his scarred cheeks hollowing with each powerful spurt as he kept sucking and licking. The taste and the feel pushed A.J. over the edge. He groaned deep around Scooter's softening cock and erupted, flooding the young racer's mouth with hot, salty jets. Scooter moaned loudly, swallowing every burst, milking the thick shaft with both hands and lips, tongue pressed flat against the pulsing veins until A.J.'s heavy balls were completely drained.
They stayed locked like that for a long minute, panting, tongues lazily cleaning each other with soft licks and gentle sucks. Finally Scooter slid off, collapsing beside the weathered legend, both of them glistening with sweat and spit.
A.J. ruffled the boy's hair with a rough, affectionate hand.
"Well, hell, son… guess this old Texan still got a few laps left in him after all."
Disclaimer: This narrative is entirely fictional, satirical, and erotic fantasy. It does not reflect any verified events, actions, or inclinations of A.J. Foyt or any person named Thomas "Scooter" Gavin. It is invented for entertainment purposes only.
