Futa Formula One

Bright lights shine on the simple chair. A woman with red hair in a high, tight bun steps into view. She wears a pink, long-sleeved quarter-zip shirt that is covered in brand logos and endorsements, with F.U.T.A. as the most prominent in bright blue. The shirt strains against her massive bust, and black leggings complete the look, ensuring that her hourglass physique doesn’t go unnoticed. Her glasses catch the light as she elegantly seats herself and smiles at the camera. Her skin is youthfully smooth, but her gaze is confident and knowledgeable.

“Look at me please,” says the interviewer.

“Sorry,” the redhead replies warmly, turning slightly to her right. She clasps her hands in her lap. The Irish lilt in her voice is light but noticeable.

“Can you introduce yourself?”

“I’m Glynda Darcy, Team Principal for FUTA racing.”

“How’s that sound to say?”

“I don’t mind it,” Glynda replies with a little laugh. “Sounds all right, doesn’t it?”

“This is looking like a season like no other,” the interviewer says frankly. “Two completely new teams. Quite a few driver shakeups. Some atypical choices of staffing.”

“That’s an understatement. Although I suppose that’s rich, coming from me.”

“Motorsport press has given a lot of attention to your relationship with one of your drivers,” the interviewer admits.

“Can’t say that I blame them. But the owner was the one who made the ultimate decision on who would drive the car,” Glynda says. Her tone is friendly, yet firm.

“Do you mean to suggest that you didn’t advocate for your own daughter to have a seat on FUTA Racing?”

Glynda smiles.

“Next question,” she says.

FF1

Two slim young women step into view. They’re identical from head to toe, wearing matching outfits of black shorts and white Polo shirts with black ball caps. Their glossy, black hair is tied back in sensible ponytails. In unison, they take their seats.

“Morning, Netflix,” they say in unison, their West Yorkshire diction evident even in just two words.

“Morning, ladies. Could you introduce yourselves?”

“Missy Woodcock.”

“Sissy Woodcock.”

“We drive for Williams,” they say together with a laugh.

“It’s your second year with Williams, but this season, we’re coming into considerable change. What are your thoughts?”

“Feeling a bit inadequate, aren’t we?” Missy asks, looking at her twin.

“We haven’t got penises,” Sissy says in agreement.

“FUTA’s got a team now. It’s all about their footballers with big willies,” Missy goes on sagely, holding out two fingertips as though to indicate length.

“We haven’t got those,” Sissy says, nodding.

“Are you saying that you’re intimidated by the new teams?”

“No. We’re quite excited for the new teams,” Sissy says with another look at her sister.

“Especially for Freedom Racing,” Missy adds.

“That’ll bring some much-needed class to Formula One. Give the people what they want.”

The interviewer can’t help herself. “And what do they want?”

The sisters exchange a look. “Well,” Missy says uncertainly.

“Loads of cars driving round in circles very fast,” Sissy says confidently.

“And very sexy adverts like FUTA’s done with their footballers,” Missy agrees. “Tits and willies. Loads of them.”

“On that note,” the interviewer cuts in, “…would you like to comment on your new team leadership?”

“No,” the twins say together, rather loudly.

FF1

There’s a noisy bump as the girl knocks the mic that she didn’t notice.

She’s almost two meters tall and willowy thin. Her smile looks a little too big for her face, just as her arms and legs seem almost unnaturally long. Her short, blonde hair is messy, and she carries a pink FUTA cap in her hand.

“Oh, sorry,” the American laughs nervously, trying to fix the mic.

“No, it’s fine. Really,” the interviewer replies. “Have a seat.”

“Um, OK.” The girl folds her gangly form into the seat nervously, tapping the cap against her knee. Seated, the bulge in her shorts is obvious.

“Welcome. Do you want to introduce yourself?”

“Um, OK. I’m, uh, Alice Wilde,” the girl says with a smile.

The interviewer gestures encouragingly.

“And I drive for FUTA Racing!” Alice adds quickly, blushing.

“And this’ll be your Formula One debut.”

“That’s right,” Alice says, nodding vigorously.

“What are your goals?”

The tall girl shrugs. “Well, I have to catch up to Max and Lewis.”

The interviewer is momentarily taken aback. “You’re confident that you can race at the front of the pack? An untested car? An untested team? And you, with just a handful of Formula Two podiums?”

Alice shrugs. “Why not?”

FF1

The girl glides to the chair with the grace of a dancer. She pauses to brush something off, then sits and crosses her legs. She wears the red, white, and blue of Freedom Racing. Her skin is the color of caramel, and her large, dark eyes are calculating. She brushes silky hair behind her ear.

“What do I do now?” she asks.

“Start by introducing yourself.”

“I’m Valeria Flores. I’m a Formula One driver.”

“This is your second year in Formula One, but you’ve already changed teams. Your departure from AlphaTauri was completely unexpected,” the interviewer notes.

Valeria says nothing. Seconds pass.

“Was that a question?’ she asks finally.

“I understand you’ll have a familiar face joining you on the grid this year,” the interviewer replies, pivoting smoothly.

Valeria snorts, glancing away.

“You mean Alice,” she says.

“Don’t you have history together?”

“History?” Valeria looks vaguely contemptuous but catches herself and gets back to her look of aloof calm. “Hardly. We played on a soccer team together when we were ten.” Another long moment passes. “We lost,” Valeria adds.

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