EMM Superbike: Brendlmeyer exciting new addition to Apex Racing
He rode his first motorcycle race at a young age, his father and uncle were passionate amateur racers, and last year, at just 19, he won the European Motorcycle Championship (EMM) in the Supersport 600 racing series: Yannik Brendlmeyer (20) from the idyllic village of Waldkirchen in Lower Bavaria is leaving everyone in his wake.
As has just been announced, he is now the latest signing for the established EMM Apex Racing team. At the end of last season, the team had to cope with the departure of their star rider and three-time series champion Sven Vomsbeck to international motorcycle racing and had therefore been desperately searching for a replacement for the Superbike series.
Brendlmeyer has certainly demonstrated his talent and unconditional will to succeed in recent years. However, it remains to be seen whether he can give his new team the necessary boost as a rookie in the 1,000cc class. Brendlmeyer will initially rely on his experienced new teammate Marcel Pabst (31), who drove for several years as a teammate alongside the victorious Vomsbeck.
Experts see Pabst as having good skills, but a lack of consistency. All observers agree that Pabst will have to show what he can do in the coming season in order to further his career. With newcomer Brendlmeyer as his new co-pilot, he may find the confidence he needs to fully realize his own potential. The EMM promises to be exciting once again, and we look forward to an eventful season that will begin soon!
(MOTOSPORT Issue 9/24)
On a winding coastal road between Nice and Fréjus, the black asphalt shimmered in the heat of the afternoon sun. A few meters below the small stone wall that bordered the road on the seaside, the waves of the Mediterranean crashed against the cliffs and the steep rock face. This route had once been the main connection between the two cities, but decades ago, a highway had been built parallel to it further inland, which had since absorbed most of the traffic. The now low volume of traffic made the coastal road on the Côte d'Azur a popular spot for motorcyclists and owners of exciting sports cars from nearby Nice, Antibes, or St. Tropez, who appreciated the view, the grippy asphalt, and the succession of numerous wide and narrow curves. Apart from the faint sound of the surf and the characteristic noises of insects, nothing disturbed the lazy monotony of this 28°C warm Sunday afternoon in early May. Suddenly, however, a rapidly approaching, swelling and subsiding roar shattered the relative silence.
A moment later, two Ducati Streetfighter V4 SPs, riding close behind each other, shot out of a tight right-hand curve at a steep angle onto the following straight, where both riders spurred on their 208 hp motorcycles. The infernal noise of the 4-cylinder V-engines, running at nearly 11,000 rpm, roared deafeningly for a moment before the riders, clad in skin-tight racing leather suits, eased off the throttle again and the sputtering bangs of individual misfires announced the downshift to first gear before the approaching left-hand bend. Approaching the curve from the outside, the riders leaned into their machines, angled sharply until just before the footrests would touch down, and circled through the next tight corner with somnambulistic confidence and a deep lean. Shortly afterwards, the rock face next to the inside curve shielded the noise of the motorcycles and silence descended once more over the section of road. Only occasionally interrupted by the distant rumble of the Ducatis, which were already tackling the next curves a few kilometers away.
Yannik could only hear the muffled sound of the engine working beneath him through his earplugs, but even he had to admit that the motorcycle with its non-street-legal racing exhaust was abnormally loud. Abnormally loud, but unfortunately awesome, thought the young racer with a slight grin. Every explosive burst of gas sent an excited tingling sensation through his body down to his balls and made his cock twitch, which was pressed hard against the tank in the crotch of his tight leather suit. In addition to the aggressive sound of the engine beneath him, he was also turned on by the comfortable feeling of tightness in the leather suit, which fit like a second skin over his toned athletic body. The golden mirrored helmet visor pleasantly filtered the bright sunlight of southern France, allowing his eyes to focus on the narrow coastal road unfolding before him. Intuitively, without thinking, he determined the line, throttle, brakes, gear changes, and speed with which he flogged the outrageously expensive testament to Italian motorcycle engineering at breakneck speed along the short straights and through numerous curves. A wonderfully exciting, risky, and adrenaline-fueled experience! Close behind him was the identical machine ridden by Sébastien, his best friend and teammate in the EMM Supersport 600 for the past four years, from whom he had learned so much. Also, and above all, off the racetrack. But now their paths in motorsport would part for the time being, as Yannik moved to the EMM Superbike category and Sébastien to a national French racing series in the same displacement class.
The 22-year-old Frenchman was the youngest scion of a wealthy entrepreneurial family who owned a vacation home near Antibes. Ever since they had become friends, the two of them spent two weeks alone in the modern villa every year at this time to recover from the stressful training routine that would soon resume before the start of the new season. The house was located on a mountainside, had a spacious garden with a pool, and offered a fantastic view of Antibes and the Mediterranean Sea. Sébastien's father was also an avid motorcyclist, but due to his professional commitments, he rarely got to ride anymore. But of course, he still knew what was good, and so yesterday he had had his youngest son and his best friend's two brand-new Ducatis with expensive carbon fiber attachments and other top-of-the-line components delivered to the garage of the vacation home. With their rather modest salaries as race car drivers and prize money, they would never have been able to afford such speed machines. Yannik, who came from a down-to-earth family of craftsmen in the Bavarian countryside, was not embarrassed by this display of wealth. On the contrary, he was happy to be able to enjoy its fruits from time to time. In any case, he had never felt that Sébastien or his family thought they were better than anyone else; he had felt welcome from the very beginning.
"Have fun, but please no scratches!" was written in both French and German on a small card tucked into the fuel cap lock as they inspected the machines. The patriarch had succeeded in surprising them; even Sébastien had been completely unaware. More reason for the two young racers to be eager to take these two treasures out for a spin. After spending the last few days working on their fitness with road cycling, surfing, and bouldering, a little distraction during an extensive bike ride was just what they needed. Tomorrow afternoon, Yannik will travel back home before reporting for the opening test of the new EMM season the following week, where he would also meet his new team for the first time. Yannik felt honored that Apex Racing had approached him after the departure of their star rider Vomsbeck. But he was also nervous about whether he could live up to the high expectations. In the coming season, he will be riding a completely new bike, with a completely different engine concept and much more power than in the 600cc class. He would also be the youngest rider in his class. Holding his own against the other, mostly much more experienced riders, was a big challenge. On the other hand, Yannik knew only too well that you couldn't get ahead in racing if you stayed in your comfort zone.
After repeatedly overtaking other motorcyclists and cars with their daring riding style and the superior performance of the two Ducatis, Yannik raced through another tight left-hand bend with Sébastien in tow when a Nissan SUV driving according to the rules appeared in front of them on the short straight behind. Without hesitation, the two speeding bikers signaled, passed the car at full throttle, and slowed down sharply after merging back in to dive deep into the next curve. The SUV driver almost lost control of the steering wheel in shock at the sudden explosion of engine noise next to him and flashed his high beams, cursing wildly. But the two motorcyclists hadn't noticed any of this and had already disappeared around the next bend. With their pulses pounding and adrenaline rushing, the young racers continued their speedy journey. In the next village, they pulled into a small gas station to refuel the thirsty Italians. Just as they had paid at the cash machine and were getting ready to leave again, the Nissan turned into the gas station and stopped right behind them.
The driver recognized the two traffic hooligans, got out, and a torrent of French swear words rained down on them. Sébastien laughed, gave the 50-year-old man the finger, and signaled to Yannik with a casual wave of his hand that they should leave. They quickly pulled their colorful sports helmets with mirrored visors over their balaclavas, put on their gloves, swung themselves onto their bikes, and started the engines. When the driver approached Sébastien and tried to shout over the aggressively loud engine noise, the young racer simply tapped the side of his helmet and shook his head slightly to show that he couldn't hear anything. To annoy the guy even more, he revved the engine twice while idling, which made the driver jump back in fright due to the infernal noise. With an audible jolt, both riders shifted into first gear and drove off with a loud roar, while the Nissan driver waved his fist threateningly after them. The young racers quickly left the village behind and were back in attack mode shortly thereafter, after briefly amusing themselves with the car driver's reaction via the intercom system integrated into their helmets. There were always some spoil sports, Yannik thought with a shrug. After all, unlike many other speeders, they were professionals and knew what they were doing. But on the other hand, they couldn't expect others to cope with their fast driving.
Shortly before Antibes, they stopped at a small parking bay they knew well, located to the right of the road just above the cliffs and offering a wonderful view of the sea and the sunset. The orange-red light of the sunbathed the entire scene in its magical glow and made the rocks shine. After taking off their helmets, balaclavas, and gloves, they lined up the two Ducatis in parallel formation and took a few photos with their smartphones. "Look at your tire marks, you're a real speed demon," Yannik grinned afterwards, stroking the warm tread of the wide rear tire of Sébastien's Ducati, which had formed nasty ridges when the soft rubber melted under the friction heat of the tire when cornering. These were tire marks that were common on racetracks, but the two powerhouses had raced so hard around the curves that they had achieved a similar result with their street hyper sport tires in combination with the early summer temperatures. "You comedian, your tire looks exactly the same! Besides, I was just rolling along behind you," laughed Sébastien, ruffling the cute guy's wildly tousled light brown hair. "No, no, you're a really bad driver, Sébastien! If I didn't drive ahead and slow you down, they'd have to book us," insisted the German, laughing, standing close to his friend, who wore his jet-black hair in a practical millimeter-short haircut.
"You talk too much nonsense, little one," Sébastien grinned as his hands slid over Yannik's tight ass, clad in thin kangaroo leather, and pulled the pretty boy into a kiss. They closed their eyes with pleasure as their mouths opened and united in smacking tongue kisses. "Ohh, yes, don't stop," Yannik moaned breathlessly between two kisses, feeling the hands rub powerfully over his two compact, plump buttocks through the tight leather. The soft feel of the skin-tight smooth leather on their hands stroking their slim, well-trained bodies made them horny. Added to this was the tart smell of sweat, burnt gasoline, and warm leather, which had an aphrodisiac effect on them. "Such a hot biker," Sébastien murmured in his sexy French accent and lifted Yannik slightly as he reached under his buttocks with his hands. The German purred willingly and laid his head on his buddy's titanium shoulder protector. "That's what I'll miss most when we're no longer riding together," Yannik murmured wistfully, and Sébastien grinned knowingly as he kneaded the crotch of his counterpart's leather suit and felt the stiff piston underneath. "Oh yeah?" he added, grabbing hard, which provoked a short gasp and then a long moan from the German racer's mouth. "So hot..." Yannik breathed breathlessly and now also reached into the crotch of the grasping Frenchman. The next kiss was followed by a brief teasing of their tongues as they continued to massage each other's cocks, then they nestled close together, rubbing their bulges and expensive leather suits against each other as they exchanged tender and soulful kisses.
As they were getting thirsty and a car pulling into the parking bay was disturbing their intimacy, they continued their journey a little later and finally reached the estate in the hills above Antibes. After parking their cars in the underground garage, the two young drivers strolled into the spacious and pleasantly cool main house above. They placed their helmets and gloves on the counter of the large, open kitchen and took two bottles of water from the refrigerator, which they drank in small, eager sips. He looked cute again, Sébastien thought as he watched his best friend leaning casually against the counter drinking. Yannik had opened his leather suit and folded the upper part back, exposing his arms and slim upper body, which were now only covered by functional underwear that stretched skin-tight over his compact muscles.
Hardly any professional racers carried around excess weight these days, because the lowest possible body weight and high fitness levels were essential in the tough battle for valuable points. But to be able to continue to force the racing machines out of and into the curves despite the rather small stature of the drivers, strength exercises were on every racing driver's fitness plan in addition to cardio training. Over the past three years, Yannik and Sébastien had focused particularly on calisthenics in combination with a strict diet, and as a result, their bodies looked chiseled, with very low body fat and well-defined, compact, yet very hard muscles. The training had long since become less of a necessity for their success on the racetrack and more of a kind of body cult that fueled their lust.
Sébastien approached from behind, wrapped his arms around the shoulders of the handsome, 5'8" German, buried his nose in his neck, and inhaled the warm scent of his skin. Yannik moaned softly and tilted his head back, whereupon his friend began to gently nibble on his right earlobe. The moaning grew louder and the German racing driver pressed his well-trained body against the chest of the man behind him. Full of desire, Sébastien now stroked his flat stomach, feeling the rock-hard abs through the thin fabric of his functional shirt, which Yannik had tensed at exactly the right moment with a grin and a mischievously stuck-out tongue. He lasciviously presented his hot body to his teammate's greedy hands, enjoying the touch and continuously exchanging smacking kisses with him. He rubbed his back voluptuously against the smooth leather of Sébastien's jumpsuit.
One of the Frenchman's hands now slid under the leather at the crotch of the jumpsuit and touched Yannik's stiff pipe. With a loud moan and a writhing upper body, the horny racer acknowledged the contact with the warm hand, but the tightness of the suit did not allow any further movement down there. So Sébastien began to pull down the rest of the suit and completely undress his friend. Yannik willingly stepped out of the leather and now exposed his naked lower body with his stiff, erect cock. Wearing only a thin functional shirt and socks, he stood in front of the Frenchman, who was still completely wrapped in his leather suit, who eyed him lustfully and grinned. The German cheekily returned the grin and began to provocatively sway his hips as he pulled the functional shirt over his head and threw it to the floor. Sébastien grunted softly as he stepped closer and looked at the familiar naked, hairless, and lightly tanned magnificent body: in the dim light of the kitchen lighting, a graceful young man with well-proportioned muscles on his athletic, slim body presented himself to him.
Seemingly an innocent angel, with his soft, pretty features, piercing green eyes, and slightly curly, tousled, medium-length brown-blond hair that fell across his forehead. But that was only the outward appearance, because as soon as the young guy got on his motorcycle, he turned out to be a real monster on the racetrack: He had remarkable riding talent, combined with a high degree of daring and aggressiveness that often pushed the limits of the rules. It was a combination that made him an extremely tough and difficult opponent. Sébastien had underestimated him at first, this young guy who usually seemed so innocent and nice, with his friendly smile and bright eyes. Unsurprisingly, he had to learn some bitter lessons in the first few races against him, when there was simply no getting past the German.
Soon, however, the Frenchman realized that despite his ambition, his younger colleague was a good team player, generally behaved in a fair manner, and only occasionally went too far in the heat of the moment. Away from the races, he had also gotten to know Yannik's sensitive side and quickly taken him into his heart. They became good friends, and one evening, after a strenuous day of training on the racetrack, they realized that there was more between them than just friendship. Horny as starved animals, they had pounced on each other, jerked each other off, sucked each other's cocks, and fucked their hearts out half the night. That had been four years ago, and since then they had been considered an inseparable and successful duo in their racing team. But now their paths in sport would be separated. There had already been a touch of melancholy during their last two weeks together on the Côte d'Azur, but they had resolved to take every opportunity to see each other in the future.
"You cheeky little guy," Sébastien whispered as they stood close together and Yannik began to knead the crotch of his leather suit with a firm grip. The German responded with a provocative grin and intensified the treatment even more, causing Sébastien to gasp in pain. "Stop it, I'm warning you!" threatened the Frenchman. But Yannik had no intention of stopping, jutting his chin out slightly and replying with a sly twinkle in his eyes: "Go ahead and make me!" With a rough growl, the Frenchman grabbed his friend's neck, clasped it with both hands, and gradually squeezed the air out of him with a malicious expression on his face. A long, quietly fading moan escaped from the young man's mouth. At the same time, he let go of Sébastien's crotch. A drop of pleasure ran out of the tip of Yannik's stiff, vertically pointing pipe and moistened the smooth leather of Sébastien's leather suit. Gasping and with an increasingly pleading look, he submitted to the suddenly dominant Frenchman. After savoring the sight of the pretty boy now fighting for air in such a provocatively helpless manner, he graciously loosened his grip and let Yannik catch his breath again. Intoxicated by the horny thrill of being at his mercy and the instinctive fear for survival that always intensified during this kind of game between them, his stiff cock twitched and released more drops of precum.
"Good boy again?" Sébastien asked, his eyes flashing triumphantly, and kissed the little rascal when he nodded eagerly. With his right hand, Yannik was already back at the Frenchman's crotch, kneeling and licking the warm leather devotedly several times, feeling the hard shaft directly behind it with his tongue. He looked up submissively at his friend, opened his mouth, and stuck out his tongue like a panting dog. Sébastien briefly collected saliva and then let a thick drop fall vertically, landing precisely on the tongue. Yannik immediately swallowed the gift and licked his lips with relish before asking for the next step in their usual procedure with a pleading look: Sébastien nodded slightly, quickly opened the Velcro fastener above his chest, and pulled the main zipper down from the collar to just below the crotch. He fiddled briefly with the functional underwear with both hands, then pulled out the hard, thick fuck bolt, which Yannik immediately put his mouth over in joyful anticipation. They moaned with pleasure at each other as the German jerked off the shaft with one hand, took the glans and half of the shaft into his mouth, and pampered the delicious-tasting cock with his lips closed.
The sight of his best friend kneeling naked and submissive in front of him, sucking, licking, and slurping the shaft with ever-increasing zeal, was almost as arousing as the tingling excitement triggered by the treatment itself. Sébastien watched with fascination as the athletic body moved in time with the blowjob, as the arm, shoulder, and back muscles worked, and the two compact, perfectly rounded buttocks circled just above the floor. By now, the cock was completely wet from the abundant pre-cum flowing from the tip and Yannik's saliva and moved with soft smacking noises in the mouth as Sébastien began to actively fuck the blowjob mouth. He reached into the tousled, slightly curly mop of hair that sat above the hair cut to 3mm on the sides and directed the head so that he could penetrate the warm, wet mouth at the best angle. The constant tingling in his balls increased with each thrust until he reached orgasm. With a loud cry, he shot his hot juice directly into his teammate's throat. The Frenchman pulled back and had his cock licked clean. Yannik got up, they kissed and shared the warm, delicious, milky-white slime.
After a short drink break, they stood to the left of the wide window in front of the living room, where the terrain next to the terrace dropped steeply and offered a fantastic view of Antibes below them and the Mediterranean Sea stretching to the horizon.
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