Driving Lesson
"He's failed his test twice. She's his new instructor. The lessons get longer. The parking practice gets more intimate."
Third instructor, third chance.
I've failed the test twice—nerves, apparently—and my mum's insisting I try again. New instructor, fresh start.
Hannah pulls up in her red learner car, all smiles.
"You must be Connor. Hop in."
She's maybe thirty-two, thirty-three.
Slim in a sporty way, like she runs or does yoga. Dark hair in a ponytail, minimal makeup, practical clothes. She's got that driving instructor energy—calm, patient, unflappable.
"So." She adjusts her mirrors. "Tell me about your last tests."
I tell her. The panic, the mistakes, the shame of walking out with another fail.
"Right." She nods. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to forget everything you think you know and start fresh. No pressure. Just driving."
"That easy?"
"That easy." She smiles. "Now. Pull out when you're ready."
Week One
She's good. Really good.
Not just at teaching—at understanding. When I tense up, she notices. When I'm about to panic, she talks me down.
"You're doing fine. Steady. That's it."
By the end of the first lesson, I'm calmer behind the wheel than I've ever been.
"Same time next week?" she asks.
"Definitely."
Week Four
The lessons get longer.
What started as one hour becomes ninety minutes, two hours. We drive around, practice maneuvers, and talk.
She tells me about being an instructor—the weird students, the scary moments, the satisfaction of seeing someone pass.
I tell her about my job, my mates, my complete lack of direction in life.
"You'll figure it out," she says. "Everyone does eventually."
"Did you?"
"I'm thirty-three and teaching people to parallel park." She laughs. "But I'm happy. That's enough."
Week Six
We're practicing parking in an empty industrial estate. Late evening, no one around.
"Perfect," she says as I slot into a space. "You've got this."
"Thanks to you."
"I just pointed you in the right direction." She unbuckles her seatbelt, turns to face me. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why do you keep booking extra lessons? You're more than ready for your test."
I don't have a good answer. Or rather, I have one I can't say.
"I like driving with you."
"Is that all?"
She leans closer.
"Because I've been wondering if maybe there's another reason you keep coming back."
"Maybe there is."
"And maybe—" She's very close now. "—I've been extending the lessons for the same reason."
She kisses me.
It's soft at first, tentative.
Then deeper, her tongue sliding against mine, her hand gripping my shirt. The car is cramped but we don't care.
"This is unprofessional," she breathes.
"Very."
"I should stop."
"Do you want to?"
"No."
We climb into the back seat.
It's awkward, limbs everywhere, learner car not designed for this. But we make it work.
She's slim, toned, body hidden under her practical clothes now revealed. Small tits, flat stomach, legs that wrap around me easily.
"Been thinking about this for weeks," she admits.
"Same."
"Should've done it sooner."
"We're doing it now."
We fuck in the back of the learner car.
Parked in an empty industrial estate as the sun goes down, dual controls still visible in the front. She's tight, urgent, whispering instructions even now.
"Faster—right there—don't stop—"
I follow her directions. I'm good at that.
She comes first, muffling her scream against my shoulder. I follow her.
After, we climb back into the front seats.
"Well." She straightens her hair. "That's going to make future lessons interesting."
"Am I still your student?"
"Not anymore." She grins. "Conflict of interest. You'll have to find a new instructor."
"And what about... us?"
"Us is different." She takes my hand. "Us continues. Outside the car."
I pass my test the next week.
Different instructor, full marks. Hannah's waiting outside the test centre.
"Knew you could do it."
"Had a good teacher."
"The best." She kisses me. "Now drive me home. Properly. Like a man who's passed his test."
A year later, we're still together.
She still instructs. I still drive. Sometimes we go back to that industrial estate, for old times' sake.
"Remember when you couldn't parallel park?" she teases.
"Remember when you couldn't keep your hands to yourself?"
"I was teaching you gear control."
"That's not what I'd call it."
She laughs, kisses me.
Best lesson I ever learned.