Upminster Urgency

Selma was a terrible driver.

She was also the most beautiful woman Adaeze had ever taught.

Thick Namibian curves. Nervous hands that shook on the wheel. A promotion that depended on passing her test in two weeks.

"I'll fail," Selma moaned. "I'll lose everything."

"Not if I help you." Adaeze placed her hand over Selma's on the gearstick. "Extra lessons. After hours. Whatever it takes."

The lessons intensified.

Evening drives through quiet Upminster streets. Selma's confidence growing with each session. And something else growing too.

"You're very patient," Selma said during a break.

"You're worth the patience."

"Am I?" Those dark eyes found hers. "Even after all my mistakes?"

"Especially after." Adaeze's hand found her knee. "Everyone deserves someone patient."

The car was parked in a quiet lane when it happened.

Selma leaned across the handbrake and kissed her.

"I'm sorry—I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize." Adaeze kissed her back. "I've been waiting for this."

"For your student to proposition you?"

"For you to show me what you really want."

The backseat wasn't designed for two thick women.

They made it work anyway.

Adaeze discovered Selma was much more confident with her hands in other contexts. Those "nervous" fingers knew exactly where to touch, how hard to press.

"Oh God—Selma—"

"You like that? Let me show you what else I know."

The driving improved dramatically.

Selma passed her test on the first attempt.

"Celebratory dinner?" she suggested.

"Is that all you want to celebrate?"

"It's a starting point." That smile. "The rest happens after."

The instructor-student relationship ended.

What replaced it was better.

"You could have any driving instructor in Upminster," Adaeze said.

"I only wanted one." Selma pulled her close. "The one who saw potential in my chaos."

"And now?"

"Now I want to show you my steering skills in other areas."

Upminster's roads had never seemed more exciting.