Winnipeg Driving Instructor
"She teaches Somali women to drive in Winnipeg's brutal winters—a thick ebony divorced woman who fears nothing. When he needs winter driving skills, she offers private lessons. Some roads lead to unexpected places."
Samira's Driving School specializes in the impossible.
Teaching nervous immigrants to drive in Winnipeg winters—forty below, black ice, conditions that terrify natives. She's been doing it for fourteen years.
I need winter certification.
"You can already drive?" She checks my license. Fifty-one years old. Two hundred and forty pounds of cold-weather confidence. Ebony skin that somehow glows even in Manitoba's gray. "Why come to me?"
"Because I hydroplaned last winter. Almost died."
"Ilaahay." She nods. "Fear is good. Fear keeps you alive. Let's turn fear into skill."
She teaches in the worst conditions.
Snowstorms. Ice. Temperatures that freeze breath mid-air. She sits beside me, calm as a statue.
"Feel the wheels," she says. "Before they slip, you'll feel it. Anticipate."
"I'm trying—"
"Don't try. Do." She puts her hand over mine on the wheel. "The car speaks to you. Listen."
The car speaks. I learn to hear it.
"You're getting better," she says after a month.
"Thanks to you."
"Thanks to practice." She adjusts her seatbelt. "You're also more relaxed. Less scared."
"I trust you."
"That's dangerous." But she's smiling. "Trust the car. Trust yourself. Don't trust other drivers."
"What about trusting my instructor?"
"Waas." She looks out the window. "I'm just a teacher."
"Why did you start teaching?"
We're parked at a rest stop. Snow falls silently around us.
"My husband left me for a woman who couldn't drive." She laughs bitterly. "Young, pretty, needed rides everywhere. He felt useful."
"That's ridiculous."
"Men are ridiculous." She looks at me. "No offense."
"None taken. He sounds like an idiot."
"He was. Still is." She shrugs. "Eleven years divorced. Eleven years of teaching people to drive away from me."
"I'm not driving away."
"There's one more lesson."
My certification is complete. I don't need more instruction.
"What lesson?"
"How to handle unexpected conditions." She starts the car. "Follow my directions."
She guides me to her house.
"This is unexpected," I say, parked in her driveway.
"That's the lesson. Handling what you don't expect." She turns to face me. "Eleven years, I've been expecting nothing. Tonight I expect—"
"What?"
"Something. Anything. Everything."
I worship the driving instructor.
In her warm house while Winnipeg freezes outside. Her body is heat—ebony curves, heavy breasts, soft belly.
"Eleven years—" She gasps as I undress her. "I've guided everyone—"
"Tonight I guide you."
I lay her on her bed.
While wind howls outside. Her body is the warm interior I want to stay in forever.
I spread her thick thighs.
Navigate to her pleasure.
"ILAAHAY!"
She screams—eleven years of frozen emotions thawing. Her hands grip my head.
"Don't stop—" She's shaking. "Dhakhso—"
I drive her to destination three times.
"Inside me—" She's pulling at me. "Ku soo gal—park inside me—"
I strip. She watches with those instructor's eyes.
"Subhanallah—"
"Premium handling."
I push inside the driving instructor.
She screams.
"So full—" Her legs wrap around me. "Don't stop—"
I take her for a ride.
Her massive body shakes. Winnipeg cold forgotten. She comes twice more.
"Ku shub—" She's begging. "Finish inside me—"
I complete the journey.
We lie tangled while the city freezes.
"Best lesson ever," she murmurs.
"When's the next one?"
"Tomorrow. And every day after."
One Year Later
I'm the best winter driver in Winnipeg.
And I have the best instructor in my bed.
"Macaan," she moans. "My favorite student."
The driving instructor who fears nothing.
The woman I'd drive anywhere for.
No destination too far.