She Passed the Exam Sitting on My Lap novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Driving Range
I've been teaching people to drive for eleven years, and I'd never wanted to get into a car to escape a student.
That Tuesday afternoon at seven, the north parking lot of the San Pedro Institute of the Arts was empty.
I'd set up the cones at six, in straight rows, the way I like them.
The gray Nissan driving school car sat with the engine off, the dash cam blinking on the windshield.
On my clipboard I had a single file: "Ibarra Daniela, 21 years old, late enrollment, first lesson."
Twenty-one.
I read it twice.
Last time they assigned me a first-year student, I got a kid who cried at the clutch.
I heard footsteps on the asphalt and looked up.
She was walking between the cones in a denim skirt so short I questioned its purpose.
She had black hair loose down to her waist, a tight white blouse, and dirty sneakers.
She stopped in front of my window and smiled with her whole face.
"Are you Instructor Salinas?"
"Octavio Salinas. Get in."
"How nice."
She walked around the car, sat in the passenger seat, and closed the door with her hip.
Her perfume filled the whole cabin: vanilla and cinnamon, like freshly opened tamales.
"Before we start, the rules," I said, staring straight ahead.
"Seatbelt always."
"Hands at ten and two."
"Feet on the pedals I tell you."
"And we don't talk about anything that isn't the car."
"Got it."
"Let's switch places. You take the wheel."
We both got out.
I crossed paths with her in front of the hood, and for a second her shoulder brushed my arm.
We settled back in, me on the passenger side and her behind the wheel.
I adjusted her seat and the mirror, and I felt her breathing through her nose, slowly, watching me.
"Push the clutch all the way down and move the stick into first."
The engine started with a jerk.
"Slowly. Ease your foot up little by little."
The car lurched forward and stalled.
"Sorry," she said, with a little laugh.
"Again."
It stalled again.
She tried three more times.
On the sixth try, she turned to me with a very serious face and rested her elbow on the wheel.
"Instructor, I think I'm one of those people who learn with their body."
"With your body."
"Hands-on. If you teach me with your hands over mine, I think I'll pick it up faster."
"Put your hands on the wheel."
"They're there."
"And I can see them from here."
"But I can't see what you see."
She bit her lip.
"If I sit on your lap, you guide me and I let myself go."
I looked at her.
I took her chin with two fingers and turned her face toward the windshield.
"No."
"It's fine, it's just a lesson."
"No."
"Instructor..."
"Back to first gear."
She obeyed.
The car started better that time, and we moved a few feet before it stalled.
She let go of the wheel.
"Ugh, I'm tired already."
Before I could react, she unbuckled her seatbelt, stood up from her seat, and swung one leg over the gear shift.
"Daniela."
"Two minutes."
"Sit down."
"That's what I'm doing."
She dropped sideways onto my knees, facing away from the wheel, her thighs across mine.
Her skin was hot through the skirt.
Her perfume hit my brain like a shot of mezcal.
"Get off."
"It's an exercise."
"This isn't an exercise."
"Then teach me what it is."
She turned to face the wheel, her ass in my lap and her hands over mine.
I had put my hands on the gear shift.
She covered them with hers.
"Hands-on," she said.
I tried to think of the checklist.
Tire pressure.
The intake form: twenty-one years old, adult, scholarship, no reason for me to feel like a pervert.
"Push the clutch," I said, my voice hoarse.
She stretched her leg.
To reach the pedal she arched back, and her ass pressed tight against my crotch.
I felt myself harden beneath her, helpless.
"Let it out slowly," I said.
She dropped her foot all at once.
The car jumped forward, shuddered, and stalled.
The momentum threw her back, and she landed fully seated on me.
Her whole body weight settled right on top of my hard cock.
Her skirt was hiked up to her hips.
Between us there was nothing but a thin, almost damp layer of fabric.
We both froze.
Me, not breathing.
Her, back tense and fingers gripping mine.
"Mister Instructor," she whispered, in a sweet innocent little voice, eyes fixed on the windshield. "What's that hard thing I feel down there?"
I closed my eyes.
I should have lifted her off, opened the door, and sent her to the front office.
Instead, I pressed my fingers into her waist and said through my teeth: "It's the gear shift."
She let out a low laugh that vibrated through my whole chest.
She moved, just barely, once, back and forth, and pulled a sound out of me I couldn't swallow.
"What a big gear shift," she whispered.
"Daniela."
"Tell me to get off."
I didn't say it.
Then, over her shoulder, I saw the red light on the dash.
It blinked on the windshield, steady, calm.
The camera had been recording since we started.
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