Driving Instructor

When I was seventeen I stayed at my friend Patrick’s house over one summer while his mother was away. There we led a very care free existence and I took LSD a few times each week. I also decided to learn how to drive. I had a driving instructor who kept staring at my crotch on the occasions when we sat stationary in the car in order to discuss the highway code. It was a bit unnerving. He was a little creepy, although he was very good humoured, and I did like his company. My close friend Howard, coincidentally, had been instructed by the same man in the past and had experienced the same problem with the crotch staring. It was unclear whether or not the instructor knew that his pupil would be aware of it, or whether, in fact, he himself was not aware of it. He told me that at times, especially when we were on the dual carriageway, my driving frightened him a little.

A short, pleasant lady conducted the test when my time came and I passed.