As you may have known, my Mum came over while I was on holidays. I gave her a copy of my misadventures to read (for her eReader) and she said it was so funny and sad and--she had to admit--she didn't know some of the things I wrote about. After all, I do believe teenagers don't tell their parents everything *shock horror* LOL

Anyway, we then got to talking and reminiscing and 'chewing the fat' as it were about my past. She then turned to me and said, do you remember that Mr. Wolfhouse? (not real name) I said of course I did, he was my driving instructor. He was a German man in his 50's and he taught student's to drive in a car which was covered in little blobs of blu-tac, string, and had all these little toy cars on the dash board. This was all to help illustrate where to look when doing a driving maneuver and what part of the car should be where, so I found out.

Anyway, he was a great guy. He would always yell out in a thick German accent, "Nine, nine, ve don't do zat! Ve don't do zat!" whenever I got something wrong. He said that a lot when I first started to learn, as he went straight into parallel parking and reverse turns. Oh my! Thinking about it, he never did anything in a telling off way. To me it was more like advice delivered with caring and understanding in a wonderful German accent. 

Now, this is where Mum helped me jog my memory, because whether or not I was 'blocking' it out or not, I have no idea. At the time, it didn't bother me, I suppose. Hey, I was a 16 year old in the DRIVING seat of a car and in control of it (Mr. Wolfhouse had a secondary set of pedals on his side so he could brake, etc, etc) When I got something right, Mr. Wolfhouse would touch me on my leg to congratulate me, beaming a smile. Each time I did something good, he moved his leg up a little closer to my groin. 

Now, as I said, I only remembered this because, at the time, I must have told Mum about how 'creepy' Mr. Wolfhouse got during certain times of our lessons. She wanted to call the police, but apparently I told her not to as it was all okay. I could handle him and that hey, I was driving! Driving for the first time was something so special any amount of touching could be forgotten...so long as I got my licence. Licence meant independence for a teenage boy! (as you will all know if you read my misadventues) I explained to her that he was just being friendly and encouraging and I didn't mind at all.

Mum reluctantly agreed, but said that if he did anything more than a friendly pat on my leg, I was to tell her immediately. I agreed. Unfortunately, Mr. Wolfhouse didn't just stop at touching my upper leg when I did something good. He would then 'help me' get in and out of the car, touching my backside in the process. That buttock touching soon became backside groping by the time I had ten lessons or so. Then his leg touching became long pauses of his hand on me, especially if I was driving down a straight road and didn't need to use that leg for clutching. (we drive while sitting on the right hand side here in Australia) 

Anyway, by the time I did get concerned about what he would do next, the time came for me to take my practical test. I passed with flying colours and got my licence. Mr. Wolfhouse was waiting for me in the car park of the police station, all smiles. He congratulated me and took me home. He didn't do anything. No touching. No groping. I suppose because I was no longer a student of his, he realised I would no longer be climbing into his car. When I got out the car, he got out too and gave me the longest hug I have ever received from a man. In fact, it was more than a hug, it was a release of emotion and I swear there was a tear in his eye. He embraced me for so long I was stunned. Thinking about it now, he would have probably wanted to take off my clothes there and then and give me a good long and hard cock suck (just like the picture above. I like how the boy receiving the attention has curly hair, just like me). When he finally let me go, he said goodbye, patting me on my butt when I turned away. 

I never saw him again.

In hindsight, and after talking with Mum, I should have reported him. After all, he would have kept on doing it to other boys (and girls for all I know) and they may not have taken what he did with as much acceptance. I suppose I did accept what he did, because in a way I understood that he was happy for me when I understood the instructions he was giving. Then again, he was probably a dirty old pedophile and should have been locked up...who knows? At any rate, he's probably pushing up daisies by now, some 30 odd years later. 

Anyway, thought I'd share. This story will probably be put into my misadventures (thanks to Mum) in a future edition update....There is always something more to add to how much I got myself in to, isn't there.

To read my Teenage Misadventures, click here.