I remember every second as if it were yesterday. The sun was setting behind the fir trees when I stopped at this small, unassuming rest area, just past La Motte-Servolex, near Le Bourget-du-Lac, along the D1201, the one everyone around here knows is much more than it looks: a well-known spot for truckers and guys who are always looking for something. The air was warm, heavy, thick with the smell of hot asphalt, pine trees, and diesel. I was walking aimlessly, guided by a dull impulse, when I saw him. Leaning against his white truck with Savoie license plates, massive, imposing. A gray tank top soaked with sweat clung to his broad, hairy chest, thick arms veined from work, skin tanned by the construction site sun, a dark three-day beard, a direct gaze that pierced me like a blade. "Looking for something?" he asked in a deep, hoarse voice, almost a grunt. I didn't answer. My body had already answered for me. He approached slowly, his large, calloused hand resting on the back of my neck, warm, firm, possessive. A violent shiver ran down my spine, my legs went weak. I surrendered to this simple, animal touch. "Get in." I climbed into the cab. The interior was saturated with his scent: manly sweat, salt, musk, a hint of diesel, the raw smell of a man after a long day of driving and hard work. It enveloped me, penetrated me, made my head spin. He sat in the driver's seat, legs spread, effortlessly dominating the space. His powerful thighs stretched his worn jeans. I knelt between his legs, on the grimy carpet of the cab. My hands slid slowly down his thighs, feeling the hardness of the muscles beneath the fabric, then I unzipped his fly, freeing his already half-hard cock: thick, veiny, heavy, foreskin retracted over a broad, dark glans, bushy black hairs at the base. The smell was intense, overwhelmingly masculine, a mixture of sweat, precum, and road smoke. I leaned down, breathing deeply against his warm skin, first brushing against his thighs, then his heavy, dangling balls, gently taking them in my mouth, licking the salty sweat, massaging them with my tongue. He groa ...

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