My family trip is coming to an end; I need to carpool home. After several unsuccessful attempts to book my return journey, I try one last time before going to bed, already resigned to having to find an alternative the next day. But this time, my request is finally accepted. Gerald, 54 years old. His profile picture is blurry, and almost no information is provided other than that it's his first trip and he's only accepting one passenger. Nothing alarming, but nothing reassuring either. No matter, at least I'll be able to go home and sleep peacefully tonight. I pet my parents' little dog for a moment before closing my eyes. The next morning, we all head to the carpooling area: my parents in the front; my father is driving, and in the back, my sister, whose stay has been extended, their little dog on her lap, and me. The carpool arrives early. We're surprised; two other people are with it. I say goodbye and head towards the other vehicle. A man greets me. His face looks tired. He wears glasses, but his blue eyes are shifty and his smile shy. He shakes my hand shakyly before putting my suitcase in the trunk. I get in the back seat. The introductions are quick: in the front is his wife, red-haired, wearing a pink animal-print top. In the back is his daughter, who explains that she created her father's profile picture. The three of them are going down south to buy him a car now that she's 18. I'm sitting behind the mother, whose face I haven't yet seen. The car starts and silence falls immediately. Only the radio provides a bit of life. The daughter slouches, one knee against the window and the other between the front seats, which makes her mother sigh, and starts playing videos on her phone. She asks her to turn the volume down, but to no avail. The journey promises to be long... We enter the highway. Several times, the driver glances in the rearview mirror, nothing unusual, until I realize he's watching me. Intrigued, I look away; I wish he would concentrate on the road. The mother places her hand on his thigh, and I glimpse a wedding ring on his finger. I understand then that she is his wife. An hour has passed, in the silence of words and the cacophony of audio devices. The mother, of whom I've only seen her red hair and one hand since the beginning of the journey, asks her husband to stop at the next rest area. A rest area with a gas station and a cafeteria. It's almost noon. It's packed. Accompanied by her daughter, they head towards the restrooms. I find myself alone with my father in front of the coffee machine. He still smiles at me with the same shyness, but positions himself to my left, practically glued to me. Much too close for two strangers who haven't exchanged a word in an hour. Once the initial surprise has passed, but my heart is still racing a little, I take the time to observe him. He gives off a sweet, surprising, buttery scent that I don't find unpleasant. A certain unease emanates from his face. The light filtering through the cafeteria windows catches his features. He is truly charming. His chestnut hair is styled with gel. A graying beard frames his face. I do, however, lament the state of his nails, whose white ridges clearly indicate a calcium deficiency. As we stand there together, he rubs his arm against mine, stirring his coffee. I'm starting to get a sense of him. I decline his offer to buy me a drink. He then said a few words about the weather, in a deep voice that I found reassuring. I suddenly felt an urge to kiss him. He leaned towards me, which made me instinctively step back, and brought his mouth close to my ear to whisper the beginning of a sentence… the end of which I would never know: his wife and daughter had just returned. The mother arrived first, all smiles; it was actually the first time I'd seen her face, she looked a lot like her daughter. The daughter, in fact, was frowning, perhaps because of her father's behavior… I wondered what had just happened. The second part of the journey was much like the first, between our silences, the music, and the father's glances in the rearview mirror. For my part, I remained as calm as possible, although I could feel my penis twitching in my pants. The tension mounted, and a game of glances began between my driver and me. Another hour passed, and he stopped at a new rest area. A small, deserted spot lost in nature, overflowing garbage cans, and a concrete block in the middle. "The first time, it was the girls' bathroom break. Now it's the boys' bathroom break," he announced. "Want to come with me?" he asked, turning to face me. "Yes, I'll take advantage of it too." The offer was welcome; my bladder was full. We headed toward the concrete block. It was divided in two. The men's entrance was at the back. The smell of urine hit me. There were stalls at the entrance, but I was pleasantly surprised to also find urinals at the back—these unfortunately tend to be replaced by individual toilets. There were three of them, without partitions. I chose the one on the right, and, unsurprisingly, he took the one in the middle.I'm starting to pee. “What are you studying at university?” he asks. “Do you really want to talk about that here?” “Yeah, you’re right, this isn’t really the place for a conversation.” In the ensuing silence, I still don’t hear him urinate. “Do you carpool often?” he continues. “No, it’s getting more and more complicated. ” “There are… slip-ups sometimes?” Sensing the slippery slope for him, my doubts are confirmed, even if this question alone completely ruins the charm of seduction. Nevertheless, my erection is starting. I decide to get him to open up: “What kind of slip-up? Any kind, heh heh!” he replies, nudging me with his elbow. I look down. He’s got everything out. Big, hairless balls resting on the elastic of his briefs, judging by the material, and a short, thick penis ending in a large, light brown glans. I catch a glimpse of pubic hairs similar to his beard. He's holding his penis in his left hand and gently squeezing the head with his thumb. The sight gives me a full erection, which I lightly masturbate. Our eyes meet, this time without the filter of the rearview mirror. I reach out to him, a gesture charged with everything that's built up since the start of the journey, and masturbate him in turn. He leans towards me, not to whisper anything, but to kiss me. His beard against my lips makes ...

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