When I was nineteen, my life was shattered in an instant. My dad walked in on me with my best friend—my lips wrapped around his cock, the room still smelling faintly of our shared sweat and teenage lust—and that was it. He exploded, his face turning beet red as he called me every name under the sun: disgrace, pervert. He kicked me out without a discussion, no second chance. I packed a small suitcase with whatever clothes I could grab—mostly tight jeans, a few hoodies, and my favorite pair of lacy panties I'd hidden under my mattress—and found myself on the side of a freezing highway, thumb out, praying someone would stop before the biting January wind turned my fingers numb.

My slight frame rocked every time a semi roared past, the wind nearly knocking me over and whipping my long, dark hair across my face. The highway lights cast long shadows, and exhaust fumes hung in the cold air. Then, a big red truck pulled just ahead, its brake lights glowing like embers. I jogged up as the door swung open and climbed into the warm cab, the scent of diesel and old leather seats enveloping me.

“Hi, mister,” I said, breathless, rubbing my chilled hands together.

“Hey, cutie,” the driver replied with a deep, gravelly voice that sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. The word “cutie” from this burly trucker—broad-shouldered, with a salt-and-pepper beard and tattoos peeking from his flannel sleeves—caught me off guard. I stuck out my hand to shake his, but his massive, calloused palm swallowed mine whole, his grip firm and warm.

“Hi,” I stammered, my voice soft. “I’m Mack. Thank you so much for stopping—it’s freezing out there.”

“Macky, huh? Cute name for a cute boy. I’m Charles.” He cranked the heater higher, the hot air blasting against my frozen cheeks. “No problem, kid. You got any money?”

I looked down at my lap, defeated, fiddling with the zipper on my jacket. “No, I don’t.”

“That’s okay. You’ll have to pay somehow.” He paused, watching my confused expression with a knowing smirk. “It gets lonely out here on the road—long hauls, empty nights.”

I blinked, my heart racing. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to service my cock,” he said bluntly, his eyes darkening with hunger. “And don’t worry—I’ll take care of your needs.” His thick fingers ran gently through my long hair, tugging lightly at the ends.

I grabbed his hand, isolating his pointer finger, and smiled shyly. “Sounds good.” I wrapped my lips around it and started sucking slowly, my tongue swirling just like I knew guys liked.

“Oh yes,” he moaned, his voice rumbling like the engine. “You’re gonna work out just fine, honey.”

I hummed around his finger, eyes locked on his, feeling a spark of excitement in my belly.

“Where you headed, sweetie?”

“Anywhere but here.”

With that, we pulled back onto the highway, the truck's rumble vibrating through the seat. For the next couple of hours we just talked, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow on his rugged face. He told me about growing up in New York City, the crowded streets and subway rides, getting drafted for Vietnam, coming home scarred to a wife who cheated on him with half the neighborhood. I opened up too—about my dad catching me mid-blowjob, how I giggled, telling Charles he’d have been even madder knowing his own best friend was the first cock I ever sucked, back when we were sneaking around in his garage. We swapped stories of hookups and adventures; Charles had plenty, from roadside motels to glory holes in truck stops.

His big hand eventually settled on my thigh, squeezing the slim muscle through my jeans, his bulge obvious and growing through the worn denim. “You know, I love feminine boys—like you, with that soft hair and pretty face.”

My cheeks flushed hot. “Really? I love big, scary truckers.” I giggled, batting my lashes.

“Well, aren’t we perfect for each other?” He grinned, his teeth white against his beard. “Now, how about you pull my cock out and show me what that pretty mouth can do?”

“Yes, sir.” I scooted closer on the bench seat, hands trembling as I unzipped him slowly, the sound loud in the quiet cab. His cock sprang free—thick, veiny, about seven inches with a perfect mushroom head glistening already. The musky scent hit me immediately, making my mouth water. I started stroking the hot, velvety skin, then leaned down.

“Mmm, that’s it, baby,” he groaned, one hand on the wheel, the other guiding my head lower. I swirled my tongue around the tip, savoring the salty bead of precum and the faint taste of his day's sweat. He pushed gently, and I took him deeper, bobbing steadily, my lips stretching around his girth. His hand rested on the back of my head as I worked, choking a little with a wet gag when he thrust up unexpectedly. Soon he was fucking my face in earnest, moans echoing in the cab over the hum of the engine.

He pulled out suddenly, stroking his slick shaft while I gasped for air, strings of spit connecting us, then shoved back in roughly. “Macky, baby—I’m gonna fill your mouth.” Seconds later, he erupted, hot, thick spurts coating my tongue and throat. I swallowed greedily, the bitter-salty flavor flooding my senses, then opened wide to show him my empty mouth before gulping down the rest.

“Fuck, you’re good,” he panted as I cleaned him thoroughly with my tongue, licking up every drop.

“You taste really good,” I said with a shy smile, wiping my lips.

We drove in comfortable silence until he pulled into a busy truck stop, neon signs flickering and the lot filled with idling rigs. “Come on, let’s get a bite.”

Over greasy diner food—burgers and fries, coffee steaming in chipped mugs—he asked, “Where you wanna go, Macky?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere warm—maybe California, with beaches and palm trees.”

“Too bad. I’m heading east tomorrow. Want some money for tonight?”

“How much?”

“Couple hundred.”

I thought to myself I’d have let him fuck me for free—the chemistry was electric—but getting paid felt even hotter, like I was owning my new life. “I’ll do it.”

We ate, cleaned up in the truck-stop bathroom under harsh fluorescent lights, and climbed into the sleeper cab of his semi. It was surprisingly roomy, with a narrow bunk, curtains for privacy, and the faint scent of coffee and tobacco. He sat on the bed; I straddled his lap, feeling his hardness press against me. His hands gripped my narrow waist, thumbs digging in possessively.

“You’re so sexy,” he whispered, nibbling my ear, his beard scratching deliciously against my skin. I moaned, grinding against the bulge in his pants. Our lips met, tongues dancing hungrily, tasting of coffee and desire. Shirts came off, revealing his hairy chest; then my pants, leaving me in just those lacy panties. He flipped me onto my back with ease.

“Damn, you have a nice ass,” he growled, smacking it hard. The sting bloomed hot, my pale skin jiggling; I squealed in delight.

“Do it again—harder.”

He did—harder, leaving red handprints that made me arch. Then he spread my cheeks, teasing my pink hole with a rough finger before spitting a thick glob and pushing inside, crooking to hit that spot. I squirmed and begged until he buried his face between my cheeks, his beard tickling as his tongue lapped eagerly, wet and insistent.

“Oh fuck, yes—eat that pussy, Charles!” No one had ever rimmed me before; the slippery heat drove me wild, my toes curling.

After a few minutes, he grabbed lube from a drawer, slicking us both generously—the cool gel warming quickly. The blunt pressure of his cockhead made me whimper as he eased in, inch by inch, stretching me deliciously until his hairy balls rested against mine.

“Fuck, you’re tight, honey—like a virgin almost.”

“You’re so big,” I gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. He bottomed out, paused to let me adjust, then started thrusting—slow at first, building to faster, pounding relentlessly, the bunk creaking with each slap of skin.

Every few strokes, he spanked me, my little cock leaking precum with each sharp slap, soaking my panties.

“Yes, daddy! Harder!”

“Your pussy feels so good wrapped around me,” he grunted, sweat beading on his brow. “Wanna ride me?”

“Please!”

He flipped us effortlessly; I straddled him again, sinking down with a shared moan, feeling impossibly full. I bounced hard, my ass slapping against his thighs while he stroked my leaking cock.

“I’m gonna cum, daddy!”

“Do it—cum all over me, you little slut.”

I exploded across his belly and hairy chest, ropes of cum splattering hot. Moments later, his grip tightened on my hips, bruising, hips bucking wildly as he flooded me deep, pulse after pulse.

We cleaned up with baby wipes, the citrus scent cutting through the musk of sex, and he handed me nearly three hundred dollars—crisp bills that felt empowering in my hand. “Stay the night?”

I curled against his warm, bulky frame, his arm draped over me protectively, and fell asleep to the distant hum of trucks.

Early the next morning, he woke me gently with a cup of truck-stop coffee, kissed my forehead tenderly, and dropped me at the truck-stop exit. As his red rig disappeared down the ramp, exhaust pluming in the dawn light, I stood there with my suitcase, thumb out again, a confident smile on my face.

Another truck slowed almost immediately. The driver, a younger guy with a baseball cap, leaned over. “You got cash?”

“No,” I called back with a grin, shifting my weight to pop my hip, “but I got ass—and a mouth that’ll make you forget the road.”

And just like that, I knew I could make this work.