Eight Days in the Cabin of That Truck Driver

My name is Daniela, I’m twenty-two, and I study at university. I’ve been single for more than a year and a half, so let’s just say I know boredom pretty well, the kind that comes with long nights, when you end up putting your fingers inside yourself in bed with no real desire, just to get off. I’m skinny, I don’t have much in the chest department, but I’m convinced more than one man likes what I do have: small tits, but perky, with pink, very sensitive nipples. I’m not exactly generous in the hips either, though what little I’ve got is round, and apparently my best asset. Fair skin, short hair down to my neck, five-foot-three, and people say I’m pretty. Let’s leave it at that.

What I’m going to tell you happened a few weeks ago. One of my cousins graduated and was moving abroad for a better job, so both families decided to see him off with a dinner and several days together at the house where my uncles lived. Even a distant aunt was coming from the other side of the country. It was an important event, one you couldn’t miss, and it was a little over a week away.

The problem started with the logistics. My mother and my cousin left early, because my mother was going to lead my cousin’s family, who lived farther away and needed the head start to get there on time. My father promised he would take care of me and that we would arrive together without delay.

I was left alone with him. My father is one of the bosses at his company, and between work and family he’s always under a lot of pressure. Just one day after my mother left, he was told about an urgent business trip. That put him in a foul mood. He had to take the car and couldn’t take me with him, because I still had to pack, hand in some university assignments, and sort out a bunch of things before the family trip.

He didn’t know how to manage it. If he went, came back for me, and we left together, we would arrive far too late. I watched him pacing back and forth through the dining room, muttering curses because he couldn’t find a solution. His trip, apparently, mattered more than ours.

In the end, he found one. He contacted an “acquaintance” of his who drove a truck along the highway that passed near my uncle’s town. He hired him to take me there during those days. I wasn’t thrilled about going with a stranger; it would be awkward, and I didn’t feel comfortable with the idea. But my father was in no mood to argue. The trip would last eight days. He made me pack and get everything ready ahead of time. Half of it went wrong, but I did what I could.

***

The day arrived. The doorbell rang and I went downstairs with my luggage. When I opened the door, I found a man about forty-five years old, tall, almost six-foot-one. He had a hard face, serious, a bit gruff, though the way he spoke to my father made it seem like he was approachable. His body was strong, solid, but not in a gym way, more like a seasoned fighter worn down by work. Black boots, dark baggy pants, and a blue shirt that fit him a little too tight and made him look even bigger.

—Daughter, this is Rubén. He’s going to take you to your mother —my father said.

I greeted him with a wide smile.

—Hi, nice to meet you. I’m Daniela.

—Hi, Dani. Nice to meet you too —he replied, and his smile was much kinder than his face had promised.

Rubén carried my suitcase to the truck and went to get the last things ready. Before I got in, my father called me aside and lowered his voice.

—Dani, come here. Rubén is an old friend, and I know how he can get in certain situations. Sometimes he’s grumpy and even rude, so try not to piss him off, okay? And when he drinks he gets weird, so if you see him drinking, be careful.

My own father is sending me off with this man, knowing what he’s saying. That’s what I thought, but I didn’t want to argue. I said goodbye and walked toward the truck.

It was black and huge. It didn’t have the usual giant box behind it, the way I had imagined; it was just the cab, high as a mountain. Climbing up was an ordeal. Rubén was waiting with the passenger door open and helped me by putting up a little step, though even then it wasn’t easy to get in.

The inside fascinated me. Above the passenger seat there was a large compartment where my suitcase was already resting. Above the driver’s seat, a row of buttons for the lights and spaces for papers. But what I liked most was the center: between the two seats, an open curtain revealed a fairly large bed, big enough for two people, with a window at the back looking out onto the road. I want to live inside a truck and travel wherever I damn well please.

Rubén climbed in, started the engine, and as soon as we got moving he handed me a two-liter bottle of water.

—Here you go, Dani. It’s going to get very hot on the trip; you’ll want to drink a lot.

—Okay, thanks a lot.

And he was definitely right. Twenty minutes later I felt like I was burning up, and I’d already drunk half the bottle. He started explaining how everything worked, pointing to each button one by one.

—These up here are for the windows, the air conditioning, the outside lights, the cab lights. Feel free to use them so you’re comfortable. And back here —he pointed to a door behind his seat— is the bathroom, use it whenever you need to.

—There’s a bathroom in there?

—Yeah —he laughed—. It even has a little mirror.

I definitely want to live in a truck. In front of the bathroom there was another smaller door. I asked what was in there.

—Nothing interesting, tools and truck stuff. And look, behind your seat there’s a little fridge; it doesn’t get very cold, but it might still be useful.

After a couple of hours, Rubén didn’t seem nearly as terrible as my father had made him out to be. He was kind, smiled often, and had a warm personality. When I finished the water, I couldn’t hold my urge to pee any longer.

—Can I use the bathroom?

—Sure, it’s your truck these days —he joked.

The bathroom was prettier than I had imagined, though so narrow that you could hear everything, even with the door closed. I pulled my pants and panties down to my ankles, sat on the tiny toilet, and the stream came out with such force that it splashed against the metal like a hose. I blushed, thinking he was probably hearing every drop, every last dribble, even the sound of the toilet paper tearing. I came out with hot cheeks and went back to my seat.

—Hey, Dani, what do you want for dinner?

—Mmm, something not too expensive.

—Don’t worry about that. Order whatever you feel like.

We stopped at a gas station restaurant. I had a hamburger with fries; he ordered the same. By the time we got back, it was almost nine, and despite the darkness, the heat was still there. I grabbed my luggage.

—I’ll be right back, I’m going to put on something lighter, I can’t stand this.

—Go ahead, I warned you the heat would be a problem.

I went into the cab and pulled the curtain closed. The only cool thing I had was a tank top. I changed without thinking too much and went back out.

—If you want, you can lie down in there; you don’t have to stay out here.

—I’m fine, I like looking at the road.

—Then I’ll tell you whatever comes to mind so you won’t get bored.

And he let loose. One after another, his road stories came tumbling out, tales of lost towns and strange people, and they really hooked me. He talked until midnight, when both of us were dead tired. He parked at a gas station packed with trucks, where drivers spent the night, and turned off the engine.

—You sleep on the bed. I’ll make do here, in the seat.

—Are you sure?

—Of course, don’t worry about it.

I climbed in, closed the curtains, and he switched off all the lights. The fabric was so thin that, with the glow from the gas station, I saw him take off his T-shirt. His bare torso stood out against the light. He really does look like a fighter. I turned over and, without knowing what time it was, fell asleep.

***

The next day I woke up first. When I stepped out of the cab I found him asleep in the seat, curled up as best he could. I think I made some noise, because he woke up.

—Ah, hi. Sorry for waking you.

—It’s nothing. How did you sleep?

—Really well, honestly.

And he wasn’t lying. The bed was soft, the pillow comfortable; I don’t even remember when sleep got the better of me.

—And you? —I asked.

—I haven’t slept there in a long time. It’s uncomfortable —he said, starting to rub his neck with a grimace.

—Really? —I asked, worried.

—Don’t worry, I’m fine.

He went down to the store and brought me a burrito and a soda. We ate in our seats and got back on the road. From early on, the heat felt heavy, thick, the kind that clings to your skin. He was wearing a black T-shirt; I had on a small white one. He went back to his stories, this time so funny they had me laughing nonstop.

By mid-afternoon the heat was unbearable. I told him I was going to change again. I went to the back, put on the tank top from the day before, and, to cool off, decided to take off my bra and put on denim shorts. Bad idea. As the afternoon went on, the heat only got worse. We drank water nonstop and it wasn’t enough. Rubén turned on the air conditioning, but it barely blew.

I sweated so much that my forehead was dripping. The tank top clung to my body and, without me noticing, it became sheer enough to show that I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I found out when he asked permission to take off his shirt because of the heat. Of course I said yes; it was his truck, and I was the one who had to ask permission for everything.

Without taking his foot off the accelerator, he yanked the shirt over his head. His broad chest shone with sweat. He tossed the shirt onto the bed and kept driving. Every time I turned to speak to him, my eyes drifted on their own to his torso, his arms, the line of his abdomen. What is wrong with me? I felt my nipples harden under the wet fabric and crossed my arms, but that only made it worse: they stood out even more, two hard little points aimed at his face every time he turned to look at me. And he did look. Damn if he didn’t. He dropped his eyes fast, but I noticed, and between my legs I felt a hot tingle that had nothing to do with the weather.

After a while, I caught the smell. Rubén gave off a strong scent of sweat, and that had always bothered me; at school, after PE, the boys smelled like that and it disgusted me. Now I didn’t know where to put my discomfort. Worse: that thick, masculine smell was making my pussy wet. I closed my thighs and felt the denim of my shorts sticky, damp, and it wasn’t just sweat. At one stop, he went down for more water and I took the chance to look for perfume in my bag. That’s when I realized something even worse: I was the one who smelled like sweat. A lot. My deodorant had run out and what little was left didn’t cover anything.

I sprayed perfume into the air and a little onto my shirt, and then I confirmed the obvious: it was way too obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra. I was incredibly embarrassed. Did he notice? I adjusted the fabric as best I could just as he came back with a bottle for me.

The trip continued, and so did the smell, and I no longer knew whether it was his or mine. Rubén kept joking, making me laugh until night fell and he parked again at one of those truckers’ rest stops. He turned off the engine and went down to the station bathroom for a moment. I used the truck’s cubicle and, when I came out, I started clearing the bed.

That was when the idea came to me. The seat is terribly uncomfortable for him. The bed is big; we can both fit easily. It’s not fair that I take up all the space. When he came back and started turning off the lights, I gathered my courage.

—Hey, Rubén.

—Yeah? What’s up?

—I was thinking maybe you could sleep here with me too.

—No, no. That would be inappropriate. I’m fine here.

—Please, the seat is uncomfortable and tomorrow your neck is going to hurt. I don’t take up much space. It seems unfair to me that you should sleep there when there’s room.

He looked unsure and kept refusing, but I insisted.

—It still seems inappropriate to me. I’m going to sleep here, seriously, don’t worry.

—There’s plenty of room. If you stay in the seat, in the morning I’m going to feel bad about myself. Come on, okay?

He looked at me as if he had run out of arguments.

—Mm… well, all right.

I smiled at my little victory and settled the bed. I moved all the way to the back, against the wall, and left him the edge. But when he lay down I noticed he hadn’t put his shirt back on: he was going to sleep bare-chested. I’ll curl up so I don’t touch him.

While I was trying to fall asleep, I shifted a little. Without meaning to, I moved too much and my back bumped against his huge chest. I went rigid. I tried to scoot forward by pushing with my hips, and as I did, I felt my ass rub against him. I froze again. What the fuck am I doing? What is he going to think? I pushed myself forward with my arms again, and once more my hips brushed him. Only this time I felt something firmer, more defined, a hard, thick bulge pressing against his pants, and that didn’t make me nervous anymore, it made me panic. And something else too, something I didn’t want to admit: a pull between my legs, a heat rising up through my belly.

When I touched him for the second time, I stammered in a trembling voice.

—Sorry.

—Haha, it’s okay, Dani —he answered in a tone I couldn’t tell was teasing or complicit.

I heard that low laugh and my mind took off. What’s he laughing at? Is he offended? Or did he like it? I turned it over a thousand times until, at last, I managed to settle myself and sleep took me.

The problem is, I’m a light sleeper; any noise wakes me up. I was dreaming about something I don’t remember when a sensation cut through it all at once. In the middle of the night, Rubén must have believed I was already deeply asleep, because I felt, with absolutely no pretense, his huge hand resting on my waist. Not only that: I noticed he was closer, his body almost pressed against mine. His hand slowly moved up and down my side.

I opened my eyes in the dark, but I didn’t move a single muscle. I didn’t understand what was happening and my heart was pounding against my chest. His hand kept sliding upward until the tips of his fingers brushed the side of my right breast. It stopped there for a second, feeling around, as if testing whether I would react. When he saw I didn’t, he went on. His fingers slipped under the strap and covered my whole tit. I held my breath. I felt the rough palm, warm, squeezing me slowly, weighing me down, playing with the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He pinched it softly and then harder, until it got so hard it hurt. I clenched my eyes shut, my jaw, everything, so I wouldn’t moan. Between my legs I was already soaked, and my pussy throbbed in time with his fingers on my nipple.

Then he went down from my waist, lower and lower. He moved over my stomach, slipped under my shirt, kept going over my shorts and closed his hand around my ass cheek. He squeezed firmly, unhurriedly, sinking his fingers into the flesh, and then his palm slid inward, between my thighs, and I felt it graze the seam of my shorts right where I was wet. He stayed there for a few seconds, squeezing, measuring my wetness through the fabric. Then he pulled his arm back and tucked it under his pillow as if nothing had happened. Behind me I heard his heavy breathing, and also the tiny rustle of his hand moving under the sheet, at the front of his pants. He was touching himself. He was touching himself thinking about what he had just groped me for.

What just happened? What audacity! I didn’t know how to react. Confront him? Complain? Pretend I was scared? In the end I chose the easiest thing, the same thing I’d been doing since I got on that truck: let things pass. I held my breath, clamped my thighs together, and felt my own juice sliding down the inside of my thigh. Very carefully, without moving the rest of my body, I slipped a hand under my shorts, pulled my panties aside, and touched myself. I was soaked, my clit swollen, throbbing. It only took three strokes with my fingertip for my legs to jerk in a tight, silent orgasm, biting my lip so I wouldn’t make a single sound. Behind me, Rubén’s hand kept moving under the sheet, faster now, until I heard him exhale deeply and felt the mattress tremble when he came.

And as I pretended to sleep, with my fingers still sticky between my thighs and his semen spread a few inches from my back, part of me knew there were still six days left. Six days trapped in that cab, with that man, with that smell, with that hard cock that now knew exactly what it felt like pressed against my ass. And I knew too, even if I didn’t dare say it outright, that I was going to let whatever he wanted happen.