This past summer I drove to see friends in Brittany, near Douarnenez. I was nervous about doing a long drive alone, and at a highway rest area I asked a trucker for a cigarette. That night I slept with him. Up until then I had never cheated on my partner or been with anyone else while in a relationship. It’s not that the idea had never crossed my mind, but situations never presented themselves. I’ve been with G. for more than ten years — he’s an account executive who travels frequently for work. This year he was away for six months, the longest stretch yet, so I knew I’d spend the entire summer without him and wouldn’t visit until the fall.

Not wanting to be alone, I decided to join two couples of friends who were spending their vacation in Brittany. The trip from the Paris area made me anxious. Still, I wanted my car there so I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone, which meant taking the highway for what turned into a seven-hour drive. I told myself I’d stop as often as needed, but in reality I drove five hours straight until I was exhausted and starving. I picked up a sandwich at a service station, pulled away from the crowds to where motorhomes and lorries park, and stretched out on a stone bench to rest. I couldn’t relax though — my nerves were shot. That’s when I noticed a man in a black tank top smoking by his truck. I thought he was attractive and, even though I don’t smoke anymore, I asked him for a cigarette.

“I only wanted that moment to be mine”

We started talking almost immediately. He asked if I was French and told me he was Serbian. He wanted to know where I was headed; he was going to Pontivy. He asked about my situation — did I have children, was I married? In the moment I answered “no” to both. I just didn’t feel like opening up about myself. But as soon as I heard the lie come out of my mouth, something shifted inside me. What if I slept with him, just for the thrill and without telling anyone? I told him I needed to rest and gave his truck a small, knowing smile. “No problem,” he replied, returning the smile. Before I knew it, sitting in his cramped cab with that strong masculine scent in the air, I was kissing him.

I loved every second. We didn’t talk; all I heard was our uneven breathing and nothing else around us mattered. I completely checked out of reality and surrendered to this stranger without a trace of doubt or guilt. I wanted that moment to belong to me — a magic pause where only my pleasure counted. I don’t even remember his name, but I know it was one of the best experiences I’ve ever had. He bit me, licked me, and handled me like a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

I climaxed so intensely I felt like I could die. When we were done I simply said “thank you” and left in a sort of daze. That’s when I noticed the sign: the rest area was called Brocéliande. It felt like a sign that what I’d just lived through was otherworldly — and undeniably enchanting.