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Introduction:

Ch.11 Journey of a TG Nympho
Honey-Lee–the journeys of a TG Nympho
Chapter 11 – Honey stranded at a truck stop
We were in Lake City, Florida taking in an antique car show and sale. Paul had his heart set on picking up a 1958 Cadillac convertible to be offered the following day. Then he got the text! “Emergency on oil drilling platform in the Sea of Japan! Down hole pressures fluctuating wildly! Your presence required Now! Your flight departing Gainsville Regional Airport, GNV 2100 hours for connections in Chicago. Be on it.”
Paul is a highly respected consultant and the peremptory tone of the text concerned him. He called a trusted old friend at the head office of the international firm operating the mid-ocean rig. “Get there, Paul” he was advised. You can bill them whatsoever number you can think of. They all have their asses in the air because none of their engineers understand what’s going on and you’re the guy who wrote about this potential problem in a paper you presented several years ago about feathered fragmentation in deep sea formations.
“I’ve gotta go, baby” Paul decides. “It’s not just big bucks. It’s international reputation. In minutes I’m behind the wheel of our trusty Toyota van and we’re burning up the pavement of I-75 southbound for Gainesville about 50 miles away. We arrived GNV at 1940 hours and since the first hop is domestic, we’re pretty sure he’ll get on. Paul grabs the small bag he had packed for Lakeland, inappropriate likely for the Sea of Japan but it will have to do with his always-carried Canadian passport – and he’s gone.
I pull out of GNV and toward I-75 but I badly need to pee-pee so pull over at the first rest stop where suddenly, disaster strikes. Florida maintains a network of clean, safe and pleasant stops built and maintained by the state to enhance the “Florida Experience” for millions of Americans and foreigners who flock to Florida annually to enjoy its unmatched attractions, both natural and man-made. I’ve never encountered a problem in any of them. This time however, two 200 pound bull-dikes belly me back into the cubicle as I emerge. One shoves a blade to my throat while the other snatches my bag from my shoulder and cuffs my wrists together high behind my back and secured to an upper rail on the cubicle. They depart with my bag, cell phone, keys, money, credit cards and . . . well, everything that says I’m me.
There’s an emergency phone in the central area and after I struggle free, I use it to summon help that soon materializes as two state police cars arrive from opposite directions, blue lights flashing. Did I get their license number? No. Can I describe their vehicle? No. But I do describe two husky bull dikes with very short cut black hair, distinctive tattoos and one with distinctive leather boots. It will have to do, they agree. They take my cell number but of course, the bitches have my phone.
My one ace in the hole is that the Toyota has a keyless entry system, a concealed ignition key, and hopefully, a few dollars in change scattered amongst its many and capacious compartments. I gain entry and sink gratefully into the Toyota’s familiar seats. “I’m OK”, I tell myself. “I’ll be fine. It’s only two and a half hours home and I can call all the credit card companies and the mobile phone provider to report the thefts. I’m going to be all right.” But my hands are trembling and I’m not reassured by a group of a half-dozen dike bikers watching me intently as I pull away, even though I don’t see my attackers amongst them.
I pull back onto I-75 and head for home but I’ve gone fewer than ten miles when the trusty Toyota begins to hiccup and balk. I know instantly what has happened. They’ve sabotaged my van, for what reason I can only guess with trepidation. An exit flashes ahead and I spot a major truckstop sign so I wheel into the off ramp, and eight big bikes follow just a few cars back. The Toyota is foundering like a mule with a bellyful of moldy oats so I head her into a forest of parked, rumbling highway behemoths. There are still a few “eighteen wheelers” but most now are “22 wheelers” and up. I see mostly 53 foot trailers, lots of “B-trains” and a scattering of highboys hauling heavy equipment. I hunker between an idling Kenworth and a Mack both pulling 53s.. The Toyota coughs to a stop and I don’t try to restart her, knowing her tank is probably laced with sugar and her faithful heart may have stopped forever. But it will be only a matter of time before the bikes I hear prowling the lot discover me.
I’m not exactly dressed for safely navigating a southern truck stop either. I’m dressed as Paul likes me to dress for his private pleasure on the road: black, lace-top, thigh-length hose, black micro panties, black mini-skirt extending about an inch south of the tops of the stockings, black bra, black silk v-neck top, and a black velvet ribbon around my neck. There’s a gold chain around my left ankle and I’m wearing pale makeup with thick black mascara on my eye-lashes, thick grey shadow around my eyes and brilliant, wet-look scarlet lipstick. My long blond hair is blown “big” and the only shoes I have other than a pair of tennis shoes are the ones I’m wearing, 4” black patent spikes. I debate the tennis shoes for a moment and elect to keep the spikes. My old English grandmother (who was actually Norwegian) had a saying: “in for a penny, in for a pound”. I think it means something like “if you’re gonna go for it, then GO for it”.
I stepped out of the van with the idea of getting to the central building, finding a pay phone (do they still exist?) calling a tow truck or a taxi and somehow getting home. With my wallet gone however and no AAA card, my hopes of getting a tow truck to take the trusty Toyota, even to Sarasota or my dealer in Venice seemed slim indeed. I might have enough cash for a taxi but at this time of night, no sane driver is going to pick up a woman like me at a truck stop and drive her 240 miles to an address deep in a darkened residential neighborhood. No way. I’m strutting along in my spikes between the trucks when I hear the rumble of bikes at the end of the row, about the same time a Georgia drawl from a window above my head says: “Y’all look a bit lost there, little lady”. I glance at the single headlight turning in at the end of the row, look up at the bearded face above and say: “Oh yes sir. I’m lost and I’m afraid those nasty bikers are comin’ after me.”
The truck door swings open, a booted foot is planted on the step and a strong arm swings me up into the cab. I’m enveloped in man-scent. Not nasty, just the distinctively rich thick scent of Man. He juggles me around the huge steering wheel and various other pieces of equipment before depositing me on a seat to his right. He turns on a low, purplish under-dash light and examines what he has hauled in from the night. “Y’all kin call me Thad” he introduces himself. “From Sugar Hill, Georgia.” And I’m Honey-Lee from Punta Gorda, Florida I counter.
“Right proud to meetcha’ll. Honey-Lee from Punta Gorda. But what in tarnation y’all doin’ wandrin’ amongst the wheelers in the middle of the night?”
I spill my tale of a boyfriend snatched away by shadowy oil barons, criminal dikes at a rest haven, my sabotaged beloved Toyota, my stolen ID and credit cards and my fear of the dikes now patrolling the parking lot for me, for reasons I can only guess and fear. I don’t forget to spill a few tears and numerous deep sighs and soon Thad’s big hands are stroking my hair and I am sitting on his lap as he comforts me. “There’s a good ol’ boy just south of Sarasota” he muses “can pro’lly save that little van of yours.” “Pro’lly set you back $500 ‘stead of $5,000.00 fer a new engine – ‘specially ifn y’all kin show him a little kindness. He’s bin mighty lonely since his Lizza went off with the SnapOn Tools salesman. “
“There’s one small l’il ol’ problem with that” I disclose. “I’m a TG woman and that just might not set too well with a good ol’ southern boy.”
“Is thet an acc’ual fact?” Thad is suddenly animated. “Looks like them bikers gonna be buzzin’ around for quite some time. Mebbe we just as well bunk down back in the sleeper?” I thought he’d never ask. His manly smell has been driving me crazy since he lifted me into the cab. So I lay my head against his shoulder and whisper that I really am getting sleepy from all my experiences today.
The “sleeper” in a deluxe long-haul highway tractor is amazingly spacious. But Thad only needed enough room to kneel as he removed my panties and enough space to spread my legs wide as he lifted my skirt to access my TG-clit. After he had sucked enough to elicit a few squirts he was already in nirvana but I persuaded him to shuck his clothes (ohhhh! More of that man scent! Can I bottle it?) He was reasonably well equipped, his cock and balls hairy (not my first preference) but certainly responsive to the touch of my fingers. When I kissed the tip of his cock, his pre-cum was already bubbling out in sweet droplets that I lapped up greedily before circling the head of his cock with my tongue. Despite his apparent age of about 50, Thad was relatively inexperienced and seemed to enjoy each of my little forays almost excessively and when I finally laid back with ankles hooked up over his backside and let him take me, he lasted only a few minutes and a few dozen strokes before exploding about a half quart of semen into my pussy. (a little poetic license here but he did deliver a good deposit). I stroked and comforted him and assured him that his performance was the best I’d known and he fell asleep in my arms so I was able to sleep through “til about 400 hours when diesels began to rev up on all sides and Thad had to be on the road.
He wanted me to stay with him but he was northbound for Chicago so he got on his radio, said “breaker, breaker” a few times then carried on a cryptic conversation, at the end of which he told me “Top Wheel” in the red Mack two rows over will look after you and he swung me down to the ground. He handed down a scrap of paper. “This here’s the good ol’ boy down by Sarasota who kin fix your van. I’ll let him know y’all gonna call. And this here’s a little somethin’ to help you on yer way. It was a hundred. I stumbled two rows over in my high heels but as I no longer heard prowling motorcycles, was inclined to again try to make a break for the central building. “Top Wheel” however spotted me and with one powerful arm around my waist, swung me up into his cab. “You’re in luck, little lady” he exclaims. “I have four hours of an eight hour lay-by here to let the numbers catch up and then I’m legal on the road and can drop you at the Pilot at exit 161. From there it’s a $7.00 cab ride into town. But since we have 4 hours to kill we may as well have some fun, huh.” He tosses me back into his “sleeper” which is decorated with girly and tranny pics on every wall and the ceiling. I know what I’m in for so, in an effort to preserve my clothes until I can access fresh ones, I strip and fold my clothes neatly on a little shelf. “Top” crawls back into the sleeper and sees me huddled behind a blanket. He grins and pulls off his shorts and top, displaying a hairy chest, developing pot and a disappointing 4 inch cock.
Like some small-cock men, he has a mean streak. He yanks the blanket away from me, then grabs and squeezes my tits ‘til they hurt. He grabs my hair and shoves my face roughly into his crotch. “Suck that, bitch” he growls. Wanting to vomit but knowing I’m trapped, I give him some decent head and he quickly starts to cum, so I finish him off with my hands. He turns away to pull on his shorts and tee. “Get dressed bitch” and crawls out of the sleeper. I dress quickly and crawl onto the passenger seat, but he throws two 20s on my lap, pops the door and says “Out”.
“But what about Punta Gorda,” I protest.
“Hell, I ain’t even goin’ that way, but it got me a blow job anyway.”
I climb down from the truck and turn away in disgust. This time I make it to the central building. It’s a big busy noisy place and it has a store stocked with everything a traveler might need. I buy a comb, toothbrush, paste, small bottles of mouthwash, skin moisturizer/ lubricant and sunscreen, deodorant, lipstick, eye liner and shadow, mascara and several packages of individually wrapped “feminine wipes”. On a last minute impulse I toss a six-pack of condoms in the basket and then a can of Raid wasp spray. The makeup is a brand I wouldn’t normally consider but it’s better than nothing and I take my purchases to the women’s washroom to check and repair the damages.
Looking at myself critically in the mirror the damage is mostly “cosmetic” and has more to do with the way I feel than the way I look. In one of the stalls, I clean myself as best I can with the delicately scented wipes and apply the deodorant generously. Back at the mirror, while I’m putting finishing touches on my makeup, a waitress from the restaurant is washing her hands. I smile at her in the mirror and she smiles back. “You’re new here. I haven’t seen you before.”
“Yes. Just tonight. My car broke down.”
She smiles knowingly. “It’s a good place to work from and most of the regulars haven’t come down yet because Season doesn’t really start for another month. A lot of the long-haulers are pretty needy by the time they get here and can be pretty generous if you give them what they want. Just don’t be too obvious in the restaurant or store or the managers will run you off. But with your looks you won’t have to do any soliciting. Just walk on by and the boys will follow you outside.” She dries her hands and says “Have a good night, sweetie” and walks out.
I gather my treasures back into the bag and go searching for a payphone that I eventually find outside an entryway on the tourist side. I phone AAA and they are sympathetic but, while they do have reciprocal arrangements with out-of-state automobile clubs, (mine is in Alberta) they have to see a card to provide service as they have no way to way to access other club’s data bases. Sorry.
I call two taxi services and get the same story. The trip would be about $1000.00, $2.00 a mile round trip plus $50.00 “nighttime charge”. Money to be paid “up front”. If I want, they’ll put a call out to see if there are any drivers willing to make the trip tonight.
In desperation I call the Holmstead’s and get Donna. Mike and Gloria are at a convention in New York. Would I like the number of their hotel. I take the number but don’t call because I can’t see what they could do at that distance. I phone the only other people I know personally in Florida – next door neighbors. Their home phone is forwarded to their cell and I catch them in Texas where they’re visiting family. I guess I’m on my own. Time to see if I can earn that $1000.00 cab fare at a truck stop. I walk into the restaurant watching out of the corners of my eyes for reactions or signs of interest. I see lots and walk outside through the other door, pausing as though for a breath of fresh air. I’m there for maybe 30 seconds before a male voice says quietly “Hey baby. You lookin’ to party?”
I check him out quickly. He’s at least ten years younger than I am but shaved and clean-looking. “Depends on the kind of party,” I smile.
“Blow job?” he says, inquiringly.
“A hundred dollars” I reply matter-of-factly. “In advance for a full half hour”.
“Wow. You always charge that much, even before Season? (“Season” in Florida is the height of the tourist season from Christmas to the end of April)
“I get one fifty and tips in Season” I lie confidently. “I’m that good. And my repeat customers tell me so.”
“And if I want the full meal deal?”
“If you would like to fuck a transgender woman, it’ll cost you $250.00.”
He starts perceptibly. “You have a dick?” he exclaims, astounded. “Could I suck it?”
“On a TG woman it’s called a clit, but there are similarities. And yes you may suck it, included in the $250.00 package.”
“And will you stick it in my ass” he asks obviously getting more excited by the minute. So I tell him that would be a special $100.00 service over and above the $250.00 package.
He’s already reaching for his wallet when I caution him “Not Here! In your truck. I’ll follow you. “ I follow him around the building to his shiny new Peterbilt and let him boost me up, not minding him feeling and squeezing my butt as he does so and I let him enjoy a flash of skin and panties before twisting around to sit on the seat. He’s breathing heavy by the time follows me in.
“In the sleeper” he says eagerly but I tell him cash first. He lays four hundreds on my lap “including tip he says” and reaches for me. I tuck the hundreds away in my all-purpose grocery bag and put my arms around his neck and let him kiss me on the mouth. He’s a wet, sloppy kisser but responds eagerly when I stick my tongue in his mouth and feather his ears with my fingertips. I run my fingernails along the skin of his neck and he moans. I unbutton his shirt and run nails along the skin of his chest and he moans some more. I touch the bulge of his cock and become concerned that he might come right then and maybe demand some money back so I pull away and tell him now is the time to climb in the camper.
I lie back in his soft bed, lift my hips and pull off my skirt and top and fold them neatly onto the little table. I’m laying curled like a sex kitten in my black stockings, panties and bra by the time he’s untangled his pants from his boots, pulled pants back up, removed boots and socks, pulled pants off and wriggled out of his open shirt. He knelt in front of me and began running his hands over my body; I reached over and cupped his balls in my hand, squeezing gently before guiding him to my mouth. I could see the droplet of precum on the tip and playfully flicked it into my mouth with the tip of my tongue. It was quickly replaced with another sparkling drop and another and another. He’s obviously a non-smoker and his pre-cum is sweet. I lick the length of his shaft, starting with his balls. I do it again and again, each time swirling my tongue around his bulging knob. He throws his head back and enjoys, one hand on my head, the other fondling my right boob. When I pop that knob into my wet mouth and start “munching” on it between the roof of my mouth and my tongue, he exhales a deep, rapturous breath and starts to pump my mouth. I let him out. “Easy baby. You can cum in my mouth if you want but there’s lots more to come and it’s all paid for.”
He opens his eyes, recognizing the truth of my advice. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down then moves between my legs, which I spread open for him. He makes a sharp intake of breath when he seems to notice my clit for the first time. He approaches my clit with his mouth slowly, almost apprehensively, kind of reverently. It has got to be his first time sucking clit or cock. He takes me in his mouth, sucks hungrily, withdraws and has another look at it before sucking it back in again, repeating the performance several times. At last I ask him if he would like me to come in his mouth. He stops what he is doing and looks at me in astonishment. “Would you? Could you? Oh yes! For sure!” So I let him suck some more, then I roll my hips a little and let loose a few squirts of clit juice for his pleasure. He sucks harder, masturbating his cock with one hand while holding my clit in place with the other. When he’s sure there is no more to be had he lets loose of my clit and licks downward toward my tg pussy. Once he’s moistened me and starts to use fingers, I figure its time to put those condoms to use. I pop one in my mouth, pull him up so he is straddling my torso and finger his ass while rolling the condom onto him with my lips. He doesn’t object and may not have even felt it going on and I push him back down so I can extricate my legs.
I ask him if he wants to come in front or back and he chooses front so I pull his pillow under my rump and raise my ankles to his shoulders. He grabs them and enters me in one shove that momentarily takes my breath away with pain. Next time I’ll insert a lot more moisturizer while I’m in the ladies room. Once he’s in, the lotion does its job and he slides smoothly in and out like a slow running cylinder-pump on the farm back home. He doesn’t have any finesse at all but he makes up for that with enthusiasm. He gets a thing going with my legs, thrusting my ankles out to his arms length, bringing them back together, crossing them over to trap his hard-pumping cock, then alternately pushing and pulling each of my legs back nearly to my head then down nearly to the bed. God, what a workout. But when he gets to finally pumping in earnest, he wraps both arms around both of my knees and pins my legs together flat against his chest. With my legs trapped in that position, he doesn’t get a lot of depth but the friction is enormous and my cunt is starting to burn. Fortunately, the friction has its effect on him too and he shortens his stroke even more and revs it up hitting nearly two strokes per second before crying “I’m cumming! OMG, I’m cumming.” He needn’t have told me because I could feel his cock pumping out it’s own unique story as it drew the hot sperm out of his balls and injected into the condom. “Uuuuuuh, Uuuuuuuh, Uuuuuuh,” he uttered. Oh baby, baby.”
I let him finish and snagged the condom on his way out, quickly disposing of it in a tissue as he collapsed on the bed beside me. I caressed his damp skin, put a little spit on my fingers and started working his ass. “Do you still want me to fuck your ass?” I ask.
“Oh baby, that’s enough. You’re the greatest. – But wait! My buddy that was sitting with me; that’s his truck right behind my rig; he wants you too. He just lost the coin toss. Let me phone him. He grabs his cell but I tell him, I have to go to the ladies room first. I’ll walk past here in 20 minutes and if he wants me, he should have a cab light on. He agrees and starts phoning.
I clamber down and get to the ladies room, clean myself up in a cubicle and go to the counter to wash my hands. Well $500.00 down and $500.00 to go, I tell my image in the mirror. Just for safety sake, I go and find my poor disabled Toyota, conceal the cash and makeup under a back seat and grab a fabric grocery bag to use as a purse before checking on my friend in the parking lot. The cab light is on and an arm reaches down to help me up into the passenger seat. He has a square face, curly red hair and beard. “Damn if you’re not a gorgeous woman,” he exclaims. “How did a pretty woman like you come to take up hooking?”
“It so much harder if you’re ugly,” I quip. “But what would you like me to do for you tonight?”
“Buddy told me all about you,” he says. “Did you really fuck him in the ass?”
“A lady never tells,” I evade.
“Well, I want everything he got,” Red resolves.
“I’m not sure I’m quite up for the ass-fucking thing again so soon, but I’ll give you something extra your friend didn’t get and that you won’t forget for awhile.”
“What could that be?” Red leans forward in anticipation.
“A full-meal deal plus a three finger ass fuck with a prostate massage.”
“OMG” he gasps. “I’m in. What’s this all going to cost me?”
“Your friend gave me four hundred” I reply honestly. And he had four crisp ones in my hand before I could see where he got them from.
I lean forward and unbutton his shirt helping him shrug it off his shoulders. I unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly and fondle his handle through his boxers. I reach for his boot laces but can’t reach in the confines of the cab. He pulls the laces and kicks them off himself and together we manage to drop pants, boxers and socks on the floor of the cab. I comb my fingers through his thick, curly red chest hair. “I don’t usually like hairy men,” I murmur, “but I can really go for you”.
His big red-haired hands try to encompass my breasts and he says “And I’m going for you in a big way right now.” After that, we don’t talk much. He lifts me back into the sleeper and follows, big cock swinging under his belly like a church bell on Sunday morning. I get my clothes off – all of them – and folded on his shelf post-haste all while he is running his hands over my ass, my tummy, my boobs, my legs and finally, my clit. “Buddy said it was a lot like a penis, but smaller,” he remarks and pops it into his mouth, popping it back out for a second to report “tastes good too”. Red wants it all; he sucks my clit, my boobs, my mouth and even my fingers. His heavy cock swings back and forth on my tummy leaving a trail of pre-cum as he looms over me sampling the product he has paid for. I let him prowl and sample for awhile but then skid over and make him lie belly down.
I straddle him facing forward just north of his buttocks letting him feel my skin on his skin and firmly, using my strong fingers to full advantage, massaging his neck and shoulder muscles, digging deep, finding knots he didn’t know he had. “Feel’s good, baby,” he groans. I work my way down his spine, rubbing the knots on either side of each bump, then turn myself around to face his feet. I start on his buttocks and deliberately dig deep, feeling for taut muscles concealed by the fat of his butt. Only then do I anoint him with lotion and start circling his anus with the oily fingers of my left hand. I slip in one finger, then two, gently spreading his virgin butt to admit a third, but to go deeper and actually reach his prostate, I have to change position. I dismount his body and move down between his legs so my oiled fingers can search for his internal hot spots. From this new position and with the application of more oil, my remaining baby finger slips easily inside. My fingers are strong from constant daily exercise, but they are slim and tapered as are my hands. I consider, then with my thumb tucked deeply into my palm and my entire soft and lubricated hand funneled, I nudge firmly and feel my whole hand slip through his anus until it is gripping only my slim left wrist. He jerks and sort of “scream/moans”. “Oh baby, you’re killing me. But don’t stop.”
What now? I think briefly, then start blindly exploring this new dark, wet cavern. Brief snippets of remembered anatomy flash across my mind and my exploring fingers soon identify his prostate and massage it with interest, if not precision. He groans with pleasure and I smile in the delight of my new discovery. But I still have commitments to fulfill for this client and need to find others to contribute to the fare I must pay to regain my life. I slowly withdraw my wrist and hand from his rectum wiping my hand clean with tender caresses to his hide. I roll him over and let his cock spring back to its vertical position. I straddle him and let is cock ride up inside my butt crack while I pinch his nipples. “Like this?” I ask him, “or do you want to come on top?” Wordlessly, he positions me with my pussy poised on the tip of his space-bound penis. His boat-shaped cock (narrow in front, very deep and broad in the middle and smaller at the base) is my ideal. It penetrates painlessly, stretches a woman out pleasurably, then settles in comfortably. When he sets me down on it and I feel the expanding presence of its massive midsection, I start to cum, then think “I’m a prostitute; I’m not supposed to cum.” But then, “I’m not a prostitute; I’m just a girl doing what she has to do to get home.” Freeing myself from guilt, I pleasure myself by rocking like a boat at anchor, waves and wakes washing by, his cock planted somewhere amongst my lungs causing my breathing to catch in my throat. When my pussy begins to contract with involuntary spasms, it turns Red into a rocking, bucking, fighting machine that unsettles the foundations of my world.
Anyone who has experienced a significant earth tremor will understand. I was mounted on Red, riding as easily as on one of our purebred rescue horses on the ranch back home, albeit with his rigid cock nestled alongside my backbone somewhere around the 5th vertebrae. Suddenly, the earth starts shifting and sliding. The North Pole thrusts up my cunt and out the top of my head. The effect is similarly cosmic upon Red. He shouts and grabs my waist to hold me on board while his hips gyrate in tune with the earthly forces. When he erupts it comes from outside the aluminum container we are in; it comes from somewhere deep within the bowels of the earth and keeps coming for awhile until finally we both start to come to our senses. “Damn! I forgot the bloody condom,” I think. “Hot damn” Red exults. “You’re the hottest cunt on I-75”. I’ll be seein’ you next time I’m down this way.”
Released, I wipe myself off on whatever I can find, get my clothes back on and myself out of there before he changes his mind. By now I’m getting good at climbing in and out of trucks with my heels on and I get to the ladies room intact. I clean myself up, inject a good dose of moisturizer in my puss and I’m good to go, dropping off my haul in the Toyota before trolling through the store and restaurant, hips grinding, and outside to pause for a breath of air.
Again I have a bite on my first cast, a guy about 40 with a slightly military bearing, short brush cut, prematurely grey. “Nice legs, he cracks.” “Do they always travel together?”
“It takes a lot to pry them apart,” I crack back.
“How much is a lot?”
“As long as you’re interested in getting into transgender pussy territory, tonight’s your opportunity for only $300.00,” I tell him.
“Haven’t had some of that for a while” he allows. “You clean?”
“As the driven snow” I purr. “Tested every month and use safe sex always, -- or almost always,” I amend.
“Just a straight fuck for $300” he probes. “Seems a little steep for out-of-season.”
“The best TG-fuck you’ll find in the South” I promise, “not to mention the best preliminary blow job you’ll find anywhere” and some clit sucking if you want it. The package goes to $400 in season.”
“You’re certainly the most exciting fuck I’ve seen all the way down I-75 so far” he allows. “But it’s getting late. Let’s do it for $200.00.”
“Sorry, soldier” I smile. “You’re right its getting late but I’m still short of my cab fare home so it’s $300.00 for the best piece of tail in your life, or a missed opportunity. By the way, I just noticed there are four guys standing at the window waiting so see if you can make a connection or not. Should we make it $400.00? I stretch a bit, kind of turning away from him and showing a little more boob and a lot more leg under my mini. He groans, knowing he’s outplayed, and offers $350.00. “May as well make it $400.00 including tip,” I say “and I’ll give you a trip around the world. A blow job that’ll make your head spin; you can cum in my mouth if you want to and I’ll swallow every drop AND I’ll stop you early if you want and you can suck my Transgender clit AND I’ll fuck you and milk you with my TG-pussy ‘til you let loose of cum you’ve had saved up from last year.”
The dirty talk hooks him. “ Alright., four hundred” he agrees. “But you must know that I carry a heavy load and sometimes two.”
“Bring it on Soldier” I say hopefully. “I’ll follow you to your truck.” The scene plays out predictably by now. He pays. We fuck. He cums and hollers. I climb down and go clean up in the ladies washroom before trolling thru the roiling pool of eager customers in the restaurant. Now however, I have a stash of $1300.00 plus a little “parking money” scrounged from the Toyota. It’s a little more than I’ve been quoted for a taxi home to Punta Gorda. I call the taxi companies again to check on the availability of drivers. Well . . . it seems that a trip of that distance doesn’t really fit within their normal guidelines. For a trip over 200 miles, I would need to employ their limousine service. That would be a flat $4.00 per mile Gainsville to Punta Gorda return, $1856.00. I hang up. I have a little over $1300.00, my pussy is burning and it is 0400 hours.
I troll through the store and restaurant a couple of times and reject several requests from night workers on their way home for blowjobs, handjobs or miscellaneous services including golden showers, paddling, whips or apparently, stomping my sharp heels over quivering male flesh. None, however, seemed to attract the tariff I need within the next few hours. Finally I see a lowboy pulling into the lot, hauling some kind of monster earth mover. There’s an 8 ft by 8 ft sleeper module mounted on the tractor chassis. I watch them climbing down. “A bit scruffy,” I think, but I’m getting desperate. “ It’ll all be over in an hour” I comfort myself. I position myself near the door, leaning against the wall, back arched, hair slightly mussed. I moisten my lips as they approach.
“Hey Bob. Whatta we got here?”
“I dunno Bing” sez Bob taking up a position against the wall right beside me and looking down at my boobs. “Looks like a mighty fine piece of tail to me. Whatta ya think Bing ?”
Bing, having taken up some wall space crowding my other side sez “Looks like tail to me too Bob. Think we should take it for a wag?” And they both laugh uproariously.
“Let’s go sweetheart” and they each take an elbow.
“Not so fast, big boys” I twist free. “First you need to know I’m a special, transgender woman and I don’t come cheap.”
“You’ve got a cock under that skirt?” Bing says incredulously. “Let’s see!”
“No advance viewing but it comes with the package: blow, fuck and suck plus I’ll throw in a prostate massage if you want. $400.00 including tip from each of you, separately or together, take it or leave it.”
“Too much, bitch” sez Bing, “we’ll leave it.”
“No, no says Bob. We’ll take it.” And he emphasizes “take” just a little too much. A look passes between them and I get the whole devious picture but by this time they have both of my elbows firmly fastened in big paws and are hustling me across the lot to the far side of their rig. There’s no way though that they’re going to get me up the little ladder and into the side door of that sleeper without $800.00 in my hot little hands – not while I’m conscious anyway. Finally Bob shrugs and peels off eight big ones. “Ain’t no other bitches with cocks around tonight” he sez. “Guess you get lucky.” I tuck my money deep into the bottom of my bag and let them boost me up. Bob gets his hand right up my skirt and onto my panties to do the job.
They follow me into the big two-bed sleeper and and are all over me before I can begin to get my clothes off. Bob grabs me from behind holding me with one hand clamped over each of my boobs. Bing tears off my panties and then my skirt. “By God, she does have a cock under here.” They rip my top over my head and then yank my bra off that way as well, shoving me down onto one of the beds. Bing holds me down with one hand while he unzips with the other and pulls out his cock like he’s going to pee. He thrusts it into my mouth and says “Blow baby blow.”
Bob doesn’t waste much time either but at least he removes his boots, pants and boxers. He pulls my legs apart and kneels on the foot of the bed beween them, hard cock in hand. He gives my little clit a few yanks with thumb and forefinger before attempting to access my tg-pussy. The angle of course is wrong and he’s instantly frustrated and cursing. I manage to get Bing’s cock out of my mouth long enough to say “You’ve got to put a couple pillows under my butt if you want in from in front.” He grabs one pillow from under my head and another from the other bed and stuffs them under me before clambering back between my legs. When he hammers into me without any preparation I almost faint from the pain. Yes my tg-pussy is practiced and accommodating, but it does need a little preparation before full penetration. I was grateful at least that I had inserted almost all the lotion remaining in the bottle into my pussy while in the ladies room so once he started pumping, the pain eased considerably.
I can see why they don’t want to pay $400.00 each because they seem to have no idea that sex can and should be a whole lot more than pushing a cock in and out of a cunt for a few minutes. They’re being so rough with me that, try as I might, I can’t add anything in the way of refinement or subtlety to the performance so I just buck a little now and again to show I’m alive and give Bing a little tongue whenever I get a chance. Bob quickly gets down to the short strokes and fires off a respectable load, commenting “Fuck! . . . Fuck! . . . Fuckkk!” as he hammers in the last few strokes, then he’s outta there and at my head. “Your go, Bing”. Bing is out of my mouth and into my cunt in about three steps, still fully dressed in boots, pants and sweat shirt . Bob shoves his waning cock in my mouth. “Suck it clean, bitch”. I comply and he flops naked on the other bed.
Bing deposits his load even faster than Bob and with less commentary. He just pulls it out and stuffs it back in his pants not bothering to even wipe. I roll off the bed and get my hand into my bag on the floor, half under the bed. “You get all you need, Bob?” Bing asks, tucking his cock back into his pants.
“Yeah, Bing,” Bob responds, still supine on the far bed. “But that little half-cunt done stole my perfectly good hard on. Guess you’ll have to give her the boot” and they both roar with laughter. Bing gets a three second spray of Raid wasp killer straight down the throat, gags and collapses. Bob is only slightly luckier. The Raid product, designed to let a user operate it well away from potentially angry wasps, throws a concentrated stream up to 20 feet. As he sits up, Bob gets it in the eyes and as he opens his mouth in a shout of protest, a good shot in there as well. I get the side door of the sleeper open and leap to the ground, naked in the big parking lot except for my black, thigh-high stockings but I run like crazy away from the truck and away from the building, clutching my shopping bag purse in one hand and my can of Raid in the other. Taking chances, I crawl under one truck after another feeling my stockings shred on the pavement but counting rows until I get to the one where my Toyota is parked. I run, boobs bouncing, cum running down my legs and get to the van, activate the keyless entry and the power side door and tumble inside. I have presence of mind only to hit the power locks and then lay trembling on the floor in the back until I see the first early rays of sunlight starting to show through its tinted windows.
Having finally stopped shaking, I remove my shredded stockings, clean myself up as best I can using “Wet-Ones” we keep permanently in the van. Sitting naked on the floor, I open the bags in which I’ve stored my cash and carefully count it out, sighing with relief at the total: $2,100..00. I retrieve the valise I had packed for Lake City, was it only 48 hours ago – find enough to cover myself – and head back toward the now familiar ladies room of the truck stop, carrying my shopping bag “purse” and my valise. The lowboy with its big machine is gone. Once more I clean myself up with the last of the “feminine wipes”. I wash off all of my makeup and replace it with just moisturizer lotion and a light trace of lipstick. I put on a white bra, modest white, tailored shirt, tiny dolphin ear rings, and sharply creased, white mid-thigh shorts. Short white ankle socks and white tennis shoes cover my “call-girl painted” toenails. I comb my hair out to smooth, un-backcombed waves tied gently back with a pink scarf and head for the payphone. When I dial the limo service I get a new woman’s voice. For such a long trip she explains, she’ll need a credit card number but when I say I’ll pay cash up front, she relents and advises she can have a limo my location in an hour; that will make it 0800 hours.
I go into the restaurant to enjoy some breakfast while I wait for my limo. I now look like the second “trophy wife” of a retired chain-pharmacy owner, waiting for “the girls” to head off for a morning of golf.
I’ve just settled into a booth to examine the menu, a coffee at my lips when I’m joined by the waitress who had befriended me late last night. She is just going off shift and looks tired. “How can you look so fresh and beautiful after the night you’ve just had?” she queries. I thank her for the compliment but I must have looked surprised because she follows with “Oh I was keeping an eye out for you and so were a couple of the other girls. You look new and inexperienced somehow and there are some creepy guys that show up here sometimes. But it was ok. You took on some big lusty looking dudes and every one of them came back in later, strutting like roosters in the barnyard – except that last pair. They didn’t come in and looked like a couple of drunks when they pulled out.” You must have turned at least seven tricks and you still look fresh. You’re either lucky or very, very good.”
“A little of both, I guess,” I smile but I’m almost overcome with her kindness and concern and thank her profusely. When she asks if she’ll see me tonight, I blow her off with, “Not likely; I was just here tonight to pick up some spare change” but seeing the hurt look in her eyes, I apologize, look down and involuntarily let a tear fall on the table before telling her my story of yesterday from happiness strolling hand in hand with Paul in Lake City to “abandonment” by Paul to destruction of my beloved Toyota, to now. She looks into my eyes for signs of dissembling and, finding none, puts her hand on mine on the table and gives it an understanding squeeze and I know that she also has seen her times of fear and hopelessness.
Her name is Sue-Ellen and we share an anecdote or two about double names, mine being Honey-Lee, well-respected in the south, but sometimes ridiculed in Yankee states. I offer to buy her breakfast but she gets hers “on the house”. We talk about our childhoods, our early sweethearts, dreams and disappointments. We touch briefly on her dreams for the future but she shuts down on the personal stuff and we switch to the mundane but as 8 o’clock approaches, I slip her a card with my name and Punta Gorda phone number. “Sue-Ellen,” I say. “If ever you think you’d like to get away for a mini-vacation for a day, a week or more, or if you just need to get away for any other reason, please call me. I owe you. I’ll always have a place for you and I’d just love to know you more. I mean it.” The long black limo pulls up outside and I resume my new persona, stepping outside and waiting, clearly impatient and annoyed, for the chauffer to open the door for me and assist me inside. He even forgets to collect the fare “up front” and pulls smoothly away.
I know he’s watching me with the rear seat cam intended to let attendants appear to anticipate clients’ every need so I, not so surreptitiously, begin to touch my hair, my breasts and my knees, occasionally running my hand up my leg from my slim ankle to the hem of my shorts and a little above. “Are you comfortable, ma’am. Is there anything you would like?”
“Is there any champagne or cold sparkling wine back here? I could certainly use a drink” I sigh. He assures me there absolutely is some good champagne in the fridge concealed behind his seat but, strangely, inept blonde that I am, I’m unable to operate the mechanism. “Perhaps you could pull into that park at the next exit and show me,” I suggest. So he pulls off of I-75 at the park exit and, since it is still ‘way pre-season and early morning, there is no one to wonder about the big Lincoln limo nosed in toward the beach except perhaps some young “extreme surfers” hang gliding out in the warm gulf waters. The driver came back and was able, miraculously, to open the mysterious refrigerator and extract a chilled bottle of champagne. Perhaps distracted by my exposed legs or musky scent, he forgot to mention the $100.00 price tag of the $50.00 bubbly, but he opened the bottle, poured into a stemmed glass and offered it for my inspection. I sipped deeply, then patted the seat beside me and demanded “drink with me”.
“Regulations, uh . . . “ he demurred.
“Get in and close the door before the bugs get in” I demanded, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. He subsided into the deeply padded leather seat beside me, refilled my glass upon request and poured a dribble for himself. Widening my big green eyes upon him, I declared “You’ve been such a marvelous driver up until now and I shall tell everyone to ask for you. You’ve been attentive to my every need.” He sat erect in the seat, holding his wine glass close to his chest. I finished my own and commanded, “Drink that up like a man”. He obediently complied, whereupon I took his empty glass, tossed it on the floor and tossed myself across his lap demanding “fuck me now or I’ll tell everyone you forced me”. A nasty stunt I know, and one I now shamefully regret and swear never to repeat. The effect on Driver was instantaneous. His brain refused to process the input. He went into rigor. His arms hovered above me lying on his lap, clearly avoiding any contact. His eyes stared straight ahead and his skin was waxen. OMG, I thought. My first opportunity to fuck a Zombie! And I took it.
I had simply intended to put him into a compromising position so I could stiff the company for what I saw as an exorbitant fare. But now I saw an opportunity for a unique sexual adventure with which to regale my friends on some future social evening. I cursed the luck that deprived me of the high-capacity video of my usual smart phone but rummaging about in the limo, discovered it was equipped with HD video recording equipment. I left it alone for the moment. It was not easy to disrobe a man in rigor but I discovered that his limbs would move slowly if sufficient pressure was applied and I arranged his naked body above my fully-clothed one, on the back seat of the limo, a terrified expression on my face and activated the video. Playing with the remote, I recorded only fragmented flashes of the chauffer plunging his clearly extended cock into my mouth and later, my butt from an angle that showed nothing of my tg variations.
As things turned out, I needn’t have bothered with my staged snapshots. As Driver warmed up in the sunlit limo, his cationic state dissipated although there was no lessening of the rigid state of is cock. I switched the video to continuous and followed the flow. I lay on my back on the deeply padded leather seats, valiantly attempting to emulate a violated maiden, my shorts and panties outside of the frame, probably on the limo floor. Driver, hulking above me, alternates thrusts to my mouth and the out-of-range pussy between my legs. Finally. it seems, he chooses, and plunges a stiff uppercut into my pussy. I scream. But in following footage that would provide rich fodder for a defense attorney, I’ll be seen forever, raising my spread legs and locking my ankles above his buttocks to thrust him deeper and hold him deep in my cunt.
It wasn’t planned like that. My pussy was still bruised and sore from my entrepreneurial activities of the night before, I wasn’t physically attracted to Driver and was certainly not physically aroused. I simply wanted to be home alone in my own bed. Yes, I admit that, when he plunged into me, I raised my legs and locked my ankles behind his butt, but that was simply an autonomic reaction. He claims he was drugged though no drugs were ever found. I certainly never use them for any purpose. The fact that the ring muscle of my cunt went into spasm behind his knob was attributed to the extreme stress I had been under. The excellent air conditioning of the limo was credited with saving our lives and when the limo company investigators found us by GPS tracking 20 hours later, a young intern trained by Dr. Mike was able to recognize the condition and release me and Driver without permanent damage. Once released from my grip on Driver, I borrowed a phone from a paramedic to call Dr. Mike and he and Gloria swooped in with a wave of professional jargon and claims to be my personal physician to extract me from the wave of curious officialdom. Fortunately neither of the private firms handling the matter wanted official involvement so there was never a glimmer in the news services.
Mike and Gloria escorted me into my home in Punta Gorda and Gloria cared for me like a mother bear for about a week, nurturing me daily with milk from her big, perpetually full, blue-veined breasts. Dr. Mike took samples of my blood (I think he’s going to bleed me dry), swabs from my mouth, pussy, ears and skin between my toes. He ordered batteries of tests and as the results poured back in, squinted over them intently. At last he declares “we’ve been blessed my dear; you’re 100% clear, clean and healthy, despite your mis-adventures. You have a remarkable immune system.”
I called the “good ‘ol boy from Sarasota.” His name was Joshua and he politely agreed to use his tow truck to retrieve “Angel”, my beloved Toyota, from Gainsville and bring it to his shop at Sarasota. I tell him my name is Honey-Lee give him the keyless entry code and tell him about the concealed ignition key. “I’ll do my best for you Miss Honey-Lee” he promised. “Thadford tells me you’re a right nice lady who had a spot of bad luck up that way.”
Two weeks later he calls. “Your little van is right as rain” he advises. “Y’all done good shuttin’ ‘er down when y’all did. Had to hone the cylinders and replace the piston rings but she’s all good now.” I ride my pedal bike up there. It’s about a two and a half hour ride, mostly along the beautiful, mostly shady, Heritage Trail. I arrive at Joshua’s door, a little flushed perhaps, but glowing with health and energy. He looks me up and down with appreciation; opining “Thadford” didn’t exaggerate one bit, that old reprobate. He takes me out back where my beloved Toyota is parked on a concrete apron between his house and a four-bay shop. It starts at a touch of the key, and even to my untrained ear, runs smoother and quieter than ever before. “Touched her up a mite” he allows.
I turn to him and impulsively throw my arms around his neck. Thanking him profusely and kissing him on the mouth. His arms go round me instinctively and I pull myself against his body and we stay like that for a minute while I feel his manhood rising against my belly. We pull apart and he say’s “Whew! That’s some thank-you, you’ve got there Miss Honey-Lee. Would you do me the honor of staying for dinner? I have some fine Texas steaks right here, just ready for the barbeque.”
“You’ve done so much for me” I protest “I shouldn’t impose more” but, brushing my protests aside, he leads me around the side of the house to a tastefully furnished lanai and deposits me into a comfortable chair while he makes things magically appear on the lanai table. I hear steaks hit a hot grill, smell sweet potatoes roasting, and watch his muscular body move purposely between grill, sideboard and table. He is indeed, “a good ol’ boy” – grey hair and goatee - certainly pushing 60 or better, but his every movement projects strength and purpose and I feel that familiar sexual attraction to powerful men rising deep in my belly.
He hasn’t asked how I like my steak prepared, but it arrives on a plate in front of me, deeply seared on the outside, medium rare on the inside, exactly to my taste. I comment on it. “Woman like you” he rumbles “sensuality like an aura around you, eats her steak rare or medium rare. You’re no doubt a modern woman, but physically, you’re primal.”
“And I think you’re a primal man” I respond.
“Yes” he responds “but after 30 years in the military and another 10 working for several government agencies, it’s well concealed under a veneer of civilization.”
We consume our meals mostly silently in companionable enjoyment and when at last we sit back and he refills my glass of excellent red wine, I ask, “And I going to be allowed to peel back that veneer of civilization?”
“You don’t have to, you know” he smiles. “I intend to bill you $640.00 for parts on your Toyota. You won’t owe me a thing.”
“I will pay you that and the same amount for labor” I declare. “Otherwise I would feel like a whore, when you take me to your bed.”
“You could never be a whore, whatever the circumstances,” he states flatly. “You’re too much your own, independent woman. But I shall be honored to take you to my bed.”
“You know I’m a transgender woman” I query?
“You’re a woman. An extraordinary woman. And one I shall cherish as a friend as long as I live,” he declares as he rises from his chair and takes me by the hand. In his large, masculine bedroom, he undresses me slowly, smilingly, like a man opening a gift he knows is extravagant and sensuous. He undresses me completely and then sits on the end of his bed gazing at me as I stand naked and relaxed before him. I take his hands and lift him to his feet and slowly disrobe him as well. I lift his shirt over his head and run fingers through the grey hairs on his chest. The grey doesn’t seem to denote age; it is merely a color. He folds me against him and kisses me and I exult in the feel of his bare skin against my breasts.
I push free and kneel to unbuckle his trousers and drop them in a puddle at his feet. He steps out of them. I repeat the process with his boxers and he steps out of those as well. His cock is like the rest of him. Perfectly boat-shaped, nicely defined but not over-sized knob, very thick in the center, tapered thinner closer to his body. Thick bluish veins run from just behind the knob back toward his body and his sack hangs big and full below. He is not erect, but firm. As I kneel on his bedroom floor in front of him, he rests his hand gently on my head and lets me take his manhood into my mouth and cup that huge ball sack in my hand. I twirl my tongue around his knob and feel his response, sweet pulses of pre-cum for my pleasure. He raises me to my feet and reaching between my legs anoints me with a deliciously slippery lotion. Then, hands on my waist, lifts me up and settles me down onto his cock. I lock my ankles above his buttocks and he pulls me in close against his chest and I nuzzle at his throat. His arms around my waist he walks out through his bedroom door to the outdoor pool and I marvel at his strength (I weigh 130 pounds) as he walks out into the warm Florida sunshine.
The feeling and movement of his cock deep up inside me as he walks around the pool with me impaled, yet hugging his shoulders and kissing his throat is beyond description and I begin a series of mini-orgasms, each of which he acknowledges by gently turning my face upward and kissing my closed eyelids. He walks, he paces, he pads around the entire house and pool area, cock settling ever higher up inside of me, my arms around his neck, his arms around my waist, and my body and spirit melding into his. When he at last lays me back on his firm bed, I am like plasticine in his hands and he easily pins both wrists and both ankles to the bed above my head. Those big veins in his cock I noticed earlier seem to be now filled and the piston he is sliding into me bears little similarity to the “normal” cock I had earlier sucked. But my pussy is almost endlessly accommodating and it expands to fit as Joshua leans forward and kisses my face, my forehead, my nose, my cheeks, and finally, my mouth. My loins respond appropriately, my hips begin their involuntary rotation, my hips thrust upwards to welcome his advance and the universe splits asunder to admit us to another, parallel, universe where our entwined bodies tumble within thunderclouds, are spat out upon the crests of tsunami waves, only to be sucked up again by aggressive passing tornados.
At last, the tornado deposits us back onto Joshua’s bed. We lay entwined for an hour before nature compels me to the washroom. I pee, but I keep Joshua’s cum held up inside. There is something mystical or celestial about this man. Perhaps I can absorb some of his essence.
He helps me load my bicycle into Angel’s capacious hold. I surreptitiously leave a $1280.00 cheque on his kitchen counter. He kisses me and holds me close. I climb in the driver’s seat and bid him goodbye. “Joshua, I’ll see you again in Paradise, if not before” I sigh, and drive away.
Paul never knew a thing about my misadventures until he arrived home in an airport limo a month later, vastly wealthier, and happy to find me healthy, happy and horny on the lanai, sipping something cool and sweet. He may never fully believe the story of what unfolded in the few hours after I dropped him off at GNV but it’s good to have him home tonight as he drops off to sleep behind me, his semi-stiff cock safely parked in my pussy for overnight safe-keeping.

Chapter 12. –
To be continued.
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