Honey Lee Journeys 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 trepidition. 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 mouldy 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 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 laceup 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 dike's 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 prob'ly save that little van of yours." "Prob'ly 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 lifted my skirt to access my 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 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 4:00 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 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 perceptably. "You have a dick?" he exclaims astoundedly. "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 lay 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."