tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersTranny at the Truck Stop

Tranny at the Truck Stop

byMicheleNylons©

The Perils of Pauline -- Trannie at The Truck Stop

Paul sat behind the wheel of his Mustang, the windscreen opaque with heavy rain. It had been raining hard for the last hour and he was hoping it would have stopped before he reached the truck stop. He looked through the windshield as the wipers lazily swept back and forth across the glass. The sodium vapour lamps bathed the parking lot in an orange hue. The blacktop was slick with rain and puddles had formed in the numerous potholes.

The lot was quiet; as it usually was at 8:30pm on a Tuesday night. A dozen big rigs were parked haphazardly here and there; an old Winnebago and half a dozen pickups made up the rest of the parking lot entourage. The Winnebago and the pickups were parked right outside Bob's Old Style Diner And Bar: "Cold Beer, Hot Food And Live Band Most Nights", the fading placard read. Underneath written in large italics was: "We're Famous For Our Ribs!"

"Famous for our fucking heartburn!" Paul sighed.

Paul Morecock was an executive on the board a company that represented local primary producers. He was well paid and mingled socially and professionally with most of the upper and middle class professionals in the area. He was also a closet transvestite. Now these two vocations do not sit well together for obvious reasons. Paul liked to dress up in ladies clothes and entertain himself in ways that the other members of the board may well frown upon and for this reason he is what is known in 'the game' as a 'closet transvestite.'

He had been dressing in women's clothes on and off since his early teens. Like most crossdressers he had started off wearing panties, hosiery and whatever lingerie he could lay his hands on and over the years his fetish had developed and matured. He now had a fully shaved body under his business suit and, give him three-quarters of an hour, he could transform from staid businessman Paul, to transvestite vixen Pauline.

He was thirty years old and over the years he had mastered the art of makeup, the finesse of picking out clothes that suited his slim build and that made him look both feminine and sexy, the knack of acquiring wigs that suited his facial features and maturity, and the dexterity to present himself as womanly as possible. The only problem was that his secret was so secret that he had only ever crossdressed at home. At first it was exhilarating and when the Internet came along with its various transgender friendly websites, chatrooms, and see-to-see webcam sites it had become even more exciting. But after a while this too had become mundane and boring.

Then Paul found a website for a crossdressing support group that was located only an hour away in the neighbouring suburb of Kneeling. It offered complete discretion and the reassurance that others with the same compulsion to crossdress could get together in a relaxed and safe environment and spend time together and share their experiences and help each other in secrecy. It was like AA for crossdressers!

When Paul had decided to attend the group he soon realised that he had to figure out a way to arrive and leave dressed as Pauline; there was no way he was going to let anyone know that Paul Morecock was a crossdresser. He had contacted the group online and he was welcomed and told how discrete they all were and that he could go there dressed as a man and transform in the comfort and privacy of whoever's home was hosting the meeting. About half a dozen of the group lived alone and had suitable accommodation such that they could host the meetings and keep them discrete. The group met each Tuesday evening at the home of whoever was rostered to host.

He had mused and plotted for a number of weeks; he so wanted to meet with other like-minded individuals who shared his penchant for dressing like a sexy coquette but there was no way he was prepared to disclose his identity. Then he'd found the truck stop during his travels.

Located on the interstate only ten minutes away from Kneeling; it was reasonably quiet on Tuesday nights and had exactly what he needed. A large restroom was located next to the blacktop parking area; far enough away from the Diner so that no one could see the patrons entering or leaving the restrooms. It was quiet, secluded and seldom used as most of the travellers were lured to Bob's Diner and took care of their bathroom business there. It was also clean and well maintained even though it was little used. And; he could park right beside it!

Except for tonight! Some asshole had parked a Peter-built prime mover and trailer right next to the rest room.

"Fuck!" Paul exclaimed; his frustration evident.

He looked at the drizzle, the puddles in the carpark and the big rig taking up his usual parking space and considered calling it quits and heading back home.

Usually he parked right next to the restroom and nipped inside with his carry bag full of girly accoutrements, transformed into Pauline in the privacy of one of the stalls and then quickly exited to his car and completed his journey. He did the reverse on the way home, transforming from Pauline to Paul in the seldom-used facility. As it was open twenty-four hours, kept clean and well lit but seldom used, it was perfect and allowed him to keep his identity secret from the other crossdressers.

Some of the other transvestites dressed at home before going to the meetings so he was not the only one who arrived and departed in female personas. He had found the meetings very exciting at first; all these crossdressers sitting around discussing crossdressing tips and telling tales. Some of the 'girls' sometimes allowed their stories to become a little risque but the office-holders of the group quickly shut such talk down. Any talk of sex was quickly quashed; the group was strictly platonic and any attempt to organise sexual encounters resulted in immediate excommunication.

Paul had to admit that he did get immense sexual satisfaction when he was dressed as Pauline; he almost always masturbated while crossdressed and found himself physically attracted to number of the members of the group. He really wanted to go to the meeting again tonight; he was sure that some of 'girls' held clandestine trysts and he wanted to find out how he could be included.

He had never had sex with another person whilst dressed as Pauline but he fantasised about it constantly. In his fantasies he was always with another attractive mature transvestite, exploring each other's secrets whilst clad in sexy skirts, silky satin panties and sleek nylons.

"Fuck it!"

Paul reached over into the back seat and grabbed his carry bag and opened the car door and made a run for the restroom, pressing the button on the remote locking device as he sprinted across the car park. He entered the restroom and a quick inspection revealed that it was empty as usual. He quickly went to the disabled person's cubicle and locked the door behind him. The disabled cubicle was twice as large as the other stalls and had plenty of room for him to lay out his clothes and also had its own sink and mirror. It also had a proper full-length door as opposed to the other stalls that had a large gap between the bottom of the door and the floor. It was the perfect place to transform.

Paul opened his bag and hung his female clothing on the hook on the back of the door, laid his lingerie on the toilet lid and unzipped his cosmetics bag and arranged his makeup on the ledge above the sink. He opened a small velvet jewellery bag and extricated the contents, laying them out besides the cosmetics. He took a pair of four-inch patent leather black stiletto high-heels out of the bag and placed them on the floor.

Paul stripped naked and carefully folded his male clothes and put then in the carry bag. In his mind he became Pauline.

Pauline stood in front of the mirror and carefully applied foundation and then a coating of finishing powder. Next she applied her eyeliner liberally to her upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of her eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line as she went. She selected dark blue eyeshadow, which she applied to her eyelids and then blended with a shade of mauve which she brushed onto the upper part of her eye sockets and right up to her eyebrows. She rouged her cheeks to define her cheekbones and applied another light dusting of face powder. She carefully brushed a heavy coating of mascara onto her lower and upper eyelashes.

Pauline took her time putting on her lipstick; Covergirl two coat. The base coat was a deep plum red; once it had set she applied the clear topcoat. She painstakingly painted her fingernails with matching nailpolish while the lipstick set. The whole procedure had taken about thirty minutes.

Pauline shook the brunette, shoulder-length wig out of the net bag in which she had transported it and brushed it out She positioned the wig on her head and adjusted it so that her fringe was straight and hung level with her eyebrows.

She looked in the mirror and was happy with what she saw.

"MMmm, now the fun part," she giggled.

Pauline stepped into a pair of white satin full-brief panties, they had a lace trim and she savoured the feel of the cool delicate fabric on her skin. She adjusted the waistband on her hips so that the cute little lace bow was centrally located below her belly button. Next she stepped into a black satin garter belt sitting it snugly around her waist and carefully threaded the suspender straps under the waistband of her panties and out of the legholes.

Now her favourite part of dressing; she slid a pair of fully-fashioned, fifteen denier, high-sheen, taupe stockings onto each leg, carefully straightening the seams before clipping the dark welts to the silver garter clips.

A white satin bra stuffed with breastforms completed her foundation garments. She reached for her jewellery clipping silver drop earrings to her ears, fastening a matching pendant around her neck and sliding bracelets over both wrists. She put rings on the fourth and index fingers of both hands.

The ensemble was completed with a tight black rayon blend skirt (the hem rested just above her knees; minis were frowned on by the group -- but it did have a kick pleat in the side which exposed quite a bit thigh) and a mauve satin blouse. She slipped into her high heels and pulled on the form-fitting jacket that matched her skirt. She sprayed herself liberally with perfume including a quick squirt under her skirt.

Pauline considered her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh you sexy hussy!" she whispered; the restroom was ghostly quiet.

She gathered up her things and tucked them away neatly in the carry bag. She opened the door; saw the coast was clear, and strode purposely out of the stall, past the urinal, sinks and other stalls and made her way outside.

"Thank for that!" she said relieved, seeing that the parking lot remained deserted and that the rain has stopped.

Normally she could step straight into her Mustang and drive the fifteen minutes or so to the meeting but tonight she had to manoeuvre around the big rig, dodging puddles and potholes, making sure her bag didn't snag her stockings, and make her way across the car park to where she had parked.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! What a fucking night!" she hissed.

The Mustang's nearside tire was flat!

"Fuuuuuuck!"

Now she would have to go back into the restroom and change her clothes so she could change the flat.

"Fuck the meeting! I'm going home!" she lamented and turned back to the restroom.

Then she heard an ominous rumble; the unmistakeable sound of approaching motorcycles.

"Jesus!" she whined and tottered across the parking lot.

Just as she arrived at the entrance to restroom the parking lot was suddenly lit by headlamps. She raced inside, ran into the first stall and closed the door, slamming the latch across to lock it. She prayed the cyclists would be attracted to the lights of Bob's Old Style Diner And Bar. 'Motorcycle types wanted beer and music didn't they? If they needed to piss surely they could so in Bob's while he poured them a beer!' she thought to herself optimistically.

She heard raucous voices over the din of the motorcycle engines. The engines shut down one by one and now she could clearly hear the bikers exchanging obscenity-laden banter and laughing.

"Fuck Bob's! I need a crap and his head smells like a two-bit hookers crotch; I'm using the restroom," one of the bikers yelled at his compatriots.

"I need a piss myself so I'm going with Cody," another voice growled.

"You fuckers line up the pitchers while Cody and me relieve ourselves," he snarled.

"Yeah; just don't get all homo and relieve each other!" another voice jibed.

"Fuck off numb nuts; go buy the beer," the biker retorted and Pauline heard gravel grind under his boots.

"Fuck!" she hissed to herself.

She carefully placed her carry bag on top of the toilet tank and climbed up on top of the john. She was balancing precariously and just had time to take off her high heels before the bikers entered the restroom. She tried to quieten her breathing as much as possible and not think bad thoughts. She imagined the bikers would most likely punch her senseless if they found her; she imagined them kicking her as she lay on the tiled floor, calling her a homo and a faggot. She tried to clear her head and remain sharp.

"Jeez I need this," one of the bikers sighed.

Pauline heard him unzip his fly as he approached the urinal. The other came to the door and pushed on it.

"Fucker's locked; must be blocked or something," she heard the man say just before he entered the adjoining stall.

She was starting to cramp up, perched precariously on the toilet seat but she dare not move in case she made a noise. She hoped the scent of her perfume could not be detected over the restroom smells. She endured listening to the man in the stall beside her noisily empty his bowels, huffing and puffing as he relieved himself.

"What about a courtesy flush asshole!" the other man laughed as he washed his hands at the sinks.

"Fuck you mother fucker," the man named Cody replied; he wiped, pulled up his pants, flushed and joined his compadre at the sinks.

Pauline was becoming less worried now; the bikers would soon finish washing up and leave and she could change back into her male attire and get the fuck out of here. She wished she'd taken the extra few seconds to get to the disabled cubicle so she had more privacy and security.

But letting her mind wander cost her dearly. One of the high heels slipped from her grasp, clattered on tiled floor and slid along the tiles so it was just under the bottom edge of the door.

"What the fuck do we have here?" she heard Cody say to his buddy.

To her horror she saw a large hairy hand with dirty fingernails scoop up her shoe. Two seconds later the door imploded.

"What the fuck have you got there Cody?" the other biker smiled evilly.

"Why is that woman hiding in the men's room?"

"That's no woman; although she looks hot. She's a tranny," Cody explained, examining Pauline with his dark eyes.

"A fucking tranny! A fucking fag! Fuck lets kick the shit out of him and leave," the other biker growled.

"Now don't be such a barbarian Steve, let's help the lady out," Cody smiled and held out his hand to help Pauline off the toilet seat.

He handed her high heel and watched amusedly as she replaced it back on her foot. Pauline's mind was racing, was this big bear of a biker really a gentleman. He was well over six feet tall, well muscled and wore denim jeans, a sweaty black T-shirt and denim jacket covered with badges. Steve was dressed almost identically. Both had long, greasy hair and smelled of the road: sweat, exhaust fumes and stale beer.

"Thank you," Pauline said and tried to brazenly walk away from the bikers, gripping her bag and walking purposely for the exit.

"Oh you can thank us better than that hun," the biker growled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back.

Pauline tottered on her heels and came to rest with her back to the mirrors; her butt hard up against counter. The restroom was deathly quiet and she could hear the taps dripping.

The bikers checked her out, their eyes roamed brazenly over her face, body and legs.

"Fuck she's better looking than most women I've fucked!" Cody laughed.

"Woman! He's a fucking man!" Steve retorted.

"Nothing wrong with a piece of tranny ass; you know what they say: men know what men like," Cody grinned.

Pauline froze and her mind raced.

"I'm not that sort of tranny!" she blurted out; using the derogatory term 'tranny' herself.

The bikers continued to ogle her; taking in her heavily madeup face, her femme physique enhanced by the tight jacket and skirt and brazenly staring at her stocking-clad legs.

"You know Steve? Women just don't dress like this any more. She's one sexy bitch!" Cody said, his breathing had become ragged.

"Now that you point it out, she is one sexy bitch," Steve grinned, an ominous bulge was growing in the front of his jeans.

Pauline felt her herself becoming feint; she was now absolutely terrified.

Pauline knew that she had no chance of fighting off the bikers. She had no way out! A single tear ran down her cheek.

"The bitch is crying," Steve said sarcastically.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," he said, tracing a finger slowly down her body, starting at Pauline's painted red lips and stopping at the hem of her skirt.

Pauline considered her options. Trying to run away in high heels, or even kicking them off and trying to make a dash for it was out of the question. Even if she made it to her car she had a flat and couldn't drive away.

Putting up a fight against the two bikers was out of the question; they would beat her senseless. Capitulation was the only option.

"We're going to have some fun bitch! What's your name precious?" he cooed sarcastically.

"Pauline," she whimpered.

"You gong to behave yourself Pauline?" Cady smiled.

""Ok," Pauline whispered.

"You bet your sweet sexy ass ok!" Cody said.

Cody moved into Pauline and forced her back harder against the bench.

Pauline felt trepidation as she was pulled into Cody's arms and he kissed her full on the lips, sliding his tongue into her mouth, encircling her in his arms. Pauline forced herself to relax as he sucked on his tongue, pulling her body hard against his but she was filled with dread as she felt his cock begin to swell against her body. Cody took Pauline's hand in his and moved it between their bodies down into his crotch and grunted into her mouth.

"Touch it bitch; you know you want to."

Pauline reached out and tentatively and stroked Cody's tumescent member through his jeans. It felt big and hard and although she was sure it was her imagination, it appeared to radiate heat through the rough denim. Cody's cock tented the front of his jeans and he gave out a little moan as Pauline cautiously fondled him, her ruby-red fingernails scratched at the fabric of his jeans as she slowly and excruciatingly traced the outline of his cock.

"Take it out bitch," Cody panted into her mouth and then crushed her lips with his.

He was pushing his groin against Pauline's body, trapping her hand between them, as she stroked the bulge in his pants. His tongue wriggled in her mouth; the taste of her lipstick and scent of her perfume further arousing him. He pulled his groin back from Pauline's body and took her hand off his tented trousers and guided her fingers to his zipper.

Pauline gulped and swallowed saliva; gasping around the tongue invading her mouth; she resolved herself. She had fantasised about having a sensual experience with another crossdresser but she had never imagined having a sexual encounter with man. On some sub-primal level she was surprised and flattered that she could get a man so fiercely aroused; but on a conscious level she was revolted at what she knew have would have to do next.

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byMicheleNylons© 6 comments/ 52713 views/ 26 favorites

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