Truck Stop Sissy

By Connie Crichton

When 21-year-old Jay Russell is left stranded on the highway 100 miles from California where he’s headed to meet his girlfriend, he's forced to hitchhike. After a whole day with no rides, Jay walks into a truck stop. He’s offered a bunk in a muscular trucker’s cab, and when the trucker tells him he only ever picks up female hitchhikers, Jay decides to take drastic action. Armed with a handful of his girlfriend’s clothes and an athlete’s body, Jay dresses as a woman.

What happens next, he never expected...

This is an adults-only crossdresser story of feminization, first times, straight seduction and submission.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Crichton
• Release date: Jan 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370236428

Connie Crichton

I’m a thirty-something gal from sunny England.

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Truck Stop Sissy

Connie Crichton

Smashwords Edition

Published by Deinonychus Press.

Copyright 2017 Connie Crichton

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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I was somewhere around Amarillo, Texas, on the edge of the desert, when the Chevy started to catch fire and I remember saying something like, Shit. I got out and opened the hood and, sure enough, there was a little fire starting. I slammed the hood down and grabbed the first bag I could through the open driver’s side door as I ran for my life. I ran for three minutes - I timed myself - before I stopped. Being in quite good shape - I’m not a runner, but I am a bit of a star on my college soccer team - it was a fair distance from the car; far enough away so that the explosion wouldn’t throw any debris into or near my head.

While I was waiting for the explosion, I looked around. It was six p.m. and still hot as hell. I was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with my sunglasses and a Lakers cap over my long hair which I’d tied back. Amarillo was a solid hour’s drive back. It’d take me forever to walk it. And I’d have to walk back past the potentially exploding car. Ahead was road for miles and miles. If I missed Cassie’s birthday, she’d absolutely kill me. I practiced excuses in my head, mostly about how unreasonable it was for her to expect me to drive from Arkansas to Los Angeles in the first place (which, I thought, was true), but I knew she wouldn’t like any of them. Last year’s birthday was a disaster. Someone showed up to her party in the same dress as her and she spent three hours crying in the bathroom. This year, it had to be perfect. Everything was riding on this. If I didn’t get her 21st birthday right, I’d be real single real fast. She was high maintenance,