Transgender Nymphomaniac Honey-Lees Journey to Unbridled Desire and Love

Honey-Lee – The Journeys of a TG Nympho

Preface – The Making of a TG Nymph

When Papa died, he left the 7000 acre ranch in north-western Alberta, Canada to my two brothers and me, along with 802 head of cows, most with calves at foot, and several decent breeding bulls. The whole place was mostly paid for and we had an assortment of about 40 riding horses, a dozen or so trucks, quads, ATV’s and a eight-place , two-engine Comanche airplane we could all fly, each having soloed by our thirteenth birthdays. There was even a $20,000.00 insurance policy to bury Daddy beside Mama up on the knoll behind the house.

Sag and Bru knew, of course, that I had been born a boy, but Papa so much wanted a little girl that he named me “Honey-Lee” and raised me as a girl from the get-go. They kept my blond hair long, dressed me in skinny girl’s jeans, pink flower-patterned shirts and girls’ boots with pink appliqués and pink stitching. And every day, Papa kissed me and called me “Papa’s Little Girl”. Mama taught me to cook and sew and I was mostly exempted from the dirtier or heavier jobs around the ranch. Sag and Bru were fiercely protective of their little sister. At age 11, Mama and Papa flew me down to a clinic in Edmonton several times, I was put on some “vitamins” to keep me healthy and life went on as before. I still take “vitamins” and I’m verrry healthy.

All of the neighbours remarked as how Papa was a mighty fine man having left his affairs in good order and his family so well set. Since I was only fifteen at the time, some of the Social Services women came poking about but since my older brother Saginaw (Sag) was just turned eighteen and my other brother Bruster (Bru) was seventeen, Papa’s lawyer, Mr. Chancier was able to run them off. Sag got appointed to be my “guardian” which authority he abused, in my opinion, but our lives carried on nearly as before when papa and mama were there. We mostly knew what they would say or do in any situation so, although I desperately missed papa, we carried on as though they were just down to Edmonton or Ponoka to sell or buy stock.

The herds expanded, we got a little reputation for our high-production Charloise bulls after we won Best of Breed at a few shows, I graduated from high school, Bru enrolled in an on-line, government approved “Bachelor of Agriculture” program. “Never knew you had to take schooling to be a bachelor”, everyone ribbed him. Sag., sounding every day more like Papa, decreed I should study business at the University of Alberta. So I did. As it turned out, business and economics appealed to me and I excelled, graduating in four years with a BCom degree and two years later with an MBA(H) with a minor in Advanced Mathematics. Suddenly I was 22 and still a virgin. Several job offers emerged but my only desire was to return HOME. Of course I had been home many times over my university years but those visits were always temporary. When I returned home at age 22, it was, in my mind, for good.

I demanded and made changes in our breeding programs, feeding and marketing. I clashed and prevailed with Bru on range management, crop rotations, and participation in government programs. I won Sag over on the issue of allowing pipelines to cross our lands though I supported him vigorously and succeeded in preventing any sulphide gas flaring on our lands and even upwind for 5 miles (not enough, in my view, but a major accomplishment, according to some commentators). And I kept the books for the family operations that had expanded into PMU (pregnant mare urine) for medical purposes, ancient seed production for several universities (our remote location and early rejection of artificial herbicides and pesticides making our range especially attractive to researchers) and several other unique sources of cash flow. Sag invented and developed a unique, vertical shaft windmill that pumped water throughout our, by now, 10,000 acres and generated five-figure license revenues from American and European developers. Sag amd Bru designed and built a trailer-mounted “cow shit power plant” that generates electricity from cow manure and brings us annual five-figure license fees with the potential for much more when the system becomes fully marketed.

Throughout university, the only man I had communicated with, beyond a most superficial level, was a maniacal engineering Prof by the name of Paul Levesque. He unsettled the establishment with complex papers raising environmental issues that no one wanted to think about because the potential outcomes were simply too horrific. The Corporate attitude was, and still is “if it’s not really likely to happen, it won’t happen.” Paul’s thesis was “if it can happen, it will happen eventually. We should be ready for it.” I found him fascinating and hung on his every word but he always maintained a professional distance.
I was a virgin when I met him, not by any determination on my part, just a function of our family’s high profile in the region and my brothers’ reputations. For just one example, Sag had once driven a man clear up onto the roof of an Escalade SUV with a single punch. The guy’s jaw was broken and his neck dislocated. And that was for a casual remark he made as Sag and I walked by on Main Street in Fairview. I didn’t hear it but apparently it had something to do with the way my ass moved in my jeans and what he’d like to do about it. He didn’t press charges. Apparently, neither the local constabulary nor any lawyer in town would give him a hearing.

Anyway, at age 18 when I met Paul, I was still a virgin but his thesis was proven once again, four years later: “If it can happen, it will happen eventually.” For several years, one of the big oil companies active in our area had been seeking to conduct horizontal drilling operations under a 260 acre lake in the NE corner of our spread and though it did not represent our main water source, it is deep and cold and the boys often fish in it. Sag hired a consulting outfit from Calgary to assess the risk and the expert they sent out was none other than my university idol, Paul. I drove him out to the site in my big F-350 4x4 truck with a 750 cc quad ATV in the box. I let him drive the quad and I rode behind, arms wrapped around his middle over the rough terrain.
After a long day circumnavigating the lake, Paul taking pictures, videos and measuring elevations, we returned to the truck and I pulled a cooler out of the back. We munched sandwiches, grapes and chocolate cake while sitting on a blanket in the shade of the truck. Paul never took his eyes off me the whole time he was eating and when he was done, he wiped his mouth and hands and said: “Honey-Lee, you and I really need to fuck.”

“Bbbut I’m a virgin” I stammered. And then remembered “And I’m a trans-gender.”
“All the more reason” he averred and he began to unbutton my shirt. “You’re ready for this, aren’t you?” And suddenly, without forethought, I was ready. He removed my hat and kissed me on the lips and I kissed him back. It felt right. He removed my shirt and padded bra; the light breeze stroked my inexplicably sensitive nipples. I sat down and let him pull off my boots and helped him remove my tight jeans.

He made love to me there in the wide open beside the lake, very gently at first and later, more vigorously so that I was able to detach from my body and soar amongst the big fluffy clouds above, dipping, floating, soaring, gliding, guided somehow by Paul’s tool implanted deep in my belly. When I finally returned to earth, it was to a different body. It was to a body that now understood what it had been yearning for, that knew its place and purpose in the world, a body that would no longer be denied its most carnal desires.

My next six months were a whirlwind. I called a family meeting to announce I would be returning to Edmonton for post-graduate studies and probably would not be returning to the ranch except to visit. I trained Dorothy, Sag’s wife, in how to maintain the bookkeeping system, assured everyone I would continue to monitor markets and show our bulls at major shows – and Bru flew me to Edmonton with four large suitcases and one small one. During the six months past, I had managed to get down to the city a half-dozen times and each time, Paul had taken me to his bed for a weekend to teach me more of the incredible joys two people can discover together. I was under no illusion however that we would move in together and live happily ever after. In fact, after my move to the city, we continued to see one another only about once per month – each time a celebration to the god of Eros – but I had been a virgin far too long and had a great deal of catching up to do.

I consulted with my Doctor and negotiated an upgrade to my hormone regimen, arranged surgery to upgrade my B-cup boobs to double Ds and proceeded to exploit the resources offered by the sprawling University of Alberta campus. I seduced professors, post-graduate students, visiting lecturers, athletes and engineers all with wild abandon. Of course I received some rejections upon revealing my TG status. Mostly however, the reaction was astonishment, some curiosity and a whole lot of lust. Still, I managed to produce some solid work and, owing perhaps to my published paper “Predicting Corporate Behaviour, a Non-fiscal Mathematical Approach” was under consideration for admittance into the doctoral programme in applied mathematics. I landed a no-stress summer job as aide to a senior professor that gave me enough free time to fuck up to a dozen guys a week, often with repeats. I was definitely making up for lost time.

By September however, I was laying out the framework of my doctoral thesis and one evening was poring over my computer when an unblocked ping came in. My family and Professor Paul are the only ones not blocked when I’m working. It was Paul. “May I come over?” This was ununsual since we usually fucked at his more luxurious condo but a booty call from Paul was not to be ignored and I immediately pinged back my acceptance. I raced to the bathroom to shower, douche and dress in a lacey little nightie and just made it before the intercom rang.

Paul entered, handing me a little gift of two beautiful red roses in a slender vase. Another first! I kissed him and took the vase to display on a table. As I set it down, he took my shoulders from behind and turned me around. “Honey, I need to talk to you.” He led me over to the couch and we sat facing each other, knees touching, my hands in his. “Honey, I know you’ve just begun your doctorial programme and I shouldn’t say anything that might distract you, but I’ve made a life-altering decision of my own and need to share it with you. I’ve resigned my tenured professorship at the University and intend to devote my energies to consulting within the energy community. I also intend to establish a winter home in south-west Florida and spend up to six months there every winter. My only ambivalence arises from how much I enjoy being with you. Would you forgive my selfishness in asking if you would even consider coming with me to Florida and, if you’re happy after six months, making the arrangement as permanent as you choose?”

He stopped talking. I looked into his eyes. He was serious. I thought of his incredible skills with tongue, fingers, hands and cock. I thought of the cold Alberta winds that were starting to whip up my skirt every day as I crossed the U of A campus. I thought of all the other amazing hands and cocks in the world awaiting my discovery. “You mean, like, monogamously?” I stammered.

Paul smiled and kissed my nose. “Honey, my love, my sweet, adorable whore slut, I would do my best as a man to keep you settled and satisfied, but I know and understand your prodigious needs and would be proud to assist and facilitate fulfillment of those needs in every way."

What could I say but “Yes”. How could any lusty lady turn down a romantic offer like that? I didn’t. “The hell with the doctorate” I cried. “I applied only because I couldn’t think of any other reason to stay in Edmonton. Let’s fuck. And we did.” In my mind at least, it was at that moment that I actually became an official, card-carrying, TG, Nymphomanic slut.

End of Preface
Chapter 1
To be continued