Murder Misstery

I made it back to the station with a few minutes to spare. After retrieving my suitcase from the left luggage room, I tore off Ashley's old name tag and dropped it into a trashcan. When the FBI turned up in Amsterdam looking for Ashley, her trail would be stone cold. From now on, I was Maddy Monroe, and until the money ran out, Maddy was going to make the best of her new life.

The Thalys express to Paris featured cushy seats with drinks and dinner for first class passengers. After I selected my wine and entree, a steward came by with a selection of newspapers. I scoured the International Herald Tribune from cover to cover for any news about the Wolf murder investigation, but there was nothing. Dinner was excellent, and I must have dozed off afterwards, because the next thing I knew the four hour trip was almost over.

My seatmate was a preoccupied businessman who spent most of the time on his cell phone talking to his office, his wife and his mistress. I thought back to the distinguished Frenchman I'd shared a dinner table with the night before, at the Zurich train station. I removed his business card from my purse and studied it for the hundredth time. Dr. Jacques Bochy, endocrinologist…a doctor who specialized in hormones. I wondered how he'd react when I called him from Paris to make an appointment? He'd probably think I was stalking him. I put his card back in my purse and used my cell phone to reserve a suite at the Plaza Athenee, and a taxi to take me there from the Gare du Nord.

I slept until almost noon the following morning. It was my first night in a proper bed since I'd murdered Norman Wolf, and any lingering nightmares over what I'd done were snuffed out by jet lag and sheer exhaustion. I stretched lazily in the sumptuous bedding, enjoying the sensation of my satin nightgown against my smooth skin. It was annoying to notice a bit of stubble starting to grow back on my legs, so I threw off the duvet and started to draw a bath in the ornate tub, peppering the water with moisturizing salts provided by the hotel. I spent a long time luxuriating in the soft, hot suds before I tediously shaved my legs, arms, chest and underarms. As I patted myself dry with a thick cotton towel, I thought of the way Tracy shaved my back the day she transformed me in Chicago. Tracy always had my back…I missed her terribly as I made up my face the way she taught me. I wondered if she'd like me as a brunette? I admired myself in the mirror after I brushed my long brown hair, knowing that the answer would be yes.

I'd cranked up the heat before I got into the tub, and my suite was stifling by the time I got out of the bathroom. Sundress weather! I was curious to see how my new ensemble came together, so on a whim, after I put on a white bra and panties, I stepped into my summer dress and, with difficulty, zipped it up from behind. My new sandals were very cute and comfortable, although the need for a pedicure was immediately apparent. I fastened my mother-of-pearl necklace from behind, again with difficulty – how did girls put up with this stuff? – then I picked up my white purse and walked over to the full-length mirror on the closet door to see what I looked like.

I will never forget that moment. A striking brunette stared back at me in the mirror, with bare shoulders and long legs framed by her pretty little dress. She turned this way and that, mesmerized by how her dress flowed around her knees when she moved. I was almost in a trance, as the realization sunk in that this was really me. Not only did my dress look cute on me, the soft fabric felt wonderful swishing against my bare legs as I walked into the parlor of my suite. I practiced sitting down on the sofa and chairs, crossing my legs and smoothing my dress beneath me, becoming more and more comfortable with myself this way. What started out as a disguise was becoming much, much more….

Hunger pangs finally broke the spell. I turned down the heat and opened the curtains to let in the daylight, such as it was – Paris in February was as gloomy as the weather I'd left behind in Amsterdam. At least it wasn't snowing like Chicago, I mused as I took off my sundress and rummaged through my suitcase for a gray wool dress and a pair of taupe pantyhose. Once again, I had that feeling of sinful luxury as I eased the delicate nylons up my freshly shaved legs, and I had to admit that my gnarly toes looked much better encased in stockings. I slid them into heels, swapped out my necklace for one in black and gold, and returned to the parlor to order breakfast from room service. While I was waiting for it to arrive, I switched on the TV and flipped through the stations until I came to CNN.

It didn't take long for my world to come crashing down. "International manhunt for Chicago killer…" read the crawl at the bottom of the screen. A reporter was standing outside the railroad station in Amsterdam, describing the bizarre case of a man who disguised himself as a woman to flee the United States, after he allegedly murdered his former accomplice in a conspiracy to defraud elderly investors. Obviously the Chicago police and the FBI had connected the dots: Matt McCoy was suspected of using a stolen women's passport to fly first class from O'Hare to Zurich, and Interpol confirmed that a woman with the same name traveled by train from Zurich to Amsterdam the following day.

Thank God I'd used my new identity get out of Amsterdam! There were only two people who might be able to help the police: the forger who created my passport – I had no worries about him talking to anyone – and the woman who sold me my wig. Even if she somehow heard about the investigation and told the police what I looked like now, there were millions of brunettes in Holland, and the odds of them tracking me down in Paris were infinitesimal.

Still, I was shaken when I heard the rap on my door. It was only the room service waiter with my breakfast. I tipped him well and tried to get something down, my stomach still churning from what I'd learned. Once again, I thought of Tracy: she would know by now that I'd lied to her about hiding out in California, and she probably suspected that I'd lied to her about everything else. Knowing that I was taking a terrible risk, I switched on my cell phone and started to punch in her number. Just before I got to the last digit, I stopped myself and put down the phone. If I was going to avoid spending the rest of my life in prison, I couldn't make any silly, sentimental mistakes! The sooner I put Tracy and my life as a man behind me, the better my chances of survival.

As I munched on my croissant, I had an encouraging thought: now that the police were looking for me as a woman, I could just go back to being a guy, right? But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the police would naturally assume that I had already abandoned my female disguise. So the best way to stay one step ahead of them would be to remain in dresses….I picked up my phone again, only this time I used it to call Dr. Jacques Bochy. His receptionist answered. "Halo?"

"Hello, my name is Maddy. I met the doctor in Zurich. Can I speak to him please?"

The receptionist was undoubtedly accustomed to the doctor's philandering, for she put me through without delay. "Maddy, what a pleasant surprise!" Jacques said when he came on the line.

"Hi! You'll never guess where I am," I said with forced girlishness.

"Paris would be too much to hope for."

"Yep! And I'm calling to make an appointment."

"For medical reasons?"

"Well, it's kinda personal…do you think you could see me today?"

"My appointments are booked weeks in advance, Maddy. However, I do happen to be free for dinner this evening." I wasn't expecting that…. "We can discuss whatever you like, in a quiet setting, and afterwards if you want to see me in my office, I'll fit you in somehow."

"Are you sure?"

"Where are you staying?"

"At the Plaza Athenee."

"I'll book a table at Le Relais at seven. Until then." He hung up before I could reply.

I spent the day shopping for something to wear. The only thing I owned that was appropriate was the little black dress I'd worn the night I murdered Norman Wolf, and I didn't feel quite right about wearing it again. I might have been a millionairess many times over, but the boutiques of Paris were frightfully expensive, and I couldn't find anything that looked half as good on my rather unique physique. I did splurge on some glittery pantyhose and an exquisite French perfume, and I bit the bullet and had my ears pierced. It hurt more than I expected, and I was very aware of my new platinum studs as I shopped for a Vuitton suitcase to replace the worn out roller bag I stole from Ashley. By the time I paid for it and caught a taxi back to my hotel, it was time to get dressed for dinner.

Le Relais is a chic bistro which adjoins the Plaza Athenee. At a few minutes past seven, decked out in my little black dress, shimmering legs and strappy black heels, I showed up for my date with Jacques. He was standing at the bar, and he didn't recognize me at first with my long brown hair. When he did, his face lit up with a big smile, and he took my hands and kissed me on both cheeks. "Maddy! You never cease to surprise and delight me!"

I'm sure I was blushing when I kissed him back, and I was at a loss for words after we were shown to a romantic booth in a quiet corner of the crowded bistro. He offered me a cigarette, which he lit with a flourish before lighting up one of his own. "Talk about surprises, I didn't think doctors smoked anymore," I said idiotically.

"My dear Maddy, there are all kinds of doctors, just as there are all kinds of beautiful women. Take you, for example."

"What about me?" I asked as I tried to perform a French inhale.

"Well, for one thing, in less than forty-eight hours you have completely changed your appearance, in a dramatic and exciting way. I love that in a woman!"

"That's me, dramatic and exciting. I love this place," I said, taking in the smart furnishings and the well-heeled customers.

"It suits you. You look fabulous in that dress."

"Thanks," I said, blushing again. He had deep brown eyes, and a penetrating stare which seemed to go right through me. "I tried to find a new one today, but can you believe the boutiques of Paris didn't have a dress I liked?"

"That says more about you than the boutiques of Paris, Maddy."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He squeezed my hand. "That you are a unique and discriminating person." The wine list arrived, and he ordered decisively before resuming our conversation. "That is one of the many things I find fascinating about you."

"To tell you the truth, I wasn't even sure you would remember me."

He chuckled softly. "To the contrary, how could I forget you?" The waiter returned with our wine, and Jacques waited until it was served before continuing. "As a doctor, I am trained in observation. Let's add up what I have noticed so far: You are undeniably beautiful, with a very athletic physique, which I find attractive in a woman. Also you have a flair for style, take your hair for example, although you obviously must rely on wigs." I started to choke on my wine. "Then there is the charming way you have of doing the little things that come naturally to most women. For example, when we said goodbye in Zurich, you forgot your purse. Very unusual." I could feel the tears starting to run down my cheeks, wondering why he was subjecting me to this humiliation. Jacques saw them too, and he removed the silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently wiped them away. "My darling Maddy," he whispered, "please don't be upset. Nobody in the world except a doctor trained in my specialty could possibly detect your secret."

I tried to get up to leave. He gently but firmly sat me back down and spoke before I could protest. "Maddy, I have treated hundreds of men who wished to become women. Some of them have gone on to careers in the theatre, broadcasting, even modeling. I can say without exaggeration that you are the most innately feminine man I have ever met." His words cut me like a knife, and the tears started again. "What fascinates me about you is your obvious unwillingness to accept this. It's almost as if you are becoming a woman against your will, even though you must know, deep down, that it is your destiny."

The waiter returned to take our orders. Perhaps he thought we were having a lovers' quarrel, they way Jacque kept wiping the tears from my eyes, and he stood patiently while Jacques ordered for both of us. My head was spinning so fast that I couldn't think about food, where I was or what I was doing. When we were alone again, Jacques pressed on. "By whatever chance, you have discovered this about yourself, and it terrifies you. Maddy, I don't have to know why you are dressed as a woman. If you want me to help you fulfill you destiny, it is within my power to do so. Now, let's enjoy our wine and dinner and talk about other things."

I excused myself to go to the ladies room. My mascara was a mess, and I needed a few minutes alone to think. Okay, so Jacques had made me as a woman. After all, he was used to working with transsexuals. The same thing would have come out during a five minute consultation in his office. Instead, it happened to me while I was wearing a little black dress in a romantic restaurant! The end result was the same: I needed his help, and he seemed more than willing to provide it. Looking at myself in the mirror, at the beautiful woman I was in the process of becoming, I knew the real reason I was so upset: Jacques had confirmed my innermost fears about myself. Through a bizarre set of circumstances, I had unleashed my inner woman, and she was slowly but surely taking over my existence.

When I returned to our table, Jacques was patiently waiting for me, along with our entrees. "You look lovely," he reassured me.

"Thank you. I'm so sorry for the way I reacted." I lifted my fork and tasted my filet of sole. It was delicious.

"Nonsense," he said between bites. "If you think you are emotional now, wait until I put you on hormones."

I put down my fork and took his hand. "You are amazing. How did you know that's what I wanted?"

He chuckled softly again. "It is my profession. I can write you a prescription tonight. After we finish our dinners, of course. Then there is the little matter of your physical examination, which I am technically required to perform."

"Oh. Where do I go for that?"

"Your room at the Plaza Athenee will be perfectly satisfactory."

After coffee and dessert, Jacques escorted me through the hotel lobby and up to my suite. He seemed impressed, and said so. "As I observed, you have a flair for style."

I sat down nervously on the sofa. "Do you really have to examine me?"

"Relax, Maddy. There are many ways to examine the human body."

I had no idea where this might be going, but I was curious to find out. I liked him, he seemed genuinely interested in helping, and I was intrigued by his interest in me. I unstrapped my heels and stretched out on the sofa, propping my glittering legs up on a pillow. "What did you have in mind?"

He sat down beside me on the sofa and gently stroked my legs through my nylons. I felt the same intense excitement I'd experienced when Tracy did that to me, only now I was with a man….he leaned down and brushed his lips against mine, softly at first, then again with surprising passion. After a moment's hesitation, I responded the same way, drowning in a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. Then he had my dress off my shoulders and he was slowly but surely pulling it down, down…I gasped when he tugged my pantyhose and panties to my knees, and we both stared as my penis sprang to attention. "Ooh la la!" Jacques exclaimed. He took it into his hands and stroked it tenderly. "Maddy," he whispered, "depending on what I prescribe, this may no longer be possible. Are you sure you want that?"

"No," I whimpered.

"I can put you on hormones which will enable you to develop luscious breasts, and for a time you may not be able to experience erections like this, but once your breasts have blossomed, it should be possible again. Is that what you really want?"

"Yes," I groaned.

"Very well. Now you see why a physical examination was necessary." He gave me a few expert tugs and I erupted onto my hairless chest, splattering my brassiere with gobs of hot semen. The waves of guilty pleasure quickly passed, and I felt embarrassed and ashamed while he wrote out my prescription, his manner suddenly quite clinical. I took the prescription from him, still lying half naked on the sofa, bewildered by his change in manner. "You see, Maddy, you are not the only one who has to deal with conflicting emotions," he sighed. "I am happily married, yet I find myself hopelessly drawn towards a woman like you. Perhaps when your body has changed to match your psyche, I will find the courage to fulfill my destiny also. Until then, au revoir." I lay there sobbing while he let himself out of my suite.

I was up early the next morning, determined to wash away my memories of the night before under a hot shower. After dressing quickly in a skirt, sweater and tights, with very little makeup, I practiced twisting my long brown hair into a ponytail. The resulting look was that of a casual young woman on the go, her inner demons hidden somewhere deep below.

A croissant and coffee at Le Relais brought back unpleasant memories. I couldn't believe that I'd kissed a guy, and let him touch me down there. Then again, I had to admit to myself that the kiss was no different than kissing a girl, and it actually seemed natural to me when I was dressed this way. I reached into my purse for my prescription for female hormones. Once I started taking them, I'd be past the point of no return. Although if I was honest with myself, I had to admit that I was past that point already.

I asked the concierge to point me towards the nearest drug store. There I waited while Dr. Jacques Bochy's prescription was filled. He'd written it to give me a good supply to start with, and I confirmed with the pharmacist that it was refillable anywhere in Europe. As soon as I was back in my suite, I gulped down the first pill and packed my new Vuitton suitcase. Then I was off in a taxi to Charles de Gaulle, where an airplane was waiting to take me to the sunshine.

* * *

Six months later, I woke as always to the sound of a distant rooster. I'd come to envy him, as my manhood slowly slipped away, and this morning was no exception. While he was getting his rocks off in the henhouse, I went through my now-familiar routines in the bathroom: shampooing my shoulder-length hair, shaving my legs in the tub, and putting on my makeup. After drying and brushing out my hair, I tucked my dwindling manhood into a pair of panties and fastened a bra around my burgeoning breasts. A glance out the window promised another warm, sunny day, so I put on the sundress I'd brought with me from Amsterdam, and padded barefoot into the kitchen of my villa in the hills of Provence.

I gazed out the kitchen window at the distant ribbon of Mediterranean Sea, just visible through the thick canopy of trees. If I'd intended to stay any longer, I would have asked the landlord to trim them back, but today was to be my last day in this little paradise, so I left them for the next tenant to deal with. When I moved in back in February, I'd made a list of ambitious projects to occupy my time here, and I looked at it sadly after I made my morning coffee. The only things I'd managed to grow weren't in the garden: a full head of lustrous brown hair, and a proud pair of large, lovely breasts.

Even with my new figure, my weight was down ten pounds, and my expanding hips made my girlish waist look even smaller. Thanks to the hormones prescribed by Jacques, my skin was much softer and smoother, and after several sessions with an electrologist in Nice, my beard was a distant memory. My legs were tanned to a golden bronze, and I couldn't remember that last time I'd worn stockings. With a sigh, I slipped into a pair of canvas espadrilles – much cuter on my feet than sandals – and made my way into a small office with the computer I'd purchased in Nice shortly after I moved in.