The Craigslist Killer Pt. 02

Now there was a question! "No," I answered carefully. "There've been a few others. It's really hard, because so many of the guys either aren't who they say they are, or chicken out at the last minute. I guess that's why I reacted so badly when you didn't show up last night." I took his hand. "Now I feel like a bitch for being so hard on you! I'm really glad you asked me out tonight, Ron."

"I'm just glad you gave me a second chance. I can't believe how like a girl you are."

"I know how lucky I am, to be able to make it as a girl. There are so many guys like me, crossdressers I mean, who could never pass as women. It's kind of sad for them."

"Guys like me, you mean." I choked on a piece of Pad Thai. "Are you all right?" he asked as I gulped down the rest of my champagne.

"I'm fine. Just surprised, that's all." Ron looked crestfallen. "I know you must think I'm a total hypocrite, but I just never expected that."

"Would you like to see me?" Ron asked hopefully as he refilled my glass. "I have some sexy nighties...."

What a buzzkill! One minute, I was a girl on a date with a handsome man, and the next, I was trapped with another crossdresser who wanted to dress up for me. "Ron, this is really hard for me, of all people, but that doesn't do anything for me."

I thought he was going to cry. "I'm sorry, Missy. I'm so sorry." He looked truly pathetic. I imagined him in bed in an XXL nightgown, getting himself off this week while he talked to me and texted me. Just the thought creeped me out. "I know I'll never be able to pass as a woman, like you," he went on. "I just thought it might be fun to hang out."

"You don't have to apologize, Ron. I'm sure you make a pretty girl," I added unconvincingly.

"Not like you. I've never even tried to go out. Maybe you could help me?"

He just couldn't take no for an answer! "It's getting late, and I have an early meeting tomorrow."

"I'll call you a cab."

* * *

Riding back to my hotel, I felt like a total shit. Why couldn't I have just played along with Ron? Now I knew how the women who discovered that their lovers were crossdressers felt, how turned off they must be to discover that their men wanted to be girls like them. That's probably what happened to Ron's marriage.

The cabbie had the radio on, and the news at eleven shocked me: "Police have released the identity of the man found murdered at the Intercontinental last night. Greggory Alford, who had two convictions for robbery and sexual assault, was also a suspect in the murder of a transgendered woman earlier this week. Police now believe that the brunette seen with Alford shortly before his body was discovered was also transgendered."

I asked the cabbie to pull behind the Palmer House, so I could use a back entrance. If I could only make it to an elevator and get back to my room without being spotted, I might just be able to put the whole nightmare behind me. I paid the cabbie and hurried up a few steps to a side entrance to the Palmer House. It was still unlocked, and I let myself in and made my way quickly down a deserted shopping arcade. I was grateful for the solitude, conspicuous as I must have been in my taffeta dress, shawl and stilettos, but I didn't encounter a soul all the way to a bank of elevators.

My luck ran out when I stepped into a crowded elevator, full of happy revelers on their way to or from a party somewhere in the hotel. I avoided eye contact with a few of the guys who seemed to be taking an interest in me, and noticed that the button for my floor was already lit. So I pushed the button for the next floor, and waited nervously as the waves of happy conversation surrounded me. When I finally got out of the elevator, I walked down the long hallway to the fire stairs, took them down to my floor, and peeked out the door. There was nobody in sight, and I was able to make it down the hall and into my room without incident.

The message light was blinking on my phone on the nightstand! I was sure the Chicago police had tracked me down...nobody else knew I was here, except my secretary, whom I'd called after I changed hotels. With a feeling of dread, I punched the button for messages and prepared myself for the worst: "Mr. xxxxxx, we got a call from the company you were supposed to meet with on Tuesday, and they were hoping that you could stay in Chicago to meet with them on Monday? I checked and it's okay with the boss, in fact he's hoping you'll be able to. Sorry about your weekend! Let me know if you want me to change your flight."

What a relief! I kicked off my heels and flung myself on the bed, reveling in the sensations of silk and lace against my skin. So I was stuck in Chicago, as a woman! I had one meeting Friday morning as a guy, then I'd be back in skirts and dresses for three whole days....I had a nagging concern that the sooner I cleared out of town the better, what with the cops looking for Gregg's transgendered killer, but business was business, and I must have been feeling emboldened by my safe return that night.

I fired up my notebook computer and sent an email to my boss and secretary, telling them I'd stay over for the meeting. Then I went to Missy's account, where I found several more Craigslist responses, and this email from Ron:

Missy,

I'm so sorry about tonight! I don't know what I was thinking. I know I'm not in the same league as you, but I guess I was hoping you could help me. But what I really want you to know is that I was really attracted to you, and I feel like such an idiot for turning you off like that. I know you're leaving Chicago tomorrow, and we'll probably never see each other again, but if there's any way I could have another chance with you, I promise it will be different next time.

Love, Ron

Just what I needed! A lovesick crossdresser...who was handsome, classy and rich! What was wrong with me? I stretched out on the bed in my fancy dress and tried to make sense of my situation.

The Chicago police had a very good description of me as a woman, and knew that I'd spent the night on the same floor as the murder victim. Whether they'd tracked me down to the Palmer House was unknown, but I had to assume it was only a matter of time. So the smart play would be to pack up all my female paraphernalia, FEDEX it back to Los Angeles first thing tomorrow morning, and lay low as a man until I left town.

I looked back at my silky legs, girlishly curled over a froth of taffeta. Maybe there was another way....

* * *

Another morning, another early checkout! This time I left my suitcases with the bell captain, promising to retrieve them later in the day. Then it was off to my meeting, a working breakfast in a conference room at a skyscraper on Adams Street. During a dull moment, I typed out this email to Ron on my smartphone:

Ron, Thank you so much for your sweet message, although I feel that I'm the one who should apologize to you. I just learned that I have to stay over the weekend, so if you want another shot at me, I'd love to try again with you, Missy

The meeting dragged on and on -- I'd have missed my flight anyway -- and I found myself checking my smartphone surreptitiously under the table. Finally I heard back from Ron:

Missy, I'm so glad you're still here, of course I want to see you again! Are you here all weekend? I have to see my son at the ex's this afternoon, then I'm free whenever you are. Are you still at the Palmer House? You're welcome to stay with me if you'd like, Ron

That was too easy...I quickly tapped out this reply to Ron:

You're the best! I'd love to stay with you, are you sure that's not too much trouble? What time are you free, oh and what's your address? I'll be arriving as a guy, and change when I get there, if that's okay...

I barely had time to refocus on the business discussion when my smartphone pinged:

Of course that will be wonderful! I'll be home by four at the latest, the address is xxxxxxx Astor, see you then!

I ignored some annoyed looks from around the table as I responded:

Sounds good, can't wait!

"Sorry," I blithely lied to the group. "Had to change my flight. We're getting a lot done here today!"

* * *

I ate sparingly during the buffet lunch that was hastily provided at the end of our meeting. I'd be back in women's clothing again in a few hours, and I needed to keep my girlish figure! When I finally escaped, I took a long walk along the Chicago River before I returned to the Palmer House to pick up my bags. As I was leaving the hotel, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a familiar face: one of the two cops who had interviewed me at the Intercontinental was talking to a hotel security guard in the lobby! I turned away and bolted outside before he could see me, and waited nervously until the doorman summoned a cab.

My pulse was returning to normal by the time I got to Ron's townhouse. He was waiting at the door when I came up the front steps. "Hi," he said. "I would never have recognized you."

"Hi back," I smiled. "Let me do something about that."

He took one of my bags and led me upstairs to the master bedroom. "Sorry I don't have a guestroom for you. My son stays here some weekends, although I guess he won't be back till he gets out of his cast." I felt very awkward having Ron see me as a guy, and he must have sensed that, because after a brief conversation about his son's condition, he left me alone and closed the door behind him.

Finally! I put Missy's suitcase on Ron's plush king bed and opened it up, removing the only outfit I'd yet to wear in Chicago: my polka dot tieback blouse and my black skirt with crystal pleats. Hesitantly, I peeked into Ron's oversized walk-in closet, and got a shock: about a third of it was full of suits, slacks and other guy stuff, but the rest was crammed with an amazing array of women's clothing. Beautiful dresses, long and short...skirts of every kind and color...enough tops to fill a rack at TJ Maxx...shoes of every description, from flats to heels, including several pairs of sexy boots...I was in a daze as I searched for a hanger for my skirt and blouse. After the closet, Ron's enormous bathroom was almost anticlimactic: a huge marble tub took up an entire wall, with a fabulous selection of bubble baths, creams and lotions along the side. A plush towel and facecloth had been laid out for me on a standing towel rack, and a matching terrycloth bathrobe was hanging nearby.

Stunned, I took off my suit, shirt and tie, and began filling the tub with some of Ron's scented bath beads. I imagined that Ron wouldn't have minded if I'd used one of his razors to shave my legs, but I found mine, and gathered up my makeup and other female essentials and set them out by one of the vanity sinks before I lowered myself into a mound of steaming suds. For the first time since my attempted murder, I was able to totally relax as I surrendered to the bliss of a deep, hot bubble bath, soaking my head under water until I couldn't hold my breath any longer. Then I lazily shaved myself down, luxuriating in the sensation as I contemplated my host's situation.

Ron may have been a closet crossdresser, but what a closet! There must be tens of thousands of dollars of women's clothing, shoes and other paraphernalia in there -- I was pretty sure I saw several Gucci bags, the real thing, and some Ferragamo shoes. I already knew that he was rich, and that he yearned to share this side of himself with me, but I had so idea of the extent of his obsession. I analyzed his physique from the standpoint of passing as a woman: he was at least six feet tall, and he must weigh close to two hundred pounds. Although I'd only seen him in long sleeves, I could tell that he was very buff, with broad shoulders and manly arms. So his reluctance to go out dressed was understandable, and so sad!

Well, there was no way I intended to spend the weekend cooped up in Ron's gilded cage. I'd make him take me out, with me as the girl and him as the guy - after all, isn't that what he asked for in his email? And maybe, during the day, I'd try to teach him a few tricks of the trade, help him try to find something in his closet that would help to disguise his more masculine qualities, although I was no miracle worker. And there was one thing I'd spotted in his closet that I wanted to try on myself....

Half an hour later, wigged and made up, I returned to the bedroom and fished some lingerie and stockings out of my suitcase. It always felt so good to put them on! I was just about to return to The Closet for my outfit when I heard a tap on my door. "Are you decent?" Ron asked.

"No, but come on in." I struck a Victoria Secret model's pose as Ron opened the door and peeked in.

"Oh my God, you are so hot! What I'd give to have a body like that."

"You're not so bad yourself, Mister. And since you're gonna be wearing the pants around here, I'd say your body will definitely do." I walked over to him, stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him lightly on the lips. "There will be some compensations for you, if you're nice to me...."He pressed himself against me, and I could feel his rock hard member raging against my tummy. "Goodness, maybe I don't want you to be nice to me." I looked up at him and closed my eyes, waiting for him to kiss me. He did, a nice kiss, but I could tell that he was distracted by something. "What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Missy, while I was waiting I turned on the evening news. There's a picture of a woman the police are looking for, actually they're saying she's transgendered, and she's very pretty, and she looks so like you. It's about something that happened at the Intercontinental while you were staying there...." I sank down onto the bed in my slip and stockings, trying to think of what to say. "Missy, you don't have to worry about me. You're safe here, and you can stay as long as you like. I just need to know what happened. Maybe I can help you?"

How did I deserve such a man? After the way I'd treated him, no less? I started to shake, then I started to cry, a real woman's tears, as he sat down beside me and hugged me. "I'm so sorry Ron, I shouldn't have come here. I don't want you to get involved," I sobbed.

"Tell me what happened, baby. Just tell me what happened."

"Okay, I will, but give me a minute to get dressed and do something about my mascara." Ron slipped out the door, and I went to the bathroom to repair the damage to my face. I was about to put on the outfit I'd hung in the closet when I had an idea: why not show Ron what Gregg had done to me, by putting on my ruined dress? I fished it out of my suitcase and tugged it on. My whole body shuddered when I zipped it up in the back. Actually, I was surprised to see that my dress didn't look that bad: there was a rip across the bodice, but nothing that a good seamstress couldn't cure. I found my stilettos to complete the outfit, and hesitantly waked down the long oak staircase.

Ron was waiting for me in the living room, with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured one for me, and waited for me to speak after I gulped it down. "What happened to your dress?" he asked.

It just came pouring out, beginning with how bummed I'd been when Ron didn't show up (he tried to apologize again but I just plowed on) then the sudden flirtation with Gregg, how strong and forceful he'd been, and how grateful I'd been to have another man in my life. I described our meeting in the lobby bar, how handsome Gregg was, and how he was able to get me to reveal intimate details during our brief conversation, and how I got a little drunk and let him walk me to my room. I even told Ron about the elevator kiss, and how I thought Gregg was about to kiss me again when he savagely attacked me once he got into my room.

"What did you do?" he asked in astonishment.

"It was pure instinct. I fumbled around and found a pair of sharp scissors on the nightstand. He was strangling me! But I managed to stab him in the side, and he let go enough for me to get away, and then I went for his throat, I didn't mean to kill him but that's what happened."

"Christ! He died right there in front of you?"

"It was horrible. I was about to call the police, but then I thought about all the publicity, which would ruin my career -- can you imagine? Out-of-town executive dressed as a woman kills Craigslist killer? So I thought about it, and I'm really ashamed of this, but I found a way to get his body out of my room and down the hall, and then I checked out of the hotel the next day, but not before I lied to the police when they came knocking on my door. I'm so fucked," I said, and the tears started again.

Ron took me in his arms and hugged me tight, rubbing my shoulders. "Baby, you did nothing wrong. Okay, maybe you should have told the police what really happened, but after what you'd been through, nobody could blame you for that. What you did was self-defense, anyone can see that, and once you tell the police what really happened, you'll be in the clear."

"That's just it, Ron. I can't tell them now. Maybe I should have right after it happened, but now that I've lied to them, they might never believe me. I could get charged with murder! And even if I don't, once the story hits the newspapers, I'll be totally fucked."

"Okay Missy, let's try to forget about it for tonight. You're totally safe here. And this time, you're going to get a home-cooked meal." I followed him into the gourmet kitchen, and helped him set the table, but he was clearly in his element. When we finally sat down to dinner, it was as elegant as the last time, a delicious pasta that I'd never had before. After my fourth glass of Chardonnay, I was feeling no pain, and Ron wisely waved me off when I offered to help with the dishes.

When he was done, I followed him up the stairs to the bedroom. No words were said, but I was sure that we were going to spend the night together, in his bed, and I went all out with my babydoll nightie and matching white stockings. I snuggled under the covers and waited for Ron to join me. But when he came to the door, in long pajamas, he only wished me a good night, turned out the light, and disappeared.

* * *

Despite my disappointment, I slept soundly through the night, and was awakened by the smell of bacon and coffee being prepared downstairs in the kitchen. I pulled the robe in the bathroom over my scanty sleepwear, put on my wig and a touch of makeup, and tiptoed down the staircase to the kitchen in my stocking feet. Standing at the sink with her back to me was a large woman, with an apron tied over her shirtdress. She was humming a refrain from Don Giovanni in a deep voice.

Of course the woman was Ron. I didn't want to embarrass him, although the sight was so ludicrous that it was hard not to laugh. So I just stood there silently, waiting for him to turn around. When he did, he was so startled to see me that he dropped a dish, which shattered on the hardwood floor. I watched as he got down on his knees and started picking up the broken pieces. I stooped down too, gathering my robe around my knees, and began to help him. Our eyes met, and in spite of myself, I started to giggle. Then he started to laugh, a deep man's belly laugh, and soon we were rolling around on the floor, in our women's clothing, carried away by the absurdity of it all.

"I didn't know you were here," he finally said, a bit sheepishly. "I wanted to surprise you with breakfast in bed."

"I'm sorry I startled you! What's your name?"

"Huh?"

"Sweetheart, if we're gonna be sisters today, you have to have a girl's name!"

"Would you really like me to do that?"

"Well, I am your guest, and it is your house, and at the moment you definitely don't look like a Ron. So unless you're happy with Ronette, I suggest you think up a nice name for yourself, something pretty. Only you can't use Missy, I've taken it already."