SURREAL KILLER 3
by Laurie S.

Warning: if you are under 19 or pure of heart or squeamish, do not read this tale. It is filled with gratuitous violence. Do not try the dangerous acts depicted in Surreal Killer at home or anywhere else.

Synopsis: a young psychology student begins to realize that his homicidal tendencies may be abnormal.

Chapter 13

When Professor Lipshitz introduced the term paraphilia, Arthur had no clue what it meant.

Up on the projection screen, there it was in black and white.

Paraphilias are sexual behaviors in which unusual scenarios or unusual objects are needed to achieve sexual excitement.

"Eight paraphilias are recognized," Professor Lipshitz began. "Those eight paraphilias are grouped into three categories."

Arthur wondered if tranvestism was one of them.

"The first is a Preference for Non-human Objects. There are two paraphilias that are grouped together here. The first is fetishism and the second is transvestism." The professor paused for a moment to allow the students to type their notes. "I suppose that in our society, both of these paraphilias have received enough media coverage that they are well-known. So what is fetishism?" Professor Lipshitz asked, his eyes looking up to a packed lecture hall.

Many hands went up. The professor selected a keen female student in the front row.

"A fetishist gets sexually excited by an item of clothing. It could be a pair of boots or silk underwear or a leather harness."

"Good examples," Lipshitz said. "Non-living objects can arouse a person sexually."

On one of the overhead screens flashed photos of objects that could arouse people sexually: panties, nylons, bras, corsets, men's briefs, sandals, high heels.

While some of Lipshitz's professional colleagues didn't believe in providing illustrations and photos for every lesson, Lipshitz knew that this generation loved to surf the net and play computer games, even while they sat in his class. They were easily bored. They all thought they could multitask, although they were in for a bit of a shock when Lipshitz, in a future lesson, would present experimental proof that the vast majority of people were terrible at multitasking.

"The fetishism can manifest in two ways. One form associates sexual intercourse with an object. The object often is women's underwear, as shown on the screen on the right. The idea is usually initiated by one of the partners, but can be enjoyable for both people in the relationship. Since the focus is on a non-living object, it can be relatively harmless and fun."

Some students laughed when they saw a picture of a blow up doll.

"Another form of fetishism is more extreme. Here a nonliving object substitutes for a human partner. Orgasm is achieved when fondling an object such as a dildo, boots, shoes, a whip, or materials such as velvet or silk. Here, orgasm is achieved when the person is masturbating. He or she is alone, fondling the object."

Arthur wondered if Professor Lipshitz, a handsome man in his mid-thirties, might have some experience with fetishism.

"Another preference for non-human objects is transvestism. The person is aroused sexually by dressing in the clothes of the opposite sex — by cross-dressing." Lipshitz paused. "This arousal isn't very common among females. Here, in this lecture hall I see a lot of the girls wearing pants. I doubt that many are sexually aroused simply by wearing jeans, so we'll use males to demonstrate this paraphilia."

Photos of men dressed as women flashed up onto one of the screens. There was a sudden "Ah" from a startled audience. Some photos of beautiful gurls were taken from the TV show Rupaul's Drag Race. The men looked amazing.

The girl sitting beside Arthur, Ellen Parker, smiled at him for a moment. Was she onto him?

"In some cases, a man might only wear partial female clothing to intensify excitement with a sexual partner. In other cases, the male does a complete transformation. This suggests the individual might have a gender identity problem. However, not all cross-dressers want to become women. Similarly not all cross-dressers are homosexual."

The professor was moving rather quickly. Arthur wondered if the students would have a chance to explore these paraphilias in the seminar sessions.

"A second grouping of paraphilias is the Preference for Situations Causing Suffering. Here we are talking about Sadism and Masochism. What is the difference between sadists and masochists?"

At least half of students in the lecture hall put up their hands. Lipshitz selected a guy in a fourth row seat, directly in front of Arthur.

"A sadist gets off on seeing someone else experience pain whereas a masochist gets his jollies from experiencing the pain."

"Please try to avoid colloquial terms when stating definitions," the professor said. "However, you do have the essential difference between the two." Then the professor scrolled further down the page to show the class the proper clinical definition.

Arthur dutifully copied the lecture notes onto his laptop.

"An easy way to remember which is which is to think of the origins of the terms. The term sadist is taken from the Marquis de Sade. He derived sexual excitement by inflicting pain on others. The Marquis de Sade was imprisoned and also put in an insane asylum for his actions."

A portrait of the Marquis de Sade flashed up on the screen.

"Leopold von Sacher-Masoch wrote a novel entitled Venus in Furs. The male protagonist encouraged his mistress to mistreat him, to beat him. Those who derive sexual excitement from their own pain are masochists."

Leopold von Sacher-Masoch's portrait accompanied the professor's comments.

"So sadists and masochists go together. Of course, the big worry is that the acts of violence escalate. Sadists need to commit more and more extreme, brutal acts of violence to satisfy their sexual desires."

Arthur wondered if that described him. Was he killing criminals in successively brutal ways to get a sexual high?

There was no doubt in his mind that he derived sexual pleasure from dressing in female clothing, but did he also get sexual pleasure from killing?

If Arthur looked back objectively at the ways in which he killed his victims, he most certainly did derive pleasure from the thrill of the kill. Arthur enjoyed inflicting the pain. According to the definition, he was a sadist. No doubt.

Chapter 14

At the end of the lecture, as Arthur placed his laptop in its case, his Abnormal Psychology classmate, Ellen Parker, asked if he wanted to go for coffee. He readily agreed. It was a comfortable ritual of theirs. Both Ellen and Arthur wanted to kick around some of the ideas that Lipshitz had zipped through.

There was a Starbucks near the Hofstra University campus. Although the coffee was overpriced, it was one of life's luxuries even impoverished students enjoyed on occasion.

Arthur ordered the iced tea and Ellen a Caffᨠlatte. They found some comfortable padded armchairs with a view of a delightful, verdant tree-lined park here in Hempstead. The sun was shining. Thank god for life's little pleasures.

"What did you think of Lipshitz's lecture?" Ellen asked.

"He covered a lot of ground," Arthur said. "I wish he had gone into more detail."

"There were lots of fascinating topics. I had never heard the term paraphilia before. Had you?"

"No, although everybody knew what the paraphilias were: sadism, masochism, fetishism, transvestism…"

"Exhibitionism, voyeurism and pedophilia," Ellen added.

"Hell, the media had a field day with New York Jets coach Rex Ryan. Did you hear about his wife's foot fetish?"

"It was hard to miss," Ellen conceded. "Although for a coach with a reputation for loving the sound of his own voice, he was remarkably quiet about the matter."

"I guess everybody has their own private kinks to hide."

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." Arthur took a sip of his ice tea.

"Why do you think that?" Ellen asked.

"It's embarrassing for people to reveal what turns them on sexually."

"Why should that be true?"

"I don't know. Ask Rex Ryan. Or better yet, ask his wife."

"Do you have any private kinks?"

Ellen's question caught Arthur by surprise. "If I did, why would I tell you?" Arthur asked.

"So I could broadcast it to the whole campus. Twitter it to the rest of the world." Ellen grinned.

She had a delightful smile. Arthur felt lucky to be able to share moments with such a beautiful girl. The remarkable thing was that they got to know each other quite by chance. The first day of the Abnormal Psychology class, Ellen had arrived late. The lecture hall was jam packed except for an empty seat beside Arthur.

"If you liked to use a dildo and a vibrator, would you like that broadcast to the whole world?"

Ellen laughed. "No, I guess not."

"Why not? I'm sure that people masturbate. Why wouldn't you be willing to tell everyone?"

"I guess it's because our society is filled with prudes who wouldn't approve of that behavior. Or, at the very least, they think it's an improper topic to talk about openly."

"Would those people chastise you, criticize you, laugh at you?" Arthur waved his hands about.

"All of the above."

"Suppose you became a psychologist," Arthur began, "and you had a patient who had a fetish for an item of clothing."

"Okay," Ellen interrupted, "let's say he liked female clothing. He did the whole nine yards: bra, panties, nylons, high heels, evening gown, makeup, jewelry and wig. When he dressed up, he looked beautiful, glamorous, like a supermodel — just like the ones Lipshitz showed in the lecture."

"They were beautiful, weren't they?" Arthur said wistfully.

"They looked drop dead gorgeous." Ellen nodded her head.

Arthur wondered if Ellen suspected he was a transvestite. "If your client told you about his predilection for female clothing, would you share that with anyone else?"

"I suppose not, unless it was with another psychologist, to ask advice on treatment."

"Does a patient have an expectation of confidentiality?" Arthur asked.

"I would guess yes, but we haven't learned the legal technicalities of a psychologist's practice." Ellen took a sip of her latte.

"What if a friend told you he enjoyed wearing female clothing? How would you, an amateur psychologist, respond?"

"I wouldn't be surprised."

Ellen looked into Arthur's eyes. She knew. "Is that all you'd say?"

"I'd tell him I have my own private kinks."

"Such as?"

"I enjoy making love standing up, in a shower."

Arthur raised his eyebrows.

"I enjoy nature," Ellen continued. "Rolling around in a sleeping bag in a national park under the stars making love with my hunk of a man is my idea of heaven."

That sounded like fun.

"I enjoy holding hands with the man I love while we take a leisurely stroll on the beach at sunset."

Check. Arthur was making a mental list to remember all of Ellen's private kinks.

"I enjoy having my breasts fondled, licked and sucked. I enjoy being covered by kisses all over my body."

Check and check.

"I enjoy a man who can bring me to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm."

Check, check and check.

"He should be sexually adventurous, be willing to explore my G-spot, try out new positions, be creative, and, most important of all, know how to make loving fun."

Arthur took a sip from his ice tea. He drew a few ice cubes into his mouth and sucked on them. He felt a sudden need to cool down.

"I've revealed some of my deepest darkest secrets," Ellen said. "It's only fair that you tell me some of yours."

Arthur hesitated. Arthur dare not tell her about his sadistic homicidal streak or his love of cross-dressing. He decided to play it safe. "I prefer to make love in complete, absolute darkness."

Ellen looked unimpressed by Arthur's revelation. "I wonder, in the dark, will you be able to find my G-spot? Because one guy, in the clear light of day, missed it completely."

Arthur grasped Ellen's hands in his and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. "When the bedroom is completely dark, I feel deeply connected to my lover by the touch of her skin, the scent of her hair, the taste of her lips and…clit, and the sounds of ecstasy as she orgasms."

Ellen smiled. "When having sex, I think greater demands are put on the man than the woman. Making love in complete darkness will be easy for me. As the saying goes, 'even a blind squirrel finds a nut once in a while.'"

Chapter 15

"The general public tends to believe that international business trips are for pleasure, but nothing could be further from the truth," Donald Fuchs said. "While in London, I hardly saw anything but the inside of meeting rooms. And by the time I adjusted to the five hour time zone change, it was time to come home."

The background hum of the British Airways Boeing 737 made for a good sleeping environment - that plus the plush leather seats with lots of legroom in business class.

"What was the purpose of your business trip?" Kyra Sanders asked, trying to stifle a yawn. The flight was still over an hour away from New York City.

"My company, Goldham-Fuchs, you might have heard of us, is an investment banking firm." Donald Fuchs puffed up his chest as he took a sip from his wine glass. His three-piece Calvin Klein suit identified him as a Wall Street banker.

"Oh right, I remember the rescue of your firm by the government was very controversial," Kyra said. "It cost the taxpayers billions and billions of dollars." Kyra thought of the millions of people who lost their houses, the workers who lost their jobs, and the people who lost their savings while the bank executives reaped million dollar bonuses.

"Well, that was a very complex issue. It would take quite awhile to describe the intricacies of mortgage-backed securities, explain how the financial crisis arose and why it was in the best interests of the U.S. government to pay off the debts of our company."

"So what was the focus of your trip?"

"You're persistent. By chance, you're not a financial spy, are you?" Fuchs asked with a smile.

"Hardly. I'm no Mata Hari or James Bond."

Donald couldn't help but wonder what this beautiful girl was like in the sack, but he put those thoughts aside for a moment. "Our firm searches the world for the very best companies to invest in. We leave no stone unturned in our quest to find the next big thing. So I was touching base with our European division."

"Anything interesting?"

"The Europeans are so far ahead of America in switching to green technologies. Because of government incentive programs, solar and wind power technologies are quite highly developed. You wouldn't believe how countries like Germany and Spain have taken to solar power. In Germany, solar panels are everywhere. Down in Seville, the Spaniards have constructed a solar power tower surrounded by fields of mirrors. It kind of resembles Sauron's Mordor Lighthouse in Lord of the Rings, only it's bright and shiny rather than dark and ominous."

"So you've found some promising companies?"

"Definitely. The trip was very productive. I learned a lot."

"That's one thing I enjoy about traveling. Not only do I meet interesting people," she said with a seductive smile, "travel exposes me to new ideas and different ways of doing things."

"I couldn't agree more. I can't wait to see how the world's major technologies are going to evolve," Fuchs began. "I was at an auto show recently. All the major companies are coming out with electric cars or hybrids."

"Yes, but the prices still need to come down, don't they?"

"You're right. However, I remember what prices were like for a flat screen HD Television when they first came out and what they cost now. It's less than half of what it first was."

Kyra nodded in agreement.

Donald Fuchs continued. "The same thing for computers, laptops, tablets, cell phones, games — they're all getting better and there's a downward pressure on the cost."

"I'm thinking of buying the new iPad when it comes out."

"A great toy — I've bought a few for my kids. They love playing games. And, if you like to travel, there are some language translation apps, currency exchange apps…I understand there will be two cameras on the new iPad, a magnetic cover; it's an invaluable device."

Kyra decided that Donald Fuchs was a know-it-all. He had to have the last word about everything.

"So what were you doing in London?" Donald asked.

'My god, he actually asked me what I was doing? Amazing.' She didn't say that aloud. "I did a lot of touristy things. I saw some plays, visited the Globe Theatre, shopped, ate at some great restaurants, saw the sights — the usual touristy things."

"What was the Globe Theatre like?"

"Wonderful. It was like traveling back through time to 1599, although there weren't any plays being performed at this time of year."

"Do you enjoy Shakespeare?"

"Yes. At first, when I studied it in high school, I didn't, but then I saw the film Shakespeare in Love. That's the film that hooked me on Shakespearean plays."

"I remember it had a great cast — Gwyneth Paltrow, Ben Affleck…."

"Joseph Fiennes, Geoffrey Rush, Judi Dench, Colin Firth, Tom Wilkinson and many more," Kyra added. "Shakespearean plays aren't meant to be read. I didn't like the way we studied Shakespeare in high school. Plays like Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Macbeth - one must watch them being performed live to fully appreciate them. The actors bring the words to life."

"And what line of work are you in?"

"I'm an actress, of course, and sometimes model."

"I can believe that." Donald Fuchs admired her lithe form, great legs, prominent bust, colorful sundress, the understated makeup, and her curly auburn coiffure. "You have the looks to be a model. Might I have seen you in anything?"

"I'm still in university studying drama, but I've been in a few Off-Broadway plays, some commercials, I've found work as an extra in a few TV shows, but no big breakthroughs yet."

"I'm sure you'll be successful."

"I hope you're right." Kyra paused. "I've also done some escort work to help me pay the costs of my education," she said in a low voice.

This caught Donald Fuchs by surprise. "Really? An escort?"

"Yes. My clientele are the Who's Who of Manhattan society. You'd be surprised at how many of my clients you know."

"Such as…?"

"I cannot reveal that. Discretion is an essential part of my business."

"Why would you tell me this about yourself?" Donald looked perplexed.

"It's no coincidence I ended up sitting beside you on your return trip to New York, Donald. One of your business associates arranged it. For this flight, I am your paid companion."

Donald stared at beautiful Kyra. "As the Brits would say, I'm gob smacked. I feel like I've been caught with my pants down."

"That happens frequently in my business," Kyra said with a sly smile. "Are you, by chance, a member of the Mile High Club?"

"No." Donald laughed. Was that lust in her eyes?

Kyra put her hand on top of Donald's, which was atop the leather armrest. "Would you like to be?"

"Well, I'm…"

"I know you were married to Meredith Slaney. You had two kids and you used to live in Murray Hill before you moved to the Upper West Side following your divorce."

"How do you know all that?"

"A friend of yours arranged our meeting."

Donald looked impressed. "Well, I've always had a sense of adventure. I've ascended the slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro, canoed down the Amazon River, did some scuba diving in Australia's Great Barrier Reef, but I've never had sex on an airplane."

"I didn't realize a Wall Street banker would've done all that. I thought it was all nose to the grindstone, no time for fun as you said earlier about your business meetings."

"The adventurous stuff - that was in my younger days. My father is the Fuchs in Goldham-Fuchs, so I grew up enjoying a life of privilege. My dad considered international travel to be an essential part of my education."

"Sounds like a wise man." Kyra grinned as she squeezed Donald's hand. "So, are you up for it? And don't worry, I've got condoms in my purse."

"Sure, I'm game. How should we do this?"

"You go to the washroom. I'll come by in a few minutes. When the coast is clear, I'll give you a special knock." Kyra tapped on the tray console twice, paused, and then tapped twice more. "You open up, I step inside, and we'll figure out the rest when we're alone together."

"Sounds like a plan."

Donald didn't hesitate. He got up from his seat and quickly took off his jacket, vest and tie. He laid them down on his chair and then headed to the lavatory.

A minute later, Kyra rose from her chair and headed to the washroom as well.

Unfortunately, a middle-aged lady was waiting to use the lavatory. About a half minute later, an elderly man emerged from the toilet. The lady entered. Kyra opened up her purse and extracted a rolled up sticker. She peeled away the backing. Then she placed the OUT OF ORDER sign on the exterior of the washroom door. Then she knocked on the door of the washroom. Donald didn't even wait for the second pair of knocks. He pulled sexy Kyra into the small cubicle with a big grin on his face.

He locked the door behind Kyra.

Donald wrapped his arms around Kyra and pulled her to him. He could feel her soft D-cup breasts. They reminded him of Meredith's breasts except hers were only B cups. It had been awhile since he had had sex with Meredith.

Kyra had a delightful citrus scent. Donald breathed in her aroma before bringing his lips forward to touch hers.

As they kissed, Donald's tongue pushed into Kyra's mouth. She could taste the traces of white wine as their tongues intertwined. Their teeth, saliva, gums and tongues were a swirl of activity.

'She's so gorgeous,' Donald thought as his hands wandered over Kyra's rear end, pulling her into him. His hardening cock ground into her crotch, seeking fulfillment.

"I hope you're in good shape," Kyra mumbled.

"Don't worry, I work out."

Kyra pulled Donald's shirt out of his waistband as she undid his belt. "Have you ever done it standing up?"

"I guess we're going to have to," Donald acknowledged, cognizant of the cramped quarters.

Kyra pulled down his pants. "See, it happens all the time," she said with a laugh.

"I guess so." She looked so beautiful. She had such a wonderful laugh too. "Please turn around, Kyra so I can help remove your dress."

She obliged, and Donald began undoing the buttons of her white patterned sundress. A few moments later, Kyra helped Donald pull the dress over her head. Then she hung it up on the door hook.

Kyra turned her back to Donald to allow him the privilege of undoing her bra. When the mini hooks were undone, Donald placed it atop the sundress.

Kyra reached into her purse for the condom. It was the signal for Donald to slide down his briefs.

She gasped when she saw the size of his manhood. It was eight, maybe nine inches fully erect. "That's a keeper."

"Meredith never complained."

After tearing the packaging away from the condom and tossing the wrapping into the toilet, Kyra carefully unrolled the lubricated condom onto the head of Donald's penis. Then she unrolled it further and further down his rigid shaft. All the while Donald was fascinated by the feel of her fingers on his cock. Her long pink nails seemed to play with the delicate latex covering. Then he was ready for action.

He looked into her mesmerizing green eyes. Yes, she was beautiful. He remembered the way he felt when he first kissed Meredith back in his college days. There had been a sense of excitement about having sex. He felt that once more.

Donald's hands reached up to feel Kyra's D-cup breasts. They were massive. He wondered if she had implants. They felt so good.

Was that a look of fear in Kyra's eyes?

Kyra reached behind Donald's head and pulled him into a deep and passionate kiss. It excited Donald all over again. Apparently, there was no fear in Kyra.

"Have you ever given a girl anal sex?" she asked.

"Not very many times. My wife didn't like it?"

"Are you up for it?" Kyra's eyes challenged Donald.

"Yeah, sure." Donald shrugged. She was a kinky girl. Variety is the spice of life. His groin cried out for relief any which way he could get it.

Kyra turned her back to Donald. As she bent over, he admired her fabulous booty. Then she moved the thong aside enough to allow him to penetrate her.

Donald tried to insert his cock in the hole she provided for him. The tip of his cock probed her sphincter. He forced it in to a depth of about a half inch at first. Then as the lubricant and the pressure of his penis widened the opening, Kyra's muscles loosened a bit. His cock was shoved further up her colon.

Donald placed his hands on her hips as they tried to establish a rhythm. Slowly at first as she got used to his girth. And then they picked up momentum. "Ah…ah…ah…ah…" Faster and faster, back and forth, faster and faster. "Ah…ah…" Kyra/Arthur loved the feel of man cock ramming up into his/her prostate.

She/he wondered if Donald would ever realize he was fucking a guy — Arthur Dobriansky, a shemale. The glued on false vagina, although it looked somewhat realistic, wasn't deep enough to handle a man's cock.

It's why Kyra had to insist on anal sex.

Then there was a sudden release, a slowing of Donald's motion, as the sperm spewed out of his penis into the condom. "Ah, ah, I'm cumming." A few more back and forth humping motions and then Donald was pretty much done. He looked exhausted as he gasped for breath. His cock began to shrink rapidly even though his spirit was willing.

"You were wonderful, Donald," Kyra said as she turned her head to see him as he withdrew his cock. "You're a real man. Any woman would love to have sex with you."

Donald felt good. Kyra knew how to please a man. "You're a beautiful woman. You really know how to give a man pleasure."

Kyra's secret appeared to be safe. Donald didn't have a clue.

She turned to face Donald. They kissed with all the passion they could muster. Donald's tongue explored the nether reaches of Kyra's mouth.

But Kyra was aware of an odor. Almonds? She could sense poison was spreading quickly through Donald's body. There was a taste to Donald that hadn't been there earlier.

When they separated, Kyra pulled the sperm packed condom off Donald's prick and plopped it into the toilet bowl. Then she used some tissues to wipe the sticky sperm off his cock.

It took a few more minutes for them to put on their clothes. As soon as Kyra had her bra and dress back on, she told Donald to stay in the lavatory a few minutes more. Then leave.

For some reason Donald seemed to be having trouble breathing.

He was sweating profusely.

"I think I'm going to have to vomit…I feel really sick."

"You can stay in here as long as you like. I put an out of order sign on the outside door of this washroom."

"You did?"

"Well, we didn't want to be disturbed, did we?" Kyra checked the small cubicle to see if there was anything that she might have left behind. Everything seemed to be in order.

A quick goodbye kiss and Kyra was out the door, quickly closing it behind her.

She returned to her seat, confident that the arsenic poison that was inside the condom Donald had used was having a big impact on his current condition. If the arsenic didn't kill him today, it would still have a huge impact on his future health.

No bankers had gone to jail for the massive problems they had created for the American economy and the world's economies. Some had even "earned" millions in bonuses for their part in creating a great recession. Maybe Arthur was getting soft. Donald Fuchs might live. Then again, he might not.

The poor flight attendant or cleaner that would eventually find Donald Fuchs might be in for a bad day, but flight attendants and maintenance workers were used to cleaning up messes. Arthur Dobriansky had to do that frequently in his job with American Airlines.

Kyra/Arthur looked at her fingertips for a moment. The liquid bandage that she spread over her fingertips would ensure that her fingerprints wouldn't be left behind in the john.

Besides, Donald Fuchs didn't even realize he had fucked a guy up the ass.

The seat belt sign went on. Kyra knew that the British Airways flight would be landing in New York within twenty minutes.

Kyra Sanders would walk off the plane scot-free without any suspicion of foul play involving Donald Fuchs.

Kyra only had carry-on luggage. Once she was through Customs, Arthur Dobriansky would never be caught.

Chapter 16

When Arthur returned home, he wondered if the arsenic had killed Donald Fuchs.

To Arthur, it didn't matter if Donald lived or died. If he died, he deserved to die because of the financial hardship his company had caused to millions of people. If he lived, Fuchs was fucked for life. The arsenic was persistent. It would stay in his body. He'd enjoy arsenic poisoning symptoms the rest of his shortened life. 'Wouldn't it be great if Donald's dick fell off?' Arthur thought.

On the off chance that a local news show or business channel might cover the death of Donald Fuchs, he turned on his television.

Donald flipped through the channels, starting with the business news channels.

Nothing.

He quickly flipped to a news channel. CNN was reporting about a shooting rampage in a Safeway supermarket parking lot in Tucson, Arizona. Nineteen people had been shot, including a U.S. Congresswoman, Gabrielle Giffords.

Arthur watched the report with great interest. A suspect, Jared Loughner, was in custody.

Apparently, the shootings had occurred the day before, while Arthur was out of the country.

Six people were killed, including a 9-year-old girl, U.S. District Judge John Roll, and Giffords' aide Gabe Zimmerman. When Loughner needed to reload his Glock semi-automatic pistol, people in the crowd attacked him, knocked him down, and held him down until he was arrested.

Giffords, a Democrat in her third term, was shot in the head. She was in a Tucson hospital in critical condition.

There was a related story. Commentators were pointing a finger at Sarah Palin's 'target list.' Some on air personalities said the list put crosshairs on Democrat Gabrielle Giffords. Arthur watched in amazement. Or was it disbelief?

It made him pause to wonder about his actions. He always believed he had killed people that really deserved to die: Tom Spencer, Frank De Rossi, Charles Carter, Benny Stevenson, and maybe Donald Fuchs. They were all bad guys. Tom Spencer and Frank De Rossi had beat him up and raped his
sister. Tom and Frank both were drug dealers. Charles Carter had killed three transgendered people in the San Francisco area. Benny Stevenson had murdered his wife. Donald Fuchs had helped plunge a nation into a great recession. Thousands of people lost their jobs, their homes and their life savings. Arthur saw himself as an avenger. He dealt with criminals the law either couldn't catch or couldn't touch.

As the CNN commentators discussed the need for gun legislation, Arthur was convinced little would be done. Big business ran American politics. Gun lobbyists would scuttle any bills. They'd buy the votes of the politicians.

America was a violent society. The most popular shows on television centered on murder: CSI, CSI Miami, NCIS, NCIS Los Angeles, Chicago Code, Harry's Law, Hawaii Five-O, Dexter, Criminal Minds, Blue Bloods, Castle, Jack of Diamonds, Flashpoint, Rookie Blue, Cold Case, Burn Notice, The Good Guys, Law and Order, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Lie to Me, The Mentalist, Reno 911!, Detroit 1-8-7, etc.

Although Arthur had had a clear conscience about his actions, he now began to question the effect of his actions. How did the public react to the murder of Benny Stevenson? He was a high profile athlete. In many newspapers, there were lots of letters to the editor that appeared following Stevenson's death. They suggested the media was to blame because they made it seem that Benny had gotten away with murder.

Therefore, somebody had taken justice into her own hands and had killed Benny Stevenson, avenging the death of Diane Stevenson.

Arthur started to wonder if he was doing the right thing. Violence just seemed to breed more violence. He had beaten Tom Spencer to death. A year had passed before Arthur killed Frank De Rossi. But the pace of killing seemed to be picking up. Charles Carter was knifed to death eight months later. Six months after that, Benny Stevenson died of an allergic reaction to peanuts. Three months later, Donald Fuchs was poisoned.

Somehow Arthur felt a sense of detachment from his murdering ways. It was almost as if someone else was doing it - not him.

Maybe if he kept studying psychology, he'd figure it all out.

Was Arthur a homicidal maniac?

It was a definite possibility.

Chapter 17

Arthur Dobriansky sat in front of the makeup mirror in his bedroom.
Unlike the many, many times he had done this previously, he was very
nervous.

He wanted to look perfect. He wanted to look beautiful — drop dead gorgeous for his friend Ellen. He had begun about two hours ago. After taking a shower and drying himself off with a soft fluffy cotton bath towel, Arthur reached into his magical bag of tricks and extracted a set of magnificent false breasts. These D-cups were a perfect flesh tone match for his skin. He had purchased them from the company that made those realistic looking love dolls. Very expensive.

Putting on the falsie was rather straightforward. Apply adhesive to the underside of the boob, then line up his tit with a marking on the inside of the false breast. Press the false breast onto the skin. Hold for a minute or so to make sure the adhesive would bond to the skin properly. Then spread the special, thick, liquid makeup along the skin-thin edges of the falsies and voila! Instant boobs!

Back to the mundane. After applying shaving cream, Arthur used a multi-bladed razor to remove any hint of facial hair.

A wig cap was next. Carefully he finger combed his hair back, and then pulled the wig cap over his scalp. He toyed with the tight elastic edges, tucking any loose strands of hair beneath the bald surface. The wig cap tended to tighten the facial features because of the upward pull of the elastic edge.

Then Arthur, using gum Arabic and a small spatula, flattened and glued down his eyebrows. Next, with a smaller plastic spatula, he applied a thin strip of theatrical putty over much of his eyebrows. What remained look like the thin feminine arches preferred by high fashion models. A heavy makeup, Dermablend, covered the putty. Later, he would use a pencil to finish his eyebrows.

To create a blank canvas to work with, Arthur applied a light foundation, although he avoided the crescent shaped area just below his eyes. He dotted on the liquid and used a forefinger to spread the foundation. Then he smoothed the makeup with a small triangular sponge to ensure a uniform texture. Unlike many drag queens, his light almost imperceptible facial hair didn't need to be hidden under Dermablend or Kryolan. Arthur liked the Mac brand. It seemed to be the makeup of choice for most drag queens, not only for its quality, but also for its tranny friendly rep. He spilled powder onto a brush and then spread it over his face to set the foundation.

Although Arthur didn't have bags under his eyes because he was still young, he applied a concealor under his eyes. He followed it up with a white powder. He pressed it on liberally. He didn't use a brush to remove the excess. Knowing that he would apply mascara, the white powder would catch any black flecks that strayed from the eyelashes. Afterward, he could brush away the powder and still have a clean look.

From the top of the counter, Arthur selected an eyeliner. With a practiced hand, he outlined the upper lashes and lower lashes. Next came the eyelash curler. He closed his right eye, placed the tiny tongs over the lashes, squeezed for about 20 seconds, and then released. He repeated the procedure for his left eye.

Although his eyelashes were naturally long, he decided to opt for false eyelashes. He shook up his mascara container. Then he pulled out the small wand and applied the black mascara. It would help stiffen his natural lashes. Then, he pulled one of the false eyelashes away from its case.

Arthur, from experience, had learned that long fingernails made the application of false eyelashes difficult. Therefore, he kept the nails for his index fingers and thumbs short. He'd add the false fingernails later.

Using a pin, he dipped it into the eyelash adhesive and spread the glue onto the fine base of the false eyelash. He waited for about 15 seconds for the adhesive to get tacky, then "eyeballed" the placement of the fake eyelash and pressed it into position. He kept pressure on the edges of it for about half a minute, then let go. Perfect! Then he repeated the procedure for the other eye.

The difficult part was over. He used the mascara wand to enhance his lower lashes. Then he selected a dark gray eye shadow to cover the eyelid, a dark plum shade for the intermediate area between the eyelid and the eyebrow and a light pink for just below the eyebrow. He used a brush to blend the colors together.

Arthur pulled his head back from the makeup mirror. The LED lights along its circular edge and the 5x magnifying effect created a somewhat surreal effect. He could see some red lines in his eyes. He should have put Visine drops in before doing his eyes.

He wondered what it was like when doctors performed microsurgery. What a sensitive touch they must have.

Picking up the eyebrow pencil, he used short strokes on top of the glue-flattened eyebrows to simulate the natural hairs. When he finished, the eyebrows didn't look painted on or phony.

Next, he selected a reddish-pink pencil to outline his lips. Arthur felt blessed to have naturally full lips. For him collagen lip injections were unnecessary. Besides, plumped up lips would look unnatural when Arthur walked around in male mode. He selected a cherry-pink lipstick, which he applied with a brush. The lip-gloss was next. He stroked it on carefully. The lip-gloss had a cherry taste and a pleasant scent. He loved the wet look. It was so sexy. It invited kissing and it left behind little pink lip prints all over his lover's skin.

Arthur had several compacts on the countertop. He selected one that had a brown color darker than his skin tone. Using the small pad, he pressed the contouring shade on a curved line between his sideburns (if he had any) to an inch away from the corner of his mouth. The contouring enhanced his naturally high cheekbones. He used the compact's brush to diminish the dark shading until it wasn't very noticeable. The key to the shading was its subtlety.

Spreading an off-white colored powder onto a large brush, Arthur highlighted the middle part of his face, from the forehead, down the middle strip of nose, the moustache area, all the way down to his chin. A dark powder was used on the outer edges of his face. The highlighting brought the middle part of his face forward and the contouring pulled back the edges of his face, diminishing the size of his jaw line and the size of his forehead.

The young cross-dresser looked over to the clock radio on the night table by the bed. It was 6:30 pm. Ellen was supposed to be at his place around 7:00, but she was the type who was usually a few minutes early.

Arthur moved over to the doorway where there was a full-length mirror. When he did his boy to girl transformation, he liked to be fully naked. Unless he was in a hurry, the change turned him on. It was narcissism — self-love.

It was difficult to decide what was his best feature. His long curvaceous legs? He kept his legs smooth and soft. The calves and thighs weren't heavily muscled so he didn't have to wear tights to hide muscle definition or leg hair. Turning around, he craned his neck to look at his rear end. It looked like a girl's rear end. He didn't have a boy's skinny ass. The ass cheeks were full and plump. It was a beautiful booty. Similarly, his hips were wide and womanly rather than narrow and boyish.

His penis was relatively small. If he pushed it back between his legs and held it in place with tape, one could easily imagine Arthur being a transsexual or, in his dreams, a real girl. And Arthur preferred the clean-shaven look.

A taught toned 24-inch waist swelled to a 36-inch bust line. When Arthur looked at those special life-like love-doll falsies in the mirror, his curvaceous body looked like it belonged in a Playboy centerfold.

His arms, although toned and surprisingly strong, were long and lean. He followed an exercise program that purposely didn't develop bulging forearms or bulky biceps or broad shoulders. All the major muscles in his body were long, lean and lethal. He had amazing aerobic capacity. Swimming ten lengths in the apartment complex's pool every morning, using only his legs, seemed to provide the level of fitness he sought.

Glancing at the clock again, he decided that, to be on the safe side, he should hurry along.

He stepped over to the dresser. The top drawer contained the lacy underthings that he loved. Was he a fetishist? Undoubtedly. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a flesh colored gaff. He didn't need the false vagina that he sometimes used when going on his "missions." Tonight was for Ellen — nobody else. He wondered if she and he would end up in bed. However, he put the inner discourse aside for a moment because he knew it would be difficult to don the gaff if he had an erection.

The cross-dresser in Arthur adored garter belts and silk stockings. Carefully he donned the black garter belt, pulling it up around his waist. It looked like the bottom three inches of a corset — control panels and all.

Then, when he withdrew the silk stockings from the drawer, he took a moment or two to feel them, fondle them, admire them.

Carefully he rolled up one of the long silk stockings, inserted his toes into them, and then gradually unrolled the stocking as he pulled it over his heel, up to his calf, over the knee, and up to his thigh. He attached the little do-dads of the garter belt to the thicker top of the silk stocking, the welt, first the front one, then the back one. He adjusted the length of the strap. He looked at the stocking and garters in the full-length mirror. Perfect! He repeated the pleasurable procedure on the other leg without snaring the filmy silk stockings on his fingernails.

Shit! He still needed to put on his fingernails!

He searched through the items on the countertop. He found the sets of false fingernails. He chose a pink shade that matched his lipstick and eye shadow.

Arthur had used this type of press-on false fingernails before. He slipped off the cardboard packaging and then took off the top plastic transparent cover. He peeled off the backing for the thumbnail. Then he held the edges of the false nail above his own thumbnail and pressed the fake one into place. Nothing to it. He repeated the procedure for each finger. He held up his left hand. The fake nails fit pretty well. His hand looked more elegant and feminine.

The procedure for the right hand didn't go quite as smoothly because Arthur was right handed. He wasn't quite as adept with the fine motor control of his left hand. He had to keep telling himself not to hurry. Stay calm. It took more time and patience, but eventually he managed to apply all five nails on his right hand.

Eschewing the bra, he moved over to the walk-in closet. He selected his "ho" special from the hanger, lowered it, lifted one leg up high, stepped into the dress's opening, followed quickly by the other leg. It was a skimpy low-cut little black dress with spaghetti straps and no back. He pulled the dress up and slipped the straps up onto his shoulders. The low cut of the front part of the dress revealed his spectacular D-cups in their full 3-D glory. The black stretchy material barely hid his areolas. He turned his back to the mirror and craned his neck around. If the LBD hung any lower in the back, one could see Arthur's ass crack.

Arthur looked down at his legs. The dress was very short. It hung perhaps five inches below Arthur's crotch, barely hiding the garters and the welts of the silk stockings, showing off his long curvaceous legs to full advantage.

At the shoe rack, Arthur knew exactly what he wanted. The four-inch stiletto heels had an aura of danger about them. In fact, they were killer heels. Arthur had killed Benny Stevenson while wearing them.

Stepping out of the closet, Arthur was aware that at a height of 6 feet or more with heels, he was taller than many men. He could be an imposing intimidating sight.

Although Arthur wasn't a big fan of jewelry, he did have some fake diamond studs that would go nicely with this ensemble. He quickly fastened them to his earlobes.

Finally, he was ready to put on his long gently curled blonde wig. Removing the golden tresses from the wig stand, he dipped his head, tried to match the front edge of the wig to his hairline as he let the mass of hair fall forward. He felt for the back edge of the wig's inner net cap and pulled it into position.

Then Arthur stood tall, flipping the tresses into place, finger brushing loose strands away from his face. He picked up a hair brush from the countertop. He began brushing the ends of the long strands to break up any minor knots and gradually worked his way higher. The fullness of the human hair wig brought a smile to Arthur's face. Putting the brush down, he wiggled his way over the full-length mirror.

She looked drop dead gorgeous! A blonde 6-foot tall Amazon goddess! On killer heels! With bazooms stuck out to there! A walking wet dream! She was hot!

Paris Hilton, eat your heart out.

It was 6:50 pm. Ellen likely would be here at any moment.

He looked around the bedroom. He started to put all the transformation tools into a drawer as quickly as possible: the wig stand, eye shadow cases, false eyelash cases, mascara, pencils, compacts, eyelash curler, lip-gloss, lipstick, makeup brushes, adhesives, hair brush, theatrical putty, small spatulas, powder, concealor, false fingernail cases, jewelry case and anything else that he didn't use.

Yeah, Arthur was a natural woman.

Not.

One final visual check around the bedroom. Everything looked in place. The bed was tidy. The countertop was clean. Everything was in its proper place.

Oh darn, he had forgotten the perfume. He quickly moved back to the dresser. At the back of the top drawer, he found what he was looking for. He withdrew the small bottle, stepped away from the dresser, sprayed the Poison into the air, and walked through the fine mist.

Quickly he put back the Poison and shut the drawer.

He scurried out of the bedroom, down the hall, and turned into the kitchen.

Opening the fridge, he pulled out a tray of hors d'oeuvres. He quickly set it out on the countertop. Next, he opened the fridge once more and removed a bottle of Chardonnay. Placing it on the counter, he opened up the cutlery drawer and found the wine opener.

What else did he need? Napkins? Small plates for the hors d'oeuvres? Small forks? Wine glasses? Trays?

Arthur quickly gathered the materials he needed and put the forks, plates, napkins and wine glasses on one tray. The hors d'oeuvres had their own stray with a transparent plastic covering. He'd carry the trays over to the living room when Ellen arrived at his apartment.

She'd be here at any moment. Arthur wanted to check the time. The clock on the electric stove said 6:52 pm. What else did Arthur need to do? He stepped into the hallway and looked into the living room. Everything appeared neat and tidy.

Oh! He forgot. There by the entrance vestibule, he had left a large green plastic bag filled with garbage. He had intended to take it over to the garbage chute before he began his transformation, but with all sorts of things on his mind, a phone call from his sister had interrupted him, he had forgotten.

He rushed over to the foyer as fast as his stilettos would allow, although he couldn't pass up the opportunity to stop and admire his reflection in the sliding mirror doors of the entry closet. The little black dress looked fabulous! Any guy would love to rip the tiny LBD off that sexy blonde bombshell.

'Must hurry,' Arthur thought. He opened the front door, scurried down the length of the hall to the tiny garbage room. It was located just past the elevators.

When Arthur reached the elevator bay, his high heels clattered on the marble floors. Then he was back onto carpet momentarily, before opening up the garbage room door. It was a tiny closet sized room. He pulled back the handle that opened up the garbage chute. He stuck the garbage bag in and then tried to give the bag a push to send it on its merry way.

Pleased that there were no disgusting sticky things clinging to the handles and doorknobs, Arthur exited as quickly as possible. Maybe he'd need another spray of Poison to restore his lovely scent.

When he emerged from the garbage room, Arthur looked down the hallway toward his apartment. There was a beautiful redhead dressed in a slinky turquoise dress headed in the direction of his apartment. It was Ellen!

Arthur tried not to make any noise on the marble floors in front of the elevators. He tiptoed across the gleaming white surface so that maybe he could sneak up on Ellen.

However, as she was far ahead of him, he was unlikely to catch up to her.

Then an idea popped into his head. Maybe he could play on a little trick on her.

Up ahead he saw Ellen stop in front of his apartment door. She knocked, and then waited. She knocked again.

"Hi Sweetie," Arthur purred in the sexiest female voice he could manage.

Ellen turned around to face the person who addressed her. Her eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when she saw the gorgeous blonde Amazon in a hooker outfit.

"Are you looking for Arthur too? I knocked a few minutes ago, but I couldn't get an answer."

There was a puzzled look on Ellen's face. "Are you one of Arthur's friends?"

The blonde smiled from ear to ear. "Sure thing, honey. Me and Arthur have been an item for the last three months," she drawled. "He's the most wonderful lover I've ever known. He's so sweet and considerate. He's a tiny little thing, but I love him so much." Arthur's southern accent was quite convincing.

A look of amazement and, perhaps, a touch of anger crept into Ellen's expression. "Are you Arthur's girlfriend?"

"Why yes, honey, my name is Marilyn Phillips." She offered her hand.

A stunned Ellen shook hands with Marilyn. "Uh, pleased to meet you."

"Shucks, golly gee, any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine."

Marilyn put her arms around Ellen and embraced her tightly. Ellen practically bounced off Marilyn's D-cups. Ellen worried for a moment that she might be smothered by her flesh.

"Were you supposed to meet Arthur this evening?" Ellen asked.

"Yes, Arthur told me he'd introduce me to a classmate of his. He's been studying Abnormal Psychology, ya know. That's my Arthur. He's borderline genius." Marilyn's expression suddenly turned to glee. "Why, you must be Ellen Parker."

"That's right."

"Gosh darn, ya certainly live up to Arthur's description. He said his classmate Ellen was beautiful, and ya shor are."

Ellen smiled. "Thank you."

"Perhaps we should try opening the door. Maybe Arthur left it open for us in case he came back late."

"You think so?" Ellen turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. Ellen was surprised. Nobody living on Long island left their front door open. That was an invitation to trouble. "You were right."

The two beautiful ladies stepped into the foyer.

"Hello, anybody home?" Ellen called out.

"Arthur?" Marilyn yelled out. "Are ya home?"

The two ladies tentatively stepped forward.

Ellen looked at Marilyn. "I don't think he's home. Where could he be?"

"Do you know his cell phone number?"

"Yes," Ellen said. "I'll give him a ring." She opened her purse and took out her cell phone.

"Maybe he's in the bathroom. Let me see if he's in there." Marilyn continued walking deeper into the apartment, through the living room, past the kitchen, into the hallway and into the bedroom.

After pushing the button for Arthur on her speed dial, Ellen waited. After three rings, somebody picked up.

"Hello." It was Arthur's voice.

"Hi Arthur, where are you?"

"I'm at home."

"No you're not, because I knocked on your door and nobody answered."

"I can assure you, Ellen, that I'm at home."

"How can that be?"

"I'll prove it to you."

Ellen could see Marilyn as she reappeared once more walking from the hallway past the kitchen and then into the living room.

"Have you seen Arthur?"

"Yes," Marilyn replied in a low masculine voice. "I told you I've been here all along."

Stunned, Ellen dropped her cell phone. "Arthur?" Ellen took a step closer. "Arthur. You're Marilyn?" She started laughing. She ran forward, her eyes filled with disbelief. Then her expression changed to anger. "You dirty son of a bitch." She punched Marilyn in the arm. "How could you have played such a dirty trick on me?"

"So, you didn't see through my disguise?" Arthur asked in his/her Marilyn voice.

"That's amazing! Simply astounding. I never thought, in a million years, that you were a guy."

Marilyn laughed. "You should have seen your face when I told you I was Arthur's girlfriend." Marilyn bent over as she laughed.

Ellen looked straight into Marilyn's bountiful bosom. "Those breasts? The hair? The makeup? The dress? The legs? They look amazing! How did you put it all together?"

"Do you like it? Do you think I look sexy?"

"Marilyn, Arthur, whatever your name, you look gorgeous! You look so good, I think I'd turn lesbian, just so I could make love to you."

"Fortunately, you don't have to switch your sexual orientation. Marilyn is still all man, in spite of outward appearances to the contrary."

When Marilyn wrapped her arms around Ellen, she melted in Marilyn's arms. The kiss was magical. And kinky. Ellen's tongue explored Marilyn's mouth.

If this was love, Arthur wanted more of it.

And yes, they did end up in Arthur's bed.