Author's note: This is my second entry in the October 2011 TG Terror Contest. This is not like anything I have ever posted here before. It is dark. Very dark. Absolutely no humour. None. You can't say you weren't warned.

I was one of those people who never got head aches; never got sick. Whenever I heard someone complaining about migraines, I would offer up the standard platitudes. But to myself, I always considered them to be slackers who'd latched on to a way to demand sympathy from the rest of the world. After all, how could a person really be in that much pain without any outward signs.

No bleeding, no hunched over back, no limp. Just a sorry "please feel pity for me" expression on their faces.

I was wrong.

It started about a week ago. At my desk, in my cubicle, my safe place, my cocoon. It came on the same way a person notices that they're hungry. You know that at one point you weren't hungry, and now you are. But you can't put your finger on any specific moment when it began. It just sneaks in.

My first concious thought about the pain was one of surprise. "Oh, that's what they mean. Interesting." From there, I'm not really sure about the timeline. It could have been ten minutes, or maybe a few hours. I just know that at one point, someone noticed that I was on my knees, forehead on the carpet, quietly sobbing. An ambulance ride led to hours waiting on a guerney. After all, a headache doesn't put you ahead of anyone on the priority list at the emergency room.

Eventually, the clock seemed to do more for me than anything else. By the time I was actually talking to a doctor, the pain had drifted off to a mere echo of what it had been. In the end, all I got was a prescription, advice to stay in bed for a day, and a forty dollar cab ride home.

The folks at work were fantastic. "Take a couple of days; make sure your okay." But I'm sure that they weren't motivated by altruism. After all, it would be easy to make a case that the sudden onset of crippling migraines was a job-related injury. It would be hard to prove that staring at a computer screen for eight hours a day had nothing to do with it.

The next day, I felt fine. I didn't even fill the prescription. The day after that, I was back at work like nothing had ever happened. Three days later, they found me passed out on the floor in the washroom. From what I've been told, it wasn't pretty. I'd soiled myself, vomitted and I was bleeding from where I'd hit my head on the floor. This time, the doc at emergency found a bed for me upstairs.

After a couple of days of poking, prodding and imaging, no one could find anything wrong with me. With health care budgets being what they are nowadays, the walking wounded like me found themselves taking another cab ride home.

As soon as I had my front door shut and locked, he spoke. "It's about time you got home."

When you live alone, and you come home to find someone sitting in your living room, your brain reverts to instinct... fight or flight. The primordial me opted for door number two. I scrambled to hustle back through the door.

"I wouldn't do that."

I ignored him and reached for the deadbolt. He couldn't have picked a more effective way to get control over me. The instant pain in the back of my head blinded me. A month ago, things would have been different. But with the headaches I've been having, throwing something at my head was like sticking a finger in a bullet wound. My knees buckled, leaving me a heap on the floor. But surprisingly, the agony was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. Well, almost gone.

I heard his footsteps as he walked up to me. "I tried to warn you." He chuckled as he bent over me. "Come on buddy, let's go. You'd really be a lot more comfortable sitting on the couch, dontcha think?"

Without looking up, I mumbled "Who the fuck are..."

He cut me off with a quick shout. "I said get up and go sit on the goddam couch!" He took a deep breath. It seemed to calm him a bit. "Now come on... I don't want to have to get physical here."

I had no idea what kind of a psychopath I was dealing with here. The truth is, the kind doesn't matter. I would assume that any kind of a psychopath would be bad in this situation. I got up and stumbled to the couch.

He stood in the middle of the room and looked me up and down. After thirty seconds of this, I worked up the nerve to look at him and speak. "What?"

Arms crossed, he reached up and started tapping his cheek. "You know, I bet you pull it off pretty good." He walked over to an arm chair and sat down, staring at me all the time.

I was struggling to understand, to guess what he was thinking. "If your looking for money, I don't have much with me."

"Stand up."

I furrowed my brow. "What..."

"I said stand up!" The yell was sharp. I stood. "Now drop your pants."

I did not like where this seemed to be going. I thought about putting up an argument, some sort of resistance. But one look at his face made it clear that he was serious. This was a dangerous man; someone who gets what he wants and doesn't put up with having to ask twice. I undid my pants and let them fall to my ankles.

He grinned a wide, satisfied grin. "Just like I thought." An evil sounding chortle rumbled out of him. I looked down, embarrassed. There was no missing the fact that I took care of my legs the way a woman would. They were waxed, tanned and moisturized; smooth as a baby's bottom. I was humiliated. The dull ache from that blow he gave me to the head started to move around.

"I've been watching this street for a while now. Nice neighborhood. Lots of nice folks with lots of nice stuff. But I found something a lot more interesting here." He seemed to be finished with ogling my legs, so I moved to start pulling my pants back up. "Aa aa aa..." I stopped and looked at him. "Don't bother with that. In fact, just finish taking them off. You're not gonna need them for a while."

My heart was pounding. "Please. I'm not gay."

It's strange how a quiet steady voice can sound threatening. Extremely threatening. "I said take off your shoes and finish taking off your pants."

I could feel myself starting to tremble as I kicked the shoes off my feet and then stepped out of my pants.

"Socks too."

My heart sank. One foot at a time, I reached down and pulled them off.

A short quick "Hah!" burst out of him, startling me. I looked up. "Those toe nails of yours prove it then. All those dresses and shoes and shit in your bedroom... it's all for you. Isn't it?"

I always thought I might be caught dressing some day. Maybe somewhere deep inside I was certain of it. That was a big part of the thrill. But I always pictured it as being embarrassing, maybe mortifying at the worst. I did not imagine it playing out this way... brutally terrifying. As tears welled up in my eyes, my chin started to tremble. All I could manage to say was, "Please, can't you just take my wallet and go..."

He just stared at me, letting me worry. "Take off the shirt."

"Please no..."

"I said... Take. Off. The shirt."

Slowly I undid the buttons. As I dropped my arms and let the shirt fall to the floor, the light coming in the window glinted off of the little silver heart dangling from my pierced navel. I was too humiliated to look up at him. I just stared at the floor, shivering.

"Look at me." I was afraid to look up, but I was even more terrified to find out what would happen if I ignored him. Inching my gaze up to his face, I noticed a slight change in his expression.

The malice was toned down just a bit.

"You're probably pretty scared right now, aren't you?"

I managed a quick nod.

"Good. That means you know enough to jump when I tell you to." He sat back in his chair and tented his fingers. "I've read a lot about guys like you. About your fantasies." I had no idea where he was going with this, but I had no choice but to listen. "You guys, you get a thrill out of dressing up like girls. You do all this shit, and then you sit around, wishing you had the nerve to go out somewhere." He paused; I just looked at him. "Well, am I right or am I right?"

I screwed up the nerve to answer him. I almost whispered, "I can't argue with you."

"Right. Well then, this is your lucky day." Confusion must have been written all over my face. "You're gonna make yourself look better than you ever have in your life, and then we're going out."

A chill shot through me. "Oh no... please no... you can take whatever..."

He put his hands on his head and started to squeeze. "Shut... The fuck... Up." That quiet voice silenced me. He reached down, put his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled something out. A soft click and a knife blade appeared. "If I hear one more 'peep'... one more 'please'... one more 'no'... I'm gonna cut you. Are we clear on that?"

I nodded. What else could I do. I just gave in and nodded. The ache in my head felt like something was pinching me under the back of my skull.

"OK then. I think we're gonna have fun here. What do you think, are we gonna have fun?" I just stood there silent as he folded the knife and put it back in his pocket. "Good, you're learning. Now I don't wanna hear another sound out of that mouth of yours until I tell you to speak." He got up out of the chair and took a step toward me. "OK then... we got a couple of hours to get you looking pretty. Let's get busy with it." He pointed toward my bedroom. The message was clear. As I bent over to pick up my clothes, he stopped me. "Leave them there; you don't need them. Now start marching." As I moved to start heading down the hall, he added, "wait a minute, there's a couple of things you need from the kitchen."

I padded into the middle of the room, the linoleum cool under my bare feet. He stood in the doorway and pointed. "You need to get the glue out of that drawer right there." I turned to look at him. "I know what you're thinking... how does he know I keep the glue in there." He winked like he was telling me a secret of his trade. "Silly bugger. I been here for hours. You think I just sat around doing nothing, waiting for you to come home? Now get the goddam glue. And while your there, grab one of those sewing needles."

This guy had thought this through. I picked up the glue and the needle, then eased past him and headed down the hall to the bedroom. He was less than a full step behind me as I went through the door.

"You know what you're doing in here. I want you to pick out your nicest outfit. Nothing trashy, just sexy-classy." I went to my closet and pulled out a pencil skirt and a sweater. I'd always liked the way the skirt had hugged me, and the sweater was low-cut enough to show off the illusion of cleavage.

He nodded his approval. "Yeah, perfect. And those boots with the heels. I wanna hear you clicking when you walk." He seemed to think of something else. "Yeah... and those heels are gonna keep you from running away from me." He actually seemed proud of himself.

"OK, now get out everything else you're gonna need and put it on the bed. Underwear, nylons, jewelry, all that silicone padding you got... and the blond wig... yeah, that'll be perfect."

As I piled things on the bed, he didn't take his eyes off of me.

"OK, now this is where the fun part starts. I want you to get in that bathroom, and shave every hair on your body. And I do mean everything... your crotch, your eyebrows, your head... Every Fucking Thing. If I find one hair on you when you come out of there, I'm gonna cut off the skin it's attached to. Capiche?" I gaped at him. "And leave the door open. I don't want you thinking you got a choice here."

I knew better than to question. With a tear rolling down my cheek, I went into the bathroom and got started.

It didn't take long. I was already mostly hair-free. Electric clippers, then lather and razor. Twenty minutes later, I was totally hairless. It's strange though... the only thing that really bothered me was the eyebrows. Tough thing for a guy to try to explain away having no eyebrows.

Before coming out of the bathroom, modesty had made me put my jockey shorts back on. He didn't care about my modesty. "Lose the shorts." Inspection consisted of a slow spin in front of him. I was worried that I might have missed a hair or two on the back of my head, but he seemed satisfied.

"Good enough. Now, this next part isn't gonna be fun." He pointed at my make-up table. Sitting there was a pair of dangly earrings I had bought on a whim, knowing I was most likely never going to use them.

I had a bad feeling. I looked back at him with dread. "Yup, you got it. I want you to sit down in front of that cute little mirror of yours, heat up that needle with your lighter, and push it through your ear lobes."

The pinching sensation under my skull was moving up to the crown of my head. I was on the verge of crying, of begging. But his expression said it all... he was serious. He would cut me if I argued.

A calm came over me. OK, this is probably one of those things that really doesn't hurt that bad, it's just the idea of it that's so awful. I put a couple of thimbles on my thumb and finger and then heated up the needle. With a deep breath, I calmly reached up and peirced my ear. Then I used a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding and put the earring in the hole. My hands weren't even shaking as I did the same thing on the other ear. The styptic stung, but I was right. The anticipation was actually the worst part.

When I looked over at my captor, he didn't seem impressed. I guess psychopaths are like that... no empathy for the pain of others.

"That wasn't so bad, now was it." I knew enough to keep my mouth shut. "OK then, let's move along. Next step is to get that silicone shit attached to you." I couldn't help reacting to that. My eyes went round. He chuckled. "That's right... the glue." My mouth hung open, but I didn't make a sound. This time he laughed out loud. "Sure, I know what's going through that bald little head of yours... 'But that's super glue.. that'll last for weeks, maybe months.' I'll let you in on a little secret. I don't give a shit."

Again, the calmness of inevitability came over me. Oh well, if I'm going to have to do this, I might as well do it right. I put on my bra, put the breast forms inside, then pulled my natural breast tissue up to make some cleavage. I took the sewing needle and lightly scratched an outline on my skin around the top edge of the silicone. Then I removed the bra, smeared some glue on the back side of one form and held it in position against my chest. Within seconds, it was a part of me. I then repeated it on the other side. When I put my bra back on, it squeezed me into a cleavage that I couldn't get rid of if I tried.

The hips were a whole lot easier. From long experience, I knew exactly where they needed to be. I just put some glue on them and then attached them to me.

As I moved to cap the glue, I heard my tormentor clear his throat. When I looked up at him, he was shaking his head and wagging his finger. "Aa aa aa... you're not done with that yet." The finger wagging stopped, and he pointed down at my crotch. I thought I was going to choke on the lump that appeared in my throat. Too terrified to say anything, I pleaded with my eyes. His face went deadly serious. "Tuck it and glue it, or I will. And make no mistake, if I have to do it, I won't be careful."

Glum acceptance. If I do this right, I'll still be able to move around without being in pain. I'll even be able to sit down and piss when I have to. If he gets his hands on that tube of glue, who knows how bad it might be. Carefully, I did what had to be done.

"Well don't you look all smooth." He was grinning from ear to ear. "Now you can forget about those granny panties. Open that drawer over there and get out that lacy pink thong that matches your bra... it'll fit you now." I did what I was told... as long as he was happy, he wasn't threatening to cut me.

"OK, one last thing, then you can put the glue away." It was obvious that I had no clue what he had in mind. "You get that wig on your head, and then glue it down. If it ain't tight, then maybe we'll have to sew it to your head."

I calmly picked up the wig and the glue and made for the bathroom. I stopped and looked at him with a question on my face. "Be my guest."

When I came out of the bathroom, I was a blond. He was looking at me, and this time I knew what he was thinking. I reached up and pulled on the wig. Pulled hard. There was no doubt that it wasn't coming off any time soon.

For some reason, he thought that was hilarious. Between guffaws, he said, "Sit down honey, it's time to do your make-up." Then he dropped down to that quiet voice again. "And it had better look good. Classy good. If you fuck it up and look like a whore, I'm gonna take you downtown and stand you out on a corner. Got it?" I nodded. And then I sat down and got busy.

I'd been doing this a few times a week for a long time, so even with a mad man standing staring at me, it all went pretty smooth. I even managed to put a quick coat of deep red polish on my nails. While they dried, I did a few last touch-ups on my face. When I was done, he actually seemed to approve.

"Yup... I knew it. As soon as I saw those fake tits in there, I knew the guy that lived here was gonna be good at all this girl shit. Wow."

In spite of the situation, I couldn't help it... I was truly proud of the job I'd done. I even got the eyebrows to look right.

"OK then bitch, get yourself dressed. We've got places to go."

From that point, it only took a few minutes to get ready. Hose, skirt, sweater, boots. A watch, bracelet, a couple of rings, a pendant necklace dangling into my cleavage. I even dabbed a hint of perfume on my neck. I picked up my purse from the table and put a few things in it. When my hand made a slight gesture toward the cell phone sitting there, he cleared his throat. It was all the warning I needed... I left it there.

I stood and turned to face him. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he liked what he saw.

"I gotta admit it. I thought you were gonna be good, but this is amazing." He stepped away from the door to the hallway, then followed me as I left the room.

"Sun's going down... It's probably getting a little cold out. I think you better put on that long jacket you got in the front closet." He had certainly been busy looking around before I got home. I slipped on the coat, tied the belt in a loose knot and hung my purse over my shoulder. I turned to look back at him. I had to hold myself back from a shudder. He was smiling at me like he was a guy going on a date with a girl for the first time. I forced a weak grin.

"You got your keys?" I nodded. "Alright then, let's get this show on the road. I opened the door and stepped through it with him close behind. I turned, locked the door, and then we were off.

He had been right about one thing; this was actually the first time I had ever left the house in drag. I closed my eyes and listened to the clicking of my heels on the sidewalk. I imagined I was just another girl out for a stroll on a pleasant evening. It almost made me forget about my headache. But eventually I had to open my eyes and face the reality; I was a prisoner of the madness silently walking along beside me. To the people we passed, I'm sure we appeared to be just another happy couple out for the evening. The dimming twilight did a wonderful job of hiding the stressed look on my face.

We stopped on a corner, waiting for a light to cross the street. He leaned in close and whispered in my ear. "You see that little bar and grill across the street?" I nodded. "We're going to calmly walk in there and sit down in a booth. And you, my dear, are going to be the perfect, happy little lady. I'm sure you can even sound like a lady if it's important enough to you. And believe me, it's important. If this doesn't work out or if you try anything at all, I swear I'll stick this knife between your ribs. And as you lie there dying, you can watch me kill everyone else in the place. You got it? Now let's go."

I didn't say a word. I just concentrated on the sound of my heels as I put one foot in front of the other. As I pulled the door open, I heard him behind me. "Smile honey, it's show time."

There were about a dozen people in the place; all of them happy couples just like we appeared to be. We walked up to an open booth. He waited while I hung up my coat and then we slid into the seats. Thank god he sat across from me. I don't think I could have kept it together if he'd slid in beside me.

A waiter was there in no time. He looked at me and smiled. "What can I get you?"

I looked across the table. "Tell the gentleman what you'd like to drink."

I smiled up at the waiter. "Long Island iced tea please, and..."

I looked back across the table. "Nothing for me"

I turned back to the waiter. "Just the iced tea please."

He smiled at me again. "One Long Island iced tea, coming right up." With that, he turned and moved off.

The menace sitting across from me looked content. "This is a nice place. You ever been in here before?"

I shook my head.

"Of course not. You've never been out of the house before, have you?"

What could I say to that. I just lowered my gaze to the table, then closed my eyes. My head was pounding.

"You look pretty cute when you do that. You know, when you look down like that, all demure and everything."

I didn't want to look cute for him. I turned and looked over to one of the other tables. That was the wrong thing to do.

"You know, when a man gives a woman a compliment, she should smile and say thank you."

I looked back down at the table, then smiled and looked up at him. "Thank you."

His mood was instantly gone. "Your welcome. I knew you'd be good at that... the woman's voice thing. You've probably been practicing for years, haven't you?"

"I try. Once in a while."

"Well, it's paying off tonight. Oh hey, you know what? I saw a juke box back near the front door. I think I'll go pick out a couple of songs to play. Who knows, maybe someone'll ask you to dance." He smiled and winked at me. All I could manage was a nervous grin.

He got up and moved to the front of the place. The waiter picked that moment to come back with my drink. I was on the edge of panic. "Please help me. Hurry, call the police. He's a psychopath. He says he's going to kill me and everyone else."

He looked confused. "Who's a psychopath Ma'am?"

"The man at the juke box. Please, just go call the police."

He took a step back and looked toward the front door. "There's no one there Ma'am."

"But he just stood up. He said he was going to put some money in the juke box." I got up and moved to look past the waiter toward the juke box. He was gone. "Where did he go?"

"Who do you mean Ma'am?"

"The man I came in with." The waiter looked baffled. "Tall, dark hair, leather jacket. Kind of dangerous looking. Dammit, he was just sitting right here." My head felt like it was about to explode.

Exasperation was starting to tint the waiter's voice. "Ma'am, I watched you come in. You hung up your coat, sat down and asked me for a Long Island ice tea." He was slightly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, but you came in alone, Ma'm." The room started to spin. I had to sit down. "There wasn't anyone with you... you've been alone since you walked through that door."

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Hey folks, Lora here.
Yes, you're right.
I have a dark side.
Well, this is a terror contest after all.