The Craigslist Killer
© 2014 by Nom de Plume

I think I’m in the clear for now. The police have come and gone, and the hotel staff has cleared the hallway outside my room. If I could, I’d try to get some sleep, but after what I’ve just been through, that would be difficult. So I’ll try to write down exactly what happened this week, while it’s fresh in my mind, in case my lawyer needs it in the morning.

One thing’s for sure: I will never, ever dress up as a woman again.

Who am I trying to kid? I’m trying to describe the most terrifying experience of my life, and I haven’t even bothered to take off my torn dress and shredded stockings. So let me rephrase that: I will never, ever dress up as a woman again to meet a stranger from Craigslist.

CROSSDRESSING COUGAR WILL PURR IF YOU PET HER – T4M
If you're a mature, sophisticated guy who digs a classy woman with a secret in her panties (or has always wondered what it would be like to bed one) this pretty, passable crossdresser will be on the prowl in Chicago next week...I am totally turned on by good-looking guys, and I love to please my man. If you're interested and STD-free, send me a picture of your handsome face and let's echat! Missy

That was the personal I posted under the “casual encounters” section of the Chicago Craigslist site before I left for my business trip. In my real life, I’m a corporate executive, and I had several days of meetings which I’d managed to cram into the beginning and end of my week, allowing me two full days to indulge my secret fantasy: unbeknownst to everyone who knows me, I am a closet crossdresser who loves to make it with men. I know how pathetic that must sound, but after many years – and thousands of dollars - of trial and error, I’ve learned how to transform myself into a very pretty woman, and nothing I’ve ever experienced can top the excitement of a being on a date as a girl with a handsome man.

So after scheduling my meetings and booking myself into a swank hotel on Michigan Avenue, I packed an extra suitcase for my alter ego. The weather forecast was perfect for fall fashions, with bright crisp days and chilly evenings, and I shaved myself down at my health club the day before my trip. That night, I put up my post on Craigslist, and waited for the deluge.

It didn’t take long. As always, all responses were funneled by Craigslist to a coded account which relayed them to the email address which I maintained exclusively for Missy, my female persona. Within minutes, the hits started coming, and it was always amusing to separate the wheat from the chaff. Immediately rejected were any responses which did not attach the picture I demanded. Those which did include digital photos were further screened to eliminate the losers who sent me pictures of their genitals as opposed to their faces – a surprisingly large percentage of them did this, as if I hadn’t seen it all before! Then I ruthlessly rejected prospective suitors whom I didn’t find attractive, or were semi-literate, or who just struck me as wrong, odd, too young, etc. I should add that my post included a photo of me looking hot in a sexy dress, and the crop of guys who made the cut was encouraging. It’s always amazed me how many so-called straight guys have a thing for girls like me, and the Chicago boys who tuned into Craigslist that evening looked very promising, and very eager.

I was immediately attracted to this one:

Hi there,
All i can say is WOW!!! your ad is exactly what im
hoping for...
btw i luv your pic! I'm Ron. I'm white, 35
y/o, educated.. MBA in finance, professional with a great
career, refined mature and respectful, live alone and can
host or travel, 6’ tall 180 lbs, 7" cut and thick, STD free
and can prove it. I absolutely adore T-girls and love to be
seduced...especially by a cougar with a special surprise. Most of my experience has been limited to mutual oral but im willing
to explore more if so desired. I am real and would love
to hear from you and hopefully get together. I can send more pix
if you are real and interested.
Sincerley,
Ron
ps - got any pics of you with anything skimpier on ? : )

Attached to Ron’s post was a digital photo of a really cute guy, with a full head of dark hair and sort of Latin features, in a polo shirt standing next to a sailboat. The kind of guys I hang out with as a guy, clean-cut and preppy. After culling through the rest of the responses, I put Ron at the top of the list, and sent this reply:

Hi Ron,
You're cute! I'll be available Wednesdsay and Thursday next week… tell me about yourself, Mister! My email address is [email protected].
Missy
ps – here’s that picture, skimpy enough for ya?

Attached was a digital photo of me curled up on a hotel bed in a babydoll nightie, matching thong and thigh high stockings, which made me look incredibly hot. I’d learned from past experience not to say too much about myself at first, since a ridiculously high percentage of guys on Craigslist were merely trolling for pictures to pleasure themselves to, and I wanted to establish email contact before going any farther. I was sifting through the rest of my responses when my computer pinged that I had an email. It was from Ron:

Hi Missy,
So you are real! God, you look hot in that nightie!
I’m a straight guy most of the time, divorced with one kid who lives with the ex, first met a tgirl when I was on vacay in Hawaii and never got over it, how long have you been dressing up? I’m free on Wednesday this week, where are you staying?
Ron

Now that I had Ron’s email address, I let my hair down a bit:

Hi Ron,
Of course I’m real, silly!
Thanks for taking a chance and responding to me on
Craigslist...needless to say, there have been some wild
responses! I've been fascinated by crossdressing for as
long as I can remember, and once I realized that I am
actually passable as a woman, it's become a big part of
my life.
A bit more about me: I live in SoCal and I'm in
Chicago on business next week, staying at a hotel on the mag mile...so what's your idea of a perfect first date?
Missy

I’d barely had time to check for any new Craigslist responses when my computer pinged again. Another email from Ron! He was hooked, and it was time to reel him in:

Hi Missy,
A California tgirl! Do you have bikini tan lines? ; )
Let’s have dinner Wednesday near your hotel, okay?
Ron

A date! As a woman! With a cute guy! Just the thought of it made me tingle downstairs. I decided to tune out the rest of the finalists and zero in on Ron, before he got away:

Hi Ron,
It’s a date! Where would you like to take me? Oh, and what will you
be wearing? A girl needs to know these things…I really like the vibe I’m getting from you Ron, here’s my cellphone number in case you’d like to chat after I get to Chicago tomorrow: 213xxxxxxx. G’nite,
Missy

It was getting late, and I had an early plane to catch!

* * *

After I checked into my hotel, took care of a few business emails and went through my phone messages, I had half an hour before a dinner meeting with one of our customers. Enough time to unpack and hang up the skirts and dresses I’d selected for the week, stash my shoes and purses in the closet, and tuck my lingerie and stockings into a dresser drawer. The bathroom vanity had a drawer for all of my makeup, and there was just enough time to wash and rinse out my wig and hang it out to dry on the showerhead.

By the time I got back from dinner, I was exhausted, and I had a full day of meetings the next day beginning with a breakfast at eight o’clock. But that didn’t stop me from checking the throwaway cellphone that I used exclusively as a woman for messages. Sure enough, there was a voicemail from Ron:

“Hey Cissy, I hope I got the right number, it’s Ron. Call me if you wanna talk tonight! My number’s 312xxxxxxx. Hope we’re still on this week! OK, bye.”

I took off my business suit, brushed my teeth and put on a nightgown and panties before I snugged under the covers of the king-sized bed and called him back. He answered on the first ring.

“There you are! Are you in Chicago?” He had a soft, deep voice.
“Yep. How are you?”
“Cool, now that I know you’re here. I was starting to worry that maybe you weren’t coming.”
“Oh ye of little faith!” My female voice wasn’t the greatest, but I was getting better at it, especially when I kept it short and sweet.
“So are you a girl right now?”
“Um hmm.”
“That is so hot! What are you wearing?”
“Just a nightie and panties.”
“Oh God. The one you wore in that picture?”
“Um hmm.”
“Oh God. Do you have the nylons on too?”
“Nope. That was just for fun.”
“Aren’t we having fun right now?”
I felt myself starting to stiffen. “Let me check my panties.” A beat. “Oh yes.”
“Oh God.” I could tell that he was way ahead of me. “Oh God.”
“Don’t you wanna save yourself for our date?”
“Missy, I can go all night long. Oh God! Ohhhhh…”
“Hello?”
“Oh God, that was so good.”
“Sounds like my work is done here,” I giggled.
“You are so hot, baby!”
“And we haven’t even met.”
“Don’t worry, we will. Where can I take you for dinner?”
“Hmmmm…there’s a nice restaurant at my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?”
“The Interconti.”
“Perfect, what time?”
“You’re the one wearing the pants, you get to decide!”
“Ha! How about seven?”
“Sounds like heaven, a date at seven!”
“Okay Missy, I’ll see you then. What are you gonna wear for me?”
“I dunno, either a skirt or a dress. Maybe I’ll buy something on Michigan Avenue. How about you?”
“Me? Oh, I’ll be in a suit and tie, okay?”
“Sounds very dashing!”
“I can’t wait! See ya Wednesday.”
“Me too. G’night!”
“Goodnight.”

Well, it sounds like I have a red-blooded American boy on my hands, I thought to myself as I turned out the light. Craigslist dates were always iffy: how many of the guys lied about themselves? Sent bogus photos? That’s why I always tried to draw them out via emails, and get them to call me so I could hear their voices. But Ron sounded like the real deal. Maybe, just maybe, it’ll be more than just a one night stand? I mused as I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Tuesday was a total bitch. That was the downside of scheduling all of my meetings at the beginning and end of a business trip. Several times during that grinding day, I had to stop my mind from wandering to the delights that lay ahead for me: two glorious days on The Magnificent Mile as a woman, topped off by a dinner date with a cool guy who wanted to get into my panties!

By five o’clock Tuesday evening, I was dragging ass when I got some unexpected good news: my dinner that evening with the CEO and CFO of an important customer had been cancelled so they could race to New York to handle some crisis. Heaven! I was free until Friday morning – sixty uninterrupted hours as Missy!

As soon as I got back to my room, my metamorphosis began. First, a hot, lazy bubblebath in the oversize tub, where I patiently shaved away the stubble which had begun to grow back on my legs. After smoothing myself all over with the hotel’s luxury moisturizing crème, I went to work on my face, marveling as always in the gradual transformation from male to female. It wasn’t complete until I put on my wig, a collar-length bob with wispy bangs, and I took my time styling it just so. Standing in front of the mirror in a hotel bathrobe, polishing my nails, I was all girl.

A spritz of cologne, then it was back to the bedroom, where I selected a bra, panties and nylons to wear under my dress. That was one of the advantages of staying at a big-city hotel: a girl would fit right in wearing something nice, and I knew that I would blend with the other professional women having dinner downstairs. I almost never got to wear nylons in LA, but for a chilly autumn in Chicago, they would be part of my uniform this week.

What to wear tonight? I finally selected my gray wool jumper, which was unlined, so I put on a full slip before I tugged on my dress and went to work on the buttons and bow. When I was finished, I added some bling and a colorful scarf, stepped into my heels, and sat down on the edge of the bed to organize my purse. Sometimes, the collision of feminine scents and sensations was enough to produce a surprise orgasm before I even finished getting myself dressed, but my body behaved itself tonight, and I was hoping that I’d be able to hold off until my date with Ron tomorrow.

After a last, long inspection of myself in the full length mirror on the back of the closet door, I headed down the hall to the elevator, a pretty woman all alone on a business trip, making her way in a man’s world. She smiled at the other passengers on the way down to the lobby, stopped at the concierge station to help herself to a Chicago Tribune, and presented herself to the maître d with a single finger pointed in the air. “One, please.”

She was shown to a small table in the crowded restaurant, and a quick glance around the room confirmed that she was one of four single women in business attire, all dining alone tonight. Several of them were playing with their smartphones, and after I ordered a glass of Chardonnay and studied the menu, I took my iPhone out of my purse and scrolled down to Missy’s email account to find a message from Ron:

Hi Missy,
Last night was a blast! Do you text? I’ll try your cell. Till tomorrow!
Ron

Sure enough, when I retrieved Missy’s cellphone from my purse, there was a text from Ron:

Hi Missy, are you a he or a she 2nite?

I wondered whether he was still near his phone. After I ordered a salad and some pasta, I gave him a try:

Right back at ya, I’m all girl now
Wow, in your room?
Nope, the hotel restaurant
OMG, that is so cool, what are you wearing?
Just a dress
Nothing underneath LOL
That’s rude! Of course not
What’s under your dress?
Bra, panties, slip and nylons
OMG, getting hard again
Down boy!
You are so fucking hot
Don’t wear yourself out, mister

The waiter returned with my salad. I ordered another glass of wine and checked my phone. Nothing from Ron. I sipped my wine for a while, reveling in the moment. Here I was, dressed as a woman, getting tipsy on my expense account, getting a guy off. I glanced around the room, catching a few male eyes. If they only knew! I decided to try Ron again:

ru still alive?
Barely that was amazing
u came again?
Totally
ur incorrigible
u made me
I just hope you have something left in the tank tomorrow night
Don’t worry
My dinner’s here, gotta go
OK, bye

There were no further interruptions that evening. After I finished my dinner, I returned to my room, peeled off my dress and frillies, creamed off my makeup, and put on my nightie. Another crazy day in my crazy life, with two more to go! I wondered what Ron was thinking right now? Would I live up to his fantasies? Would he live up to mine?

* * *

I slept in the next morning, luxuriating under the covers until almost nine. Get up, girl, you’ve got a busy day ahead! I chided myself. After a quick check of the local news confirmed that today’s weather would be crisp and fine, I drew another bubble bath and gave myself a close shave from head to toe.

My makeup was a bit more casual this morning, with pink lip gloss and beige eye shadow instead of my evening red and black. Then it was back to the closet to decide what to wear for a day on one of the great shopping streets in the world. I settled on my black pencil skirt, my pink blouse with a bow, and my gray blazer. My skirt was a little tight, so I started with my black body briefer and sheer black pantyhose. Standing in front of the mirror, tying my bow in my stocking feet, I felt every inch a pretty girl, and after I stepped into my cute but comfy flats, I was off to face the world again.

First, a light breakfast at the Corner Bakery. Idling over a muffin and coffee with yesterday’s Tribune, I felt totally at home in my temporary skin. An article in the Metro section caught my eye:

POLICE SEARCH FOR CLUES IN HOTEL SLAYING
Chicago - A transgendered tourist was savagely beaten to death by an unknown assailant in “her” hotel room last night. After guests in a nearby room at the Sheraton complained about a loud altercation, hotel security entered a room registered to a male guest to find his body, partially clad in women’s clothing, with multiple stabwounds in his chest, neck and arms. The guest’s indentity has not been released pending notification of relatives. A hotel employee informed the Tribune that the safe in the closet had been opened. Chicago police declined to release details about their investigation into the search for the killer.

A chill went down my spine as I wondered how that could happen. Where was the tourist from? Could it have been someone like me? I tried to imagine the shock to my friends and family after receiving a call from the Chicago police, informing them that I’d been found murdered in women’s clothing. Well, there was no way I’d ever let a stranger into my room! All the more reason to carefully screen the men I played with, like I had with Ron….still, it was a good reminder to be careful. I was so vulnerable dressed this way, and I shuddered at the thought of being preyed upon by some sicko….

Back outside, I indulged myself with a cigarette as I window-shopped down Michigan Avenue, stealing glances at the smartly dressed women who passed me by, and at my reflection in the storefront windows. One thing I loved about Chicago was the self-confidence of its women, and I felt right at home as I joined them on the sidewalk. My skirt and blazer marked me as a lady lawyer or executive, my dainty shoes were easy to walk in, my legs felt warm and cozy in my stockings, and all was right with the world. The mysterious murder a few blocks from my hotel was already forgotten.

Hours later, laden down with shopping bags, I returned to my room, relieved to find that the housekeepers had already been there. I fished the scissors out of my makeup case and carefully cut the tags off my new dress, a black and tan color blocked sheath that gave me an hourglass figure when I’d tried it on at Carson’s.

I’d paid cash for my dress, and I opened the safe in the closet to put the rest of my wad in my man’s wallet. Since dinner tonight was in the hotel restaurant, the only thing I’d be carrying in the little clutch purse that I’d bought at a boutique in Water Tower Place was a brush, some lippy, and my room key. And my chickphone, I reminded myself, in case Ron was lost or late!

Another luxurious bubble bath, some extra time to embellish my makeup with nighttime touches, and I was ready to get dressed for my big date. Tonight, if all went well, I’d be inviting Ron up to my room after dinner, so my lingerie was strategically selected: a black Wonderbra that I could wear without breast forms and still have a hint of cleavage, silky black panties, black thigh high stockings, and the lacy black slip that I’d also bought today to wear under my new dress. I hoped that my dress would still look good without the body briefer I’d worn when I tried it on, and I wasn’t disappointed: after I stepped into it and zipped myself up in the back, I smiled when I studied my reflection in the mirror.

Looking back at me was a gorgeous girl with a cute figure and terrific legs, and I started to feel that tingle in my panties…not now, I scolded myself, you have a date tonight! Act like a lady! A glance at my delicate women’s wristwatch told me it was almost time to go. I retrieved my black stilettos from the closet and eased them on, which made my legs look even better, although I could only take a few mincing steps before the pain started. That’s okay girl, you’re only going downstairs to the hotel restaurant, I reminded myself. With that, I put my key, lipstick and brush into my little clutch. Oops! I almost forgot my cellphone! I quickly stuffed it into my purse, and I was off.

The same maître d greeted me, and I held up two fingers this time. “Are you expecting someone?” he asked.

“Yes,” I smiled.

“Would you like to be seated now?”

“Yes, thanks.” He escorted me to a small table in the middle of the room, and I glanced over at the romantic booths along the wall. “Would you prefer a booth?” he asked without missing a beat. When I nodded, he led me over to one, and I sat down where I’d be able to see Ron when he came in.

At first, I thought nothing of the fact that Ron was running late. After all, he might be having trouble finding a place to park, or he might have gotten delayed at work. I declined a waiter’s offer to get me something to drink, and sat contentedly in my little booth as the restaurant slowly filled up with businessmen and women, including the occasional loner like myself. I was terribly overdressed to be a woman dining alone, and I did catch a few glances from some of the other diners as they must have wondered about me.

Seven ten, seven fifteen…where was he? I took my cellphone out of my purse, but there were no calls or texts from Ron. The reality finally began to set in as I sat there stewing: another Craigslist wannabe! What a fool I’d been! The too-perfect response to my post, with an obviously bogus photo of a handsome man…the witty email exchanges…our phone chat, which had quickly devolved into phone sex…our texts last night, with me sitting here in a dress, and him getting off again…what a fool I’d been! Ron was probably a nerdy teenager living at home with his parents, or maybe he was a 300 pound goon who got off looking at pictures of tgirls…what a fool I’d been!

I was too embarrassed and depressed to face the prospect of dining alone as a woman again. Summoning as much dignity as I could possess, I got out of my booth, mumbled an apology to the sympathetic maître d, and tottered sadly back to my room. “Fuck!” I swore out loud in my real voice as I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the bed. “Fuck this fucked up life!” I was starving after skipping lunch to keep my girlish figure, I was depressed and horny after being stood up, and I was furious at myself for falling for Ron’s idiotic games. Morosely, I fired up my notebook computer to see if there were any business emails I needed to deal with, then as an afterthought I switched to Missy’s address, where I found this response to my Craigslist personal:

Hi, just came across your post. It looks very interesting. Are you still in Chicago? Are you going to be here for more than this week? I have to fly out on Thursday and will be gone for a week. Would like to see if we can work out a meeting tonight?? I'll send info if it looks like we may be able to work something out.
Gregg

How long had Gregg’s response been sitting there? There was no picture attached, but he did say he’d send more info if I responded…I suppose it was because I was at my most vulnerable after just getting dumped, but I broke my cardinal rule and sent him this:

Hi Gregg,
Just got your response! Alas, I’m only here this week…send me a picture
and tell me about yourself,
Missy

That’s that, I said to myself. Probably another loser like Ron. I was debating about ordering something from room service when I got Gregg’s reply:

Hi Missy, would love to chat with you :) you look lovely in your dress and I must say you have lovely legs as well.
Do you have IM if so we can chat in real time and see if we can hook up
Oh I do not do drugs, smoke or drink to excess but social drink is always fine
Hope to hear from you soon
Gregg

Hmmm….an Eagle Scout, but still no picture! I glanced at my watch. It was only 8:00. I was trying to decide whether to nag him for a picture again when my instant messenger pinged:

Hey Missy
Hi Gregg
Are you still in town?
Yep
How about dinner tonight?
It’s kinda late
Have you already eaten?
Nope
Come on, my treat
You never sent me your picture
That’s a problem
What’s the problem?
I’m very well known and I won’t send it out over the Internet
Well known?
I’m on TV
Like a newsman?
Yes
Wow, that’s cool
I just got off work and I’m starving
Me too but I never date a guy without a picture first
Let’s meet for a drink and if you don’t like what you see, no harm no foul
I’m not leaving my hotel
I’ll meet you there
What if I find you irresistible?
We can always skip dinner
No way Mister! What kind of girl do you think I am?
Where are you right now?
The Intercontinental
I can be there in ten minutes
At the bar off the lobby?
Yes, on my way

I tried to respond, but he was already gone. Now I’d done it! Broken my cardinal rule! Although after getting scammed by Ron, an emailed picture didn’t seem like quite such a sure thing. What could go wrong? We’d meet at the bar, and if I didn’t like the looks of him, I could blow him off. It was a public place, totally safe for a girl. And the upside was, if he was on TV, he was probably gorgeous! And I was awfully hungry…and horny…before I could stop myself, I was back in my heels and headed out the door.

I emerged from the elevator and made a quick stop in the ladies room to freshen my lipstick and tweak my wig. Didn’t want to get there before him - a single woman alone in a hotel bar might attract unwanted scrutiny. When I’d fussed with myself long enough, I made my way slowly down the marble corridor, clickety clacking in my stilettos, trying to suppress a surge of excitement. Half an hour ago, I’d been a lonely wallflower, and now I was about to meet a mysterious stranger, looking hotter than hell in my new dress. A Chicago celebrity, no less! There he was, standing alone at a corner of the bar, handsome as hell in his blue blazer and repp tie. He looked up and cocked an eyebrow as I approached him.

“You must be Missy.”

“And you must be Gregg.”

He took my arm and led me to a bistro table by the window. I had to hop up into my tall chair, and I could tell that he was staring at my legs as I tugged my dress down towards my knees and crossed them. “Do I pass inspection?” I whispered.

“Oh yeah. One hundred percent. It’s hard to believe.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” I said in my girlish voice, which was working for me tonight.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“You mean meeting handsome strangers in hotel bars?”

“No! I mean dressing up as a girl.”

It was always magic for me, talking to a guy on a date, confiding my innermost secrets to the only person in the room who had a clue that I wasn’t the pretty woman I appeared to be. “Since I was twelve,” I told him truthfully.

“Wow. Are you going to go all the way with this?”

He was easy to look at, and easy to talk to, and I found myself opening up to him. “I don’t think so. I mean, don’t think I haven’t thought about it, a lot, but I kind of dig my other life too. The one that pays the bills.”

A waiter appeared, and Gregg asked me what I’d like to drink. “A Cosmo, please,” I said demurely, and after Gregg ordered a Manhattan for himself, the courtship continued.

“What do your friends and family think?”

“They haven’t a clue.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. I lead a double life. Should have been a secret agent.”

“Man, I’ll say. How do you manage that?”

“It’s not easy! I’m lucky that I travel a lot, and I’m only Missy when I’m on the road these days.”

“What do you do in your real life?”

“I work for a big company. Hey, I’m doing all the talking! Tell me about you.”

“In a minute. I find you fascinating. Do you only make it with guys?”

“No! I like women too.”

“Are you married?”

“I’m divorced,” I told him truthfully.

“Really! What did your wife think about this?”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Some women might kind of like it.”

“Well, not her. It was really my fault. I never told her, and I’m sure she thought I was cheating on her, which I was, only not the way she thought.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It’s hard to explain,” I sighed. “I dressed up off and on all through high school and college, which I managed to keep a deep, dark secret from everyone. Then, when I got married, I went cold turkey for a while, but…” The waiter returned with our drinks, and I waited until we were alone again. “I just couldn’t stop,” I told him. “Cheers.”

He clinked his glass against mine. “Cheers. Thanks for telling me all that.”

I sipped my Cosmo, which went straight to my head, thanks to my empty stomach. “How about you? Have you ever made it with a girl like me?”

“Yes,” he confided.

“Have you ever tried it yourself? Dressing up, I mean?”

“No,” he answered nervously and a little too quickly.

“Are you gay?”

“Hardly! But for some reason, transgendered girls really turn me on. Like right now,” he added.

I felt the familiar tingling in my panties. “Well, what are we going to do about that?” I asked after I drained my Cosmo.

Gregg took a twenty out of his wallet, placed it on the table, and stood up. “We are going to your room, where I’m going to make love to you right now.”

I got unsteadily to my feet. “But you haven’t fed me yet.”

“We’ll have room service afterwards.”

I loved it when a man took charge. I loved being the passive one on a date. I loved being the girl. “Yes, sir,” I said, hooking my arm into his. When we got to the elevator, we had the cab to ourselves, and after I pushed the button for my floor, I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. He kissed me back, a sweet, tender kiss that lasted until we came to a stop and the doors opened.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we walked to my room. I took my key out of my purse and opened the door. The light in the room was still on, and I was about to kick off my heels when the light went out. Then I felt Gregg’s hand over my mouth. Another hand grasped me savagely around my breasts, tearing my dress. “Don’t scream. Don’t say a word or I’ll break your neck,” he said in a menacing voice. “Tell me the combination to your safe.”

My mind raced. Gregg was the maniac who killed the tgirl at the Sheraton! And I’d let him into my room! Once he got into my safe, he might kill me…even if he just tied me up and left me, I’d be exposed as a transvestite when the police found me. I flailed my arms around wildly, and Gregg loosened his grip for a moment when I kicked him in the shin with a stiletto, then he twisted my head back and I couldn’t breathe. I was going to black out! My fingers brushed against the nightstand, and I felt the scissors which I’d used a few hours earlier to cut the tags off my dress. Without thinking, I picked them up, turned them around, and plunged the open points into Gregg’s side.

He grunted in surprise and loosened his grip again, just enough for me to spin free. In the dim light, I could see him reaching into his jacket, and the glint of a knife. Before he could react, I lunged forward and plunged the scissors into his neck, twisting them as I hurled him backwards onto the floor. I threw myself on top of him and was about to stab him again when I heard a terrible, gurgling sound, as he tried desperately to breathe through his severed windpipe. He thrashed around for a few seconds, his whole body shook for a moment, and then he was still.

I sat back panting for a long time. When I finally got up, I didn’t have to turn on the light to know what had happened. Gregg was dead. I’d killed him. When the police found out, I would become an overnight sensation. That kind of publicity would ruin my career, and make me a national laughingstock.

I got up unsteadily in my heels and turned on the light. Gregg’s body lay in a twisted heap, a wickedly sharp knife still in his hand, but to my surprise there was very little blood, and the room was otherwise undisturbed. I studied the wound below his hideously distorted face. Evidently I’d scored a clean shot directly through his trachea, and when I twisted the scissors I cut it clear across. He was as good as dead before he hit the floor.

I looked down at my torn dress and shredded stockings, which must have gotten ripped during the struggle. I couldn’t process the fact that I had just killed a man, dressed like this. A man who was armed with a knife, who had committed a murder two days ago, and who was about to kill me. I picked up the phone to call the police, but after another look around the room, I put it back down and started to think.

Nobody had seen me enter my room with Gregg. There were witnesses who had seen a pretty woman with Gregg in the bar, but my room was registered to a man. If I could just get Gregg’s body out of my room, and remove any traces of him, what could ever link him to me? Craigslist? Our IM’s? I’d cross that bridge when I came to it…Missy’s email address was untraceable to me, and if I got out of this, I’d get her a new one just to be sure.

I stood over Gregg’s lifeless body and tried to lift him. He weighed a ton! Finally I was able to drag him beside the bed so I wouldn’t have to look at him, then I went into the bathroom to rinse the blood off my scissors. The pretty girl looking back at me in the mirror was bedraggled, but she didn’t look like a murderess. It was almost as if nothing had happened to her. Coolly, she freshened her lipstick, brushed and fluffed her hairdo, and strode back to the murder scene.

A pang in my stomach gave me an idea. There was no way I could carry Gregg out of my room, but I might be able to wheel him out….after checking to make sure that his body was hidden beside the bed, I picked up the phone and asked for room service. After I ordered beef stroganoff and a bottle of red wine, I got down on my hands and knees and carefully studied the floor. There were a few drops of blood, but they were almost invisible against the burgundy carpet, and I would take care of them later.

Gregg’s knife was a bigger problem. It was undoubtedly the same knife he’d used at the Sheraton. I decided to put it back in his jacket pocket. Once the police found him, they might be able to use it to trace him to the Sheraton murder, which would draw their attention away from what happened here. I carefully wiped off my fingerprints first. I also wiped down the light switch that Gregg had touched.

There was a tap on the door. Room service! I went into the bathroom and in my male voice called out, “Come on in!” I heard the door open. “Please just leave it by the door, I’ll take care of your tip at reception.”

“Would you like me to set it up and open your wine, sir?”

“No thanks, just leave it please.” After I was sure the waiter was gone, I went to work: first, I removed the food, wine, cutlery and tablecloth from the room service cart. Next, I dragged Gregg’s body across the floor, lifted him up and leaned him against the cart. With a supreme effort, I was finally able to get him sprawled across the top.

Now for the risky part. It would all depend on luck. As an afterthought, I kicked off my stilettos to give me more speed. Then, with my room key in my hand, I cautiously opened the door and looked up and down the hall. Not a soul to be seen. With a silent prayer, I pulled the room service cart into the hall and began pushing it as fast as it would go, in the opposite direction from the elevator. It swerved wildly under Gregg’s weight, but I was able to keep it moving all the way to the end of the hall. Every second counted: if anyone were to see me trying to dispose of a body, I’d be in far worse trouble than if I’d just notified the police that I’d killed a man in self-defense.

There was a service closet at the end of the hall. I tried the door, but it was locked. So I would just have to dump him here. I rolled Gregg off the cart, and immediately started pushing it back towards my room. I was almost there when I heard the ding of an approaching elevator! Quickly, I unlocked my door, shoved the cart inside and pulled the door shut behind me.

It was only a matter of time before the body was discovered. Although this must sound callous, I was ravenously hungry, and I busied myself resetting the room service cart and opening the bottle of wine. I ate and drank slowly, savoring for the first time my survival from almost certain death. With any luck, when the body was discovered, there would be nothing to connect it to me, to this room. Which reminded me: I took my glass over to the blood spots on the carpet and poured red wine over them. It all blended into a typical room service mess.

Suddenly I heard a commotion in the hall. There was a scream, and somebody shouted. After a few minutes, there were more footsteps, and a muffled conversation. Then a longer delay before the police arrived, their walkie-talkies giving them away. All the while, I huddled behind my locked door, an unwilling witness to the drama taking place. I could hear doors opening and other guests asking questions, and the police and hotel staff instructing them to return to their rooms. Perfect!

Now it has gone quiet. In a few minutes, I’m going to take off this dress, stash all of my female paraphernalia in my suitcase, and collapse into bed. If the police come back, I’ll be the clueless man they expect. Maybe I’ll check into a different hotel tomorrow. Wait, my chickphone is ringing! I fished it out of my purse.

“Hello?”

“Missy, it’s Ron.” I was about to take his head off when he said, “I’m so sorry about tonight! My ex called me while I was on my way to tell me that our son was in the emergency room.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Look, I don’t blame you! There was no way I could call you. By the time I got to the hospital, he was already in surgery.”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, thank God. He broke his leg during football practice, and they had to put him under to set it, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, I’m glad. I was really pissed, Ron.”

“Like I said, I don’t blame you. I only hope you’ll give me a chance to make it up to you. How about dinner tomorrow night?”