By the author of The Jessica Project, http://www.geocities.com/thejessicaproject/author

 

On the Run

by Nom de Plume

© 2003

 

Part Three

 

The next morning, after sleeping late, I sat out on the terrace in one of my new nightgowns with a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. Today was going to be a busy day: a trip to the grocery store to fill up my pantry, getting a telephone number, some more towels and linens, another trip to the drugstore for female essentials, and making an appointment for a haircut. My ponytail had gotten me by so far, but it was a pain, and I wanted something shorter. Besides, once I jettisoned Victoria Ross, I intended to cut my hair very short to distance myself from my old male appearance, and I assured myself that this was just an interim step. I also needed to make a quick trip to a local branch of my bank. My final stop would be to a computer superstore, so I could begin to work on my next identity.

What to wear today? The night before, I had ducked out to a 711 for some provisions after my swim, attracting no odd looks in my cover-up and sandals. Still, I felt more confident when I decked myself out, as if the more feminine I made myself look, the less likely I was to be read. And my body was yearning for some forbidden arousal.

I luxuriated in my new tub, a far cry from the grungy motel bathroom, before I went through the hair and makeup routine. My nails still looked reasonably good, although a trip to a nail salon was something I should add to my to-do list. I walked into my closet and sifted through the hangers, selecting and rejecting different outfits. Decision, decisions! I finally decided on a black pleated skit and a soft white top with short sleeves. I went with a one-piece body briefer which I hoped would give me more of a figure, and sure enough, the sweater clung to my new curves like it was made for me. "Sheer black pantyhose and my new heels should look good with this skirt," I said to myself, trying to get back into my feminine voice. My new stockings were more expensive than the drugstore variety, and I reveled in the feeling of sheer luxury as I slipped them on. My legs looked sleek and sexy, and they felt wonderful.

As I zipped up my skirt, I noticed that I did not have a raging hard-on like the ones I had experienced while dressing up the past few days. Instead, I felt more of a glow, like the sweet feelings that precede an orgasm, and they intensified as I accessorized my outfit with a colorful scarf and some jewelry. I stepped into my heels and marveled at what they did for my legs as I minced in front of a full length mirror. Suddenly, the overwhelming feelings of arousal came back with a vengeance. I pressed my hands against my skirt and coaxed my penis through the layers of silky fabric until it shuddered in ecstasy.

While feelings of relief and relaxation washed over me, the wet spot triggered an undercurrent of self-loathing from my tortured male ego. I tuned him out as I applied a flourish of fresh lipstick. I added it to the contents of my purse, and remembered to put on my delicate new wristwatch. Then Victoria Ross went out to start her busy day.

* * *

The telephone was ringing as I juggled my packages and tried to get my key in the door. I had a phone! I dropped everything and raced across the apartment to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Is this Victoria Ross?"

I was suddenly on guard. Could the FBI have tracked me down? "Who's calling please?"

"How would you like to enjoy a fabulous weekend in Las Vegas?"

"Just a minute…let me put my husband on the phone." Then, in my normal voice, "Fuck you, asshole! Never call here again!" I slammed down the phone. Fucking telemarketers!

I returned to the packages strewn across the carpeting and put them all away. Then I sat down next to the phone, kicked off my heels, and stretched out on the sofa, flexing my aching toes in my nylons. I found Brian's card in my purse and punched in his number.

He answered on the third ring. "Brian Robbins."

"Hi. It's Vicky."

"Hey! Can I call you right back? I'm with a customer."

"That's okay, I just called to give you my new number, for the checks." I gave him my phone number and rang off.

I had accomplished all of my objectives except buying the new computer, deciding to have my nails done instead. The irony of that wasn't lost on me as I admired my manicure. The computer would be the first step towards my re-emergence as a man, and the truth was, I was having too much fun right now to even think about that. Maybe I should stay like this for a while, just until things settled down. I was living in more luxury than I had ever known, and there were so many things about my new world to explore.

The only problem was, I would have to explore them alone. Up until that point, I had been too stressed out to appreciate how lonely I was. At that moment, the telephone rang again.

"Yes," I said in a firm voice.

"Vicky?"

It was Brian! "Hi. Sorry if I sounded rude. I just hung up on a timeshare salesman."

He laughed. "You tell 'em, Vicky." There was a long pause. Finally, he said, "I'm returning your call."

"Oh. I thought I told you, I was just calling to give you my new number. Obviously you got it."

"Obviously. We'll take care of the checks. Listen, I must be a sucker for punishment, but I just scored two tickets to a Suns game tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like to go."

I loved basketball. But a date? This was getting way out of hand. I mean, he was a nice guy, but come on! Still, if I didn't go, what would I do tonight? Sit home again in my apartment and watch TV? Besides, it wasn't like we were going someplace romantic. How much trouble could I get into at a basketball game? "Sure," I heard myself tell him. "Sounds like fun."

"Really? That's great! I'll pick you up at seven, and we can grab a bite before the game, if that's all right."

Why not? A girl had to eat. "Okay. Sounds nice."

I gave him my apartment number, and glanced at my watch. I had about an hour to get ready! My hair and nails were perfect, but I would have to take a quick shower, then put on my makeup again. What should I wear?

* * *

The doorbell rang as I was zipping up my denim skirt. It was short, almost six inches above my knees, and I wore it with a peasant blouse that was tucked loosely into the waist. A yellow silk scarf was tied gaily around my neck. I tried to slip on my new pair of weejuns, but they wouldn't fit! So much for going bare legged tonight. I raced back to the dresser, shouted "Coming!" and tore open a pair of nude pantyhose. There were no erotic feelings this time as I tugged the nylons up my legs and lifted up my skirt to twist them around. I must have snagged them, because I noticed a small run on one of my legs, from just above my knee to my crotch. No time to change them! I slipped my feet into my shoes while I gave myself a final inspection in the mirror. With my new shag hairdo, I looked younger than before, and very cute, if I did say so myself.

The doorbell rang again. "Coming!" I shouted once more, throwing lipstick, compact and keys into my new shoulder bag. As an after-thought, I added my new woman's wallet. When I opened the door, Brian gave me a double-take. "Wow. A new look. I really like it."

"Thanks."

He peered into my apartment. "Nice place. Well, we better go, or we'll miss the tip-off. I have a dinner reservation at a little Italian place nearby." He walked me to his car, an Acura Integra, and opened the door for me. I sat down as best I could in my short skirt, knowing that he was staring at my legs, just like I used to do when I helped girls into my car.

Brian drove fast, but well, and I folded my hands in the lap of my skirt as I repeated to myself, over and over, "I'm a girl. I'm a girl." By the time we got to the restaurant, I was humming "I Feel Pretty" to myself. The valet opened the door, and I got out as gracefully as I could. I had to reach down onto the floor of the car to retrieve my shoulder bag, giving the valet and Brian a clear shot at my panties, and I saw them exchange smirks as I followed Brian into the restaurant.

It was cool and dark, and the maitre'd led us to a quiet booth. Brian ordered a bottle of Pino Grigio, and we studied our menus in silence for a few minutes as our eyes adjusted to the light from a flickering candle. I looked over at Brian, who was concentrating on the fine print. He was extremely handsome. I had never been attracted to a man in my life, and I wasn't particularly attracted to him now, but for some strange reason it made me feel nice to be in the company of such a good-looking guy. It was the same with dating girls, I supposed. Let's hope things stayed that superficial.

A waiter appeared, and after he recited the specials of the day, I ordered angel hair pasta with basil and tomatoes in olive oil. Brian ordered veal Marsalla and fettuccini alfredo, and once again I felt a pang of envy. No self-respecting girl would tuck into a meal like that on a date. Maybe I could wheedle a few bites out of him.

We made small talk as we sipped our wine. I neatly deflected his questions about my background, turning the conversation back to him whenever I could. He seemed to enjoy it when I asked him questions about the sports he played, the music he liked and the places he had traveled to, then our dinners were served and we ate in silence as I tried not to make a pig out of myself with the thin pasta.

Brian did offer me some of his dinner, but I thought the better of it, although once again I began to feel light-headed as I finished my second glass of wine. At least he was driving this time. The waiter offered coffee and deserts, which we declined, and we chatted about nothing in particular as we waited for the check. I was beginning to think my first date was going well when I felt Brian's hand on my leg.

Thank God I had to wear pantyhose! I could feel my cock jump when Brian caressed my silky thigh. Gently but firmly, I took his hand and slid it back down to my knee. He seemed to content to leave it there, and I was so relieved, I let him.

Brian pressed his head against mine. "You've got a run in your stocking," he whispered.

"One of the dilemmas of being a woman."

"I think it's sexy."

So did I, when I was a guy, I thought ruefully. I looked down with chagrin when he squeezed my knee. On the run.

* * *

The excitement of the game was a blessed relief. The Bulls were in town, and I pretended to cheer for them, even though they were truly pathetic. We had great seats, which Brian had picked up for free when a senior officer at the bank had to give them up. He explained this to me in the car on the way back to my apartment, once again resting his hand on my silky knee.

I was trying to figure out how I was going to get rid of him when I saw something strange. Two police cars were parked outside my apartment building. Stranger still, the lights seemed to be on in my apartment, and I was sure I hadn't left them on. Before Brian could stop, I asked him, "Where do you live?"

"About a mile from here. Would you like to see my place?" he asked, never in a million years thinking I would accept.

"Sure, why not?" Brian stepped on the gas and popped the clutch, and my head was thrown back as we sped out of the driveway. Out of the frying pan, and into the fire, I tried to calm myself as we drove towards his apartment. The law had found me, there was no way around it. How were they able to connect the dots? If they found out from my computer that Victoria Ross was my alter ego, it would only be a matter of time before they located the Chicago bank account where I stashed the money. Once the money was on the wire, they would follow the trail straight to the address I used to open my account. I closed my eyes and tried to think. The walls were closing in. It was a good thing I enjoyed being a girl, because I would be spending the next fifteen to twenty years as the plaything of a hardened criminal.

I realized that Brian had parked the car. "Something wrong?" he asked me.

I tried to act natural, natural as a girl. "No. I was just waiting for you to open my door. Is chivalry dead in Arizona?"

Brian sprang out the door and raced around the back of his car. I gave him a good look at my thighs as I climbed out of his car, and put my arm through his as we walked up a flight of stairs to his apartment building. He opened the door, and led me to his apartment.

I followed him inside. It was a typical bachelor pad, with a big screen TV, a monster stereo system, a leather coach and a matching recliner. An exercise machine and free weights took up a corner of the room. "Care for something to drink?" he asked me.

My mind was racing. "Sure," I said, as I sat down on his recliner. Girls had used that move to frustrate me when I wanted to get them onto a couch. I kicked off my shoes and tucked my legs under my skirt.

Brian opened a bottle of wine and poured us each a glass. He perched on the edge of the couch as we pondered our next moves, like a mongoose and a cobra. "I like your place," I said to break the ice.

"I'm thinking of buying a condo. It would be nice to have an extra room for my weights and stuff."

I sipped my wine demurely.

"Would you like to watch TV?" he asked.

I was about to say yes when I stopped myself. What if the local news stations were carrying bulletins about the manhunt for a Chicago man masquerading as a woman? That would be sensational enough to merit team coverage. "How about some music instead?" I said.

Brian liked that idea, and he put on some soft rock. "You know, Vicky, I'm really glad you came in to the bank on Monday."

Was it a Monday? I couldn't even remember what day it was. If that was Monday, this must be, let's see…Wednesday. Nine days after my escape from Chicago. Who said the FBI was slipping? I emptied my glass, and Brian got up to pour me a fresh one. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to get me drunk," I said with a smile.

"Not hardly. It's scientifically proven that a woman's ability to enjoy sex is greatly depressed by alcohol. I should cut you off right now."

It was such an outrageous line, I had to laugh in spite of myself. It was the kind of thing I would never dreamed of saying to a girl on a first date. Maybe that's why my sex life as a man had been such a disaster. It took real cajones to say something like that to a girl.

"Are you always this pushy on a first date?"

Brian went around behind the chair and rested his chin on top of my head. "Only when the girl is really hot." He turned my face gently with his hand, and kissed me. No tongue, just a soft kiss on the lips, and I kissed him back the same way.

He reached down and took my hand. "Let's go to bed."

I stood up unsteadily. "You were right about that wine," I said. "And there's another problem, scientifically speaking."

"What's that?"

"I'm having my period."

"Ouch. Oh well, I'm game, if you are."

` "Yuck! That would make this a first date to remember, all right. I can see us in our golden years, harkening back to it."

"Now we are getting ahead of ourselves," he laughed. "Seriously, I really like you, Vicky, and I want to see you again."

"Who's stopping you?"

He put his hands on my shoulders and kissed me again. I hugged him and felt his erection, hard with desire against my belly. "Goodness!" I said.

"I guess you bring out the best in me."

I made a calculated decision. The longer I stayed there, the more time I would have to come up with a plan, anything to get away from the stakeout back at my apartment. I reached down and stroked him through his trousers.

He led me into the bedroom, and I pushed him down on the bed. He lay back as I unzipped his fly, and I took his enormous cock in my hands. There was no way I was going to give him a blow job, but a hand job I could handle. Then I had an inspiration, and I removed my silk scarf and wrapped it gently around his penis. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that it was my cock I was stroking. As I did so, I could feel my own penis struggling furiously against its silken restraints. Faster and faster, I stroked him, and although my penis was bent over double between my legs, I could feel it stiffen and start to pulse. We came simultaneously, Brian's cock spewing gobs of hot semen into my scarf as my own load gushed into my panties.

I lay down beside him and we both stared at the ceiling for awhile. "Thanks," he said. "You do that real nice."

"I've had years of practice," I felt like saying. Instead, I said, "Glad to be of service."

I lifted one of my legs over his and started playing with the buttons on his shirt, making sure to keep his hands away from my chest, although my breast forms felt and looked like the real thing. "Even if we can't do it, we can still have some fun, right?"

"Oh, baby, whatever you say," he whispered. His refraction time was remarkably quick, and before long I was pulling on his penis again, without the scarf this time, watching it grow and stiffen in my manicured fingers. Once again, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that I was doing this to myself, and once again my body responded in kind. For the second time, we came together, and the pleasure was more intense this time for both of us.

Three in a row was my personal best, and I was counting on Brian to be up to it. I needn't have worried. After he cleaned himself off and got us each another glass of wine, I pushed him back down and started teasing his cock with my stockinged foot. He groaned as his member grew hard once again, and once more I took him in my hand and pulled and jerked on him. It took much longer, of course, and I could see that he was gritting his teeth as another orgasm began to well up inside him. What the hell, he couldn't have much left in him… I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and took him into my mouth. I nibbled and sucked as he started to throb, and as I hoped, his sac was nearly dry. From someplace deep within me, I felt another orgasm coming, and although my penis stayed soft, a wicked glow spread between my legs. My panties were a soggy mess.

I could tell that Brian was completely exhausted. As we lay there in silence, I tried to rationalize what had just happened. I told myself that I had to do it. Now I was safe from his advances until morning. A moan from Brian brought me back down to earth. "Oh baby, that was so good."

"Almost as good as the real thing?" I asked, the double meaning lost on him.

"Definitely. I always thought it would be a drag getting married and having to lay off sex when my wife was on the rag or pregnant. Will you marry me?" he said.

I punched him on the arm. "You really know how to make a girl feel great," I said with a sigh.

"Want to spend the night?" he said out of nowhere. Maybe he thought my period might mysteriously end before morning.

"Sure, lover boy. I'll wear your pajamas and cook you some breakfast in the morning."

* * *

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was almost three o'clock in the morning. For hours, I had snuggled next to Brian, dressed in his pajamas, trying to come up with a plan. His breathing was slow and regular, and I could tell he was dead to the world.

Slipping out of bed, I crept into the living room.  Although my eyes had become adjusted to the pitch black apartment, I had to get down on my hands and knees and feel around the floor until I found Brian's free weights.  I picked up several, until I found one that weighed about 10 pounds.  I carried it back into the bedroom and made my way around the bed until I was standing directly over his sleeping body. 

I lifted the dumbbell as high as I could and brought it down squarely on the back of Brian's head.  I held my breath as he groaned and twitched once, then he lay perfectly still.  I lowered my head and listened for breathing.  This was not supposed to be a murder.  To my relief, I heard labored breathing, and when I felt for his pulse, it was steady.

I switched on the light by the side of the bed.  A thin trickle of blood was coming down the side of Brian's face from a cut above his hairline, but he was definitely alive.  I picked up my stockings from the floor next to the bed and used them to tie his hands tightly behind his back.  Then I balled up my panties, which were encrusted with dried semen, and stuffed them into Brian's half-open mouth.  His unconscious body had a gag reflex, and I waited until I was sure he was breathing normally through his nose before I looked around for something to tie up his legs.  I remembered that I was still wearing my bra, which was adequate to the task.

Next, I found a pair of scissors in the kitchen and took them to my hair.  When it was chopped as close as I could get it, I started in on my head with Brian's electric razor.  Before long, my scalp was shaved smooth.  I took a hot shower, scrubbing off my makeup as best I could.  There was little chance Brian would have any nail polish remover, but after I dried myself off, I rummaged around in his drawers and found some turpentine, which did the job.  I cut my nails with Brian's clippers, and started trying on his clothes.  He was one or two sizes bigger than I was, and it took me some time to find a sweatshirt and jeans that looked all right.  His sneakers fit perfectly. I picked Brian's trousers off the floor and rummaged through his pockets until I found his wallet and keys.

I took a hard look at his driver's license. Although our faces were not alike, our vital statistics and coloring were close enough, and with any luck my shaved head would seem to account for the difference between my appearance and his photograph. I combined the contents of my wallet into his, stuffed it into my jeans pocket, and had a last look around the apartment. The only thing left of Victoria Ross was a skirt, a blouse, a pair of weejuns, and a cum-stained scarf. I made sure Brian was sleeping comfortably, turned off all the lights, and headed out the door with his keys in my hand.

It took me twenty minutes to drive to Sky Harbor. I made a brief detour past my apartment complex, where several police and unmarked cars were still clustered around my building, and the lights still burned in my apartment. I switched on the radio, and searched for any news reports about me, but there was nothing.

The airport was deserted at that hour. I parked Brian's Integra in the short term lot and walked up to the America West ticket counter. Phoenix and Las Vegas are twin hubs for America West, and there are planes running between those cities around the clock. The first flight to Las Vegas was in forty-five minutes, and I had no trouble making it, purchasing a ticket with cash in the name of Brian Robbins.

It was a short flight, and the sun was coming up over the desert as I caught a taxi to one of the strip hotels. For the next twenty-four hours, I walked from casino to casino, cashing in and cashing out at each of them after playing craps and roulette for high stakes. I made sure the surveillance cameras got a good look at my face each time I made my way through a different casino.

I was exhausted when I presented myself at the downtown office of the FBI the following morning to turn myself in.

* * *

TEN YEARS FOR HIGHROLLING CROSSDRESSER

CHICAGO: US District Judge Mary Wright sentenced Derek Buxton, also known as Victoria Ross, to ten years in federal prison today following Buxton's guilty plea to one count of embezzlement and one count of bank fraud. As part of Buxton's plea agreement, seven other bank fraud charges against him were dismissed, and prosecutors indicated that pending assault charges against him in Arizona would also be dropped.

Buxton became the subject of a nationwide manhunt last year after he embezzled over half a million dollars from Eon Company. He surfaced in Phoenix under the identity of Victoria Ross, and lived briefly as a woman before his arrest in Las Vegas, where he was using identification stolen from a Phoenix man whom he had assaulted.

Judge Wright agreed with prosecutors that Buxton, 23, had shown genuine remorse in turning himself in and confessing to the FBI after he lost all of the stolen money during a marathon gambling spree in Las Vegas. The fact that he had no prior criminal record was also taken into account. He will be eligible for parole in seven years.

* * *

So there you have my story. Well, not entirely. As I told the FBI, during my last day as Victoria Ross, I removed most of the money from her bank account, in the form of five $100,000 cashier's checks. My original intention was simply to disburse my fortune into separate, FDIC insured accounts. Fortunately, I had the checks in my wallet during my big date with Brian, and the FBI swallowed the story that I had managed to blow it all in Las Vegas, losing an average of $50,000 in each of the ten casinos I visited.

In fact, although I spread a lot of money around on the tables, and made a point of cashing in and cashing out in large amounts, I was basically recycling the same cash over and over again as I made my way through the city. And before I turned myself in, I walked into a brokerage house and purchased $500,000 in AAA rated zero coupon municipal bonds, which are stashed in a safety deposit box in Las Vegas.

When the bonds mature in seven years, they will be worth almost a million dollars, tax free. More than enough to pay for my sex-change operation after I get out of here. In the meantime, I am working productively in the prison library, reading everything I can get my hands on about gender disphoria. During my brief fling as Victoria Ross, I learned three things: how much I liked having money, how much I hated having to work, and how much I enjoyed being a girl. Looking back, my three days as Victoria Ross were the most exciting days of my life.

Time to go. Maurice is meeting me in the shower, where I will undoubtedly be taking it up the ass once again. With everybody in here tested for AIDS, I am probably safer with the general prison population than I would be out on the street, considering my new lifestyle. When I get out, I'll still be young, I'll be set up for life, and I'll know what it means to become a woman.

  

  

  

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