“Then you shouldn’t be harassing women on my street,” I sneered, taking a step toward them.“That ain’t no woman! It's a dude in a dress!” ...he one on the ground shouted, slowly getting up and brushing himself off.I half turned and glanced over my shoulder. The woman had stopped about twenty feet down the street and was watching with a frightened look on her face. She was slender, about five feet tall, and her low-cut top showed off firm round breasts. Her short black skirt didn’t quite cover the. She commented that she’d never been there. He noted that the deep red paint on her lips didn’t come off on the edge of her coffee cup, didn’t smudge on her napkin. Everything was carefully precise about her makeup, while her hair remained wild, the collar on her shirt slightly askew. She offered a smile, dark lashes lowering over dark eyes. Conversation lapsed again. Finally, teeth chewing against her bottom lip in thought while she did it, she slid her hand across the cracked deep red of the. More

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