Stranger Wearing Makeup: Chapter Three [The Shell Beach Club]

I assumed we both meant to meet at eight thirty, and so, I was early. I only lived a short distance from the club and knew the spot well. The smooth jazz always soothed me in times of stress, when not even some slow sex could help.
I was there twenty minutes early, just to feel on time - it was a curse of mine; being on time made me feel like I was late, and being late made me feel sick. Not literally sick, but just uneasy - pathetic almost. Punctuality meant a lot to me.
I sat at the bar, scanning the area, looking for anyone who might be looking for me. I wore black slacks, a white button-up shirt, and a black blazer, I held my fedora in my left hand and set it on the bar.
"What're ya' havin'?" A male voice asked me, I turned around. It was the cross dresser. She...I mean he, maybe it...yeah, let's stick with "it".
It looked like an adorable Lolita, with her hair done up in a bob, bows covering it. It's dress was a big poof of lace and what looked like velvet. Ruffles streamed down the front of it, and it looked wrapped around the back. I could guess It was wearing knee high stockings, probably a dark blue or white - to match the color scheme of It's dress and hair.
"Ummm...I'll have a glass of Tequila and a lime, please." I said.
"You got it." It said. A few seconds later I was sipping on some tequila and searching the room for Allison.
I glanced at my watch and then the clock on the wall behind the bar,
"8:28" It read. I began to get uncomfortable and restless. If this woman wanted my services she had better make a good first impression, that's why I never became a cop - I didn't want to work with scum.
"You look nervous, do you want another?" It, The Cross Dresser asked me.
"Yeah, sure. Thanks." I replied trying my hardest not to give off any signals of interest.
"Here you go." It said. "Don't worry man, I'm not into guys."
"Wait what?" I asked.
"You're giving me that "I'm afraid of gay guys" vibe. I'm not gay." It said.
"Then what's up with the dress?" I asked taking a sip.
"I just like to look pretty." He said as if a man dressing as a woman was an everyday, normal thing.
"I understand rockstars dressing like women, I really do, but last time I checked...?" I paused.
"Dorothy." It replied.
"Thanks, but last time I checked, Dorothy, we weren't on a stage." I said.
"True. Unless you're one of those artsie fartsie people who think the world is a stage. Or those people that think we're being filmed at every second." Dorothy said.
"You sound like one of them." I said taking a bigger drink. "No offense."
"None taken. No, I am who I am. No one asks why you're wearing that on-clearance suit with the wrinkled button-up shirt, its just social norm for a man to wear pants."
I rolled my eyes in agreement.
"Even women can wear pants and tee shirts these days, with no type of discrimination. But as soon as a man does it, he's either gay or an artist. Let me tell you, I can't draw worth a shit. I dress the way I do because it's what makes me happy." Dorothy said.
"I can respect that, but what's with the name?" I set my drink down on the counter. "That can't be what's on your birth certificate!"
"Its not. I just hope some hot bi-sexual chicks will come in and see me, a man that looks like a woman, and want to go all the way. So I invented a name to fully become the woman on the outside, as far as the clothes go, and be the man underneath." Dorothy said.
"I guess we all do that sort of thing, don't we? Act like two people; one we show the world, the other we keep to ourselves, and for a select few we trust?" I said then I feel a hand on my shoulder.
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Gus Green?" I turn towards the voice, and standing before me is a hot little number. Big tits staring at me at eye level, pressed together in her low cut blouse, lace all around the edges - practically a bullseye. I look at them, I can't help it, and I can't see a single stretch mark...They must be fake. Or maybe she takes care of them, wit tits like those you'd have to.
I make eye contact an look into her huge blue eyes and lose myself a little bit, they remind me of her tits. I just want to slam into her and watch those big blue bulbs roll into the back of her head as she cums over and over again. I want to chew on her huge pink lips, someone down the family line must have been black with lips that big. I'd gnaw into them as we fucked, listening to her moan.
I can feel my heart start racing and my pants become tight.
"Yes!" I say abruptly. "I'm him! I'm Gus! Nice to meet you, Mrs. Anderson." I put my hand out and smile, closing my eyes. Visions of her on her back, her legs spread and me in between them, her tits sticking up at me pop into my head. I open my eyes and offer her a seat.
"Oh, I'd much rather sit somewhere a little more..." She motions to Dorothy. "...Private."
"Oh, this is just Dorothy...harmless." I say as It fills my glass up again. "But if you insist." I extend my arm and she leads the way. I look down at her ass [What straight guy doesn't? I know Dorothy's back there doing the same thing.] and I'm a little disappointed. I mean sure, it has the bubble but there's just not enough hip and any ass man will tell you, the hips can make or break any ass.
I watch the ass as it sways back and forth, rotating in an odd ocean current type of way. I picture myself ramming her from behind, watch as her ass becomes her back. That sexy heart shaped curve. I try to imagine if she has butt dimples, those make any back attractive.
She turns around and sits at a booth, I sit across from her.
"So, Mrs. Anderson..." I begin.
"Please, call me Allison." She insists.
"So, Allison. What can I help you with?" I ask.
"Mr. Green..." She begins.
"Call me Gus." I insist.
"...Gus." She says with a smile. "I'd like you to kill my husband."

-Sir Jestro