Standing on the corner. . .???

Friday's prompt was: Standing on the corner. . .

Who stood on the corner? What happened on the corner? Did you come up with anything?

Here is my attempt:

Standing on the corner in freezing cold weather dressed in women’s clothes was not his idea of fun. The first snow was just days or weeks away, and he stood on some street corner wearing fishnet stockings and a short leather that frigid air wafted up and nipped at his balls. The barely-there silk panties offered no warmth so his gonads crawled so far up inside him that Garrett was not certain he would ever see them again.

He strolled, if that was what you called wobbling on three-inch heels to the end of the street, pivoted and sashayed back swinging his hips as he thought women did.

Again, he wondered how women did it. The bra was killing him! He tried to adjust it the way he would his balls when in a less than comfortable position, but there did not seem to be a comfortable position.
His teeth chattered as he spoke low into the broach pinned to the top of the fuzzy pink sweater he wore. “Any movement?”

“Potential target headed your way, rounding the corner at six o’clock,” a voice said into the receiver tucked into his ear.

Potential target or not, any man who left a warm house to pay for sex or beat up a woman, was a complete fool in his book and deserved what he got. The longer Garrett paced the street the more pissed off he became. “If this guy ever does show up, I will personally string him up by his balls. I’m freezing my nuts off and feel ridiculous,” he mumbled.

“You look great, especially the thick thighs and wide shoulders.”

“Very curvy.”

“Cut the chatter,” Garrett grumbled. “And Jack, you just wait. Payback is a bitch.”

A muffled chuckle vibrated in his earpiece. Bastard.