Page 4 of Cleats and Pumps

I felt tingling all over my body, like when the soothsayer drag queen put her hand over mine. Then, just like that, the tingling stopped, and I looked down.

The oversized mushroom sequined dress had shrunk and hugged my body. It was no longer the yellow sickish color, but had been replaced with a dramatically red one. There were still mushroom sequins, but they sparkled like diamonds. On the side of the tight-fitting dress was the perfect slit right up my right leg.

“My legs,” I said when I looked down and saw all the hair had gone. I reached down and ran my hand up and down the appendage that was now smooth as a baby’s behind.

The stilettos had changed, too. Instead of being an awkward size that was hard to walk in, they were a brilliant cream that perfectly complemented the red dress.

“Is there a mirror, um, I mean a looking glass?” I asked, determined to see the changes.

“Well, of course,” Michell said, leading me to a mirror behind a great oak tree beside the house.

I gasped at my image. My beard had been trimmed but was still there. The hat sat perfectly on my head, and my natural curls bunched up beautifully around the rim. The ribbon had changed from pink to black and the red and black together exuded sex.

“How does a hat exude sex?” I asked, causing everyone to laugh.

“You look lovely, darling,” Mitchell said. “Now you are ready to visit the royal court.”

When he said that, the other creatures all sucked in a breath and rushed away into the brush around the home. “Um, what was that about?” I asked.

“Oh,” Michell said, looking nonplused, “it’s nothing. Anyway, dear, you must be on your way. Keep going in the direction you came, and you’ll see the castle on the horizon. Chop, chop!” He disappeared into his house before I could say anything.

“Well, okay,” I said and headed down the path toward the castle as instructed.

I’d seen the castle in the distance and was about to walk toward it when a rumble echoed from one of the large trees that lined the path. In Alice in Wonderland, The Cheshire Cat showed up much earlier than in my dream. I looked up to see him smiling down at me. “Hello, Cheshire Cat, what is it you’ve brought me? A butt plug?” I asked, knowing I was being a jerk. But seriously, what else could I wear?

The cat didn’t say anything, so I looked closer. I gasped when I saw he was my ex, Gregory. The moment I did, he disappeared, his smile never leaving his face, and just like in the story, his body vanished before his smile.

The rest of the walk to the castle was uneventful. When I got to the gates, I noticed the guards were all cards, just like in one of the movies they’d made of the story. Also, I recognized their faces as men I’d seen at the bar where Gregory performed.

The rest of the dream got a bit deep. My grandmother and grandfather had raised me deep in rural Tennessee. Grandma had been a Bible thumper, always quoting scripture and telling me how evil I was and how I was going to hell at every turn.

The second I laid eyes on the Queen, I knew she represented her.

My grandfather had been better at parenting than her. He was, as she’d called him, a layabout, good for nothing, but that wasn’t exactly true. He’d at least tried being a good surrogate father tome. His main flaw was he liked fishing more than anything. He’d ended up fishing his life away. In fact, when he had died of a heart attack, he’d fallen face-first into the Hatchie River.

When the King walked in, he winked at me, and I smiled as I recognized his ornery expression.

“Well, well, seems we have a visitor, Ma,” he said, causing the Queen to throw a fit.

“I’m Your Majesty, not Ma! You worthless layabout!” she screamed.

He shrugged and winked again. “So, young man, what brings you to the royal court?” he asked.

Before I could answer, Gregory, the Cheshire Cat, rubbed against my legs.

“Such impertinence,” my grandmother, the Queen, screamed. “Off with his head!”

“Dear, can you decapitate a Cheshire cat? I mean, the head isn’t always attached as it is.”

“You can, and we shall. I’ll not have that degenerate in my home!” she said, making me flinch. My grandmother had whipped my bottom twice in my life. Once when she’d caught me watching a YouTube video of RuPaul singingYou bett’r Work.

“That man is a degenerate. I’ll not have that filth in my house,” she’d screeched.

The second time, I was thirteenish and apparently checking out a cute guy I hadn’t seen before who came to a Wednesday night prayer meeting at my grandma’s church. The sad thing was, if she hadn’t come home wailing about me turning into a degenerate, I wouldn’t have recognized I was attracted to the guy.

After that, she just threw her hands up and said the Devil could have me, not that I knew what that meant. I still didn’t. Why would being myself be something the Devil would want?

Anyway, after that, I was put in prison. The cat didn’t lose his head, but it did appear one last time right before the soldier playing cards tossed me back into oblivion.

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