Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

“Shit!” Kellan exclaimed, flailing his clutch purse in one hand and his wrapped gift in the other as he tried to regain his balance. The recent snowfall might have made the cul-de-sac into a picturesque winter wonderland, but it also made the paths and sidewalks into obstacle courses of snow piles and frozen puddles, which were especially dangerous at night in Uggs. Kellan stumbled off the patch of black ice and adjusted his skirt. Fortunately the fabric was flexible enough not to rip so easily, but it did have a tendency to ride up.

A car pulled up alongside him and the window rolled down. “How you doin’ pretty lady?” asked the driver. “Lookin’ for some company?”

“Hiya, Casey,” Kellan said, smoothing out the last wrinkles. “The only good parking spaces left are on the main road. There should be enough room for you behind my car.”

“Thanks. Wait for me, would you please?”

“Sure.” Casey was Kellan’s favorite costar in their drag troupe, the Fabulettes. His stage name was Peach, and he earned it. On the outside he was the stereotypical gay man, sweet, with soft features and a pleasant voice, but he was hard as a rock inside and wouldn’t take shit from anybody. Kellan had gone to the gym with him a few times before Casey’s day job gave him new hours. Though Casey was 140 pounds soaking wet and had a body better suited to crossdressing than Kellan’s V-shape torso, Casey could bench his own weight and then some, and Kellan had never seen someone with more conviction.

The powerhouse himself strode down the sidewalk in a red cocktail dress and a white quilted puffer jacket, heels clacking against the concrete. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said. From what Kellan could see in the glow of the streetlight, Casey’s make-up was on-point as usual, down to his carefully painted lips.

“Not a problem. Is that a new wig? You know how much I like you as a blonde.”

Casey primped the golden tresses, accented by a few streaks of red on the left side. “It was a Christmas present; figured it would be perfect for the party.”

“Looks great on you, the whole outfit does. I swear, you could walk into a women’s bathroom, whip it out, and start pissing in the sink, and they still wouldn’t know you’re a man.”

“As always, I thank you for the compliment. And you’re quite the tall drink of hot chocolate yourself tonight. I’m liking those leggings with that skirt, very chic.”

Kellan shifted his grip on the wrapped package in his hand. “They are cute, but they aren’t doing much to keep out the cold. Let’s get inside before what’s left of my body hair falls off.”

Their host and unofficial drag-mother of the Fabulettes, Patricia Spanks, who casually went by ‘Pat’ and didn’t care what pronouns you used so long as you never called him ‘that queer’, opened the door. He was wearing a red and green striped vest over a long-sleeved white shirt with red high heels poking out from under his dress pants. The bauble on his elf hat jingled as he gave his guests hugs. “Peach! Rayvon! Good to see you! Merry Christmas!” He pointed above the door frame. “Mistletoe,” he exclaimed mischievously.

Casey put his hands on his hips. “And risk smudging my lipstick this early in the night? Bitch, please.” Instead, he gave Pat air kisses, then did the same to Kellan. “I hope we’re not too late. Seems like everyone’s here already.”

“Not quite, we’re still waiting on Leslie and Jade. Come on in, help yourselves.”

“I think I will,” Kellan said. He sniffed the air. “What is that tantalizing smell?”

“Roast turkey, shepherd’s pie, vegetable stir fry, and cranberry tarts which should juuust be coming out of the oven.” Pat smiled. “All Matt’s work, of course. My skill lies in breakfast, but we can’t exactly have eggs and crepes at a Christmas party. I did mix the punch though, and I gave it a little kick.” He chuckled at his own joke. “There are non-alcoholic drinks, but if you had any intention of driving home before dawn, stay away from the eggnog.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Casey said. “Now, where is this eggnog, so I know how to avoid it?”

Pat showed them inside. They both took off their coats, revealing Casey’s green faux-fur stole that topped off his one-shoulder dress. In his red pencil skirt and white embroidered blouse, Kellan felt downright underdressed. “Good God,” he said. “On anyone else that would be tacky as shit. How do you do that?”

“Same way I walk in heels: sheer force of will,” Casey said with a wink.