Chapter 4
Alice followed the path to its end, coming to what seemed to be someone’s front yard. The strangest table Alice had ever seen was set out under a tree in front of a house. It was only the size of a leather loveseat, and one end crested then plunged down into a valley, like a rollercoaster, before rising again to a smaller peak. Three men were gathered tightly on one end, a nice-looking one wearing a top hat and suit, a rather bleary chap who slumped between them, fast asleep, and a third wearing a bunny costume. The two sat on either side of the sleeping man and used his back as a cushion, resting their elbows on him, talking over his head.
Embarrassed that she was totally naked but for her boots, garter belt, and stockings, Alice ducked behind a nearby bush.
“What are you doing?” the man with the bunny costume asked.
“I’m naked.”
“Are you? That must be why I can see your bush.”
Alice frowned at the greenery. “This isn’t my bush.”
“Then why are you in it?”
She wasn’t sure if he was complaining about her trespassing or was worried about the bush, but he didn’t seem to understand her point. “I’m naked, and I don’t wish to be seen. So I’m hiding in this bush.”
“I don’t believe that you’re naked. Let us see for ourselves.”
Now this really didn’t make sense to Alice, but very little did in this strange place. And since she left the Duchess’s house, the hollow ache in her most private place had grown worse, demanding to be filled. So despite knowing it was naughty to do so, she stepped out from behind the bush, covering her vulnerable parts as best she could.
The two men who were awake stared, but it was the bunny who again spoke. “You’re not naked. You’re wearing boots.”
“Boots aren’t clothes.”
“Maybe not,” continued the bunny man, “but they make your legs and bottom look divine.”
Alice stood there for a long while, and no one said a word. Aware of the afternoon sun glowing on the white curve of her breasts, and her nipples tightening to hard nubs under their gazes, she grew more and more uncomfortable. “May I sit?”
“There’s no room,” said the handsome man in the hat.
The statement was ridiculous, and it occurred to her he must have said it just to give her a hard time. But when she looked into his face, he had a kind and interested expression, and she recognized the gleam she had seen in Pilar’s eyes, in Dick’s eyes, and in Cheshire’s.
He looked as if he wanted to touch her. To kiss her. To do dreadful and delicious things.
Maybe they all were mad, as Cheshire had suggested. Maybe she was mad, too. Her deepest place felt terribly vacant, and she was even starting not to mind these men looking at her nakedness… at least a little.
“Are you sure there’s no room? Not even if I sit very close?”
“How close?” the Hatter asked.
She slipped her bottom onto the ground beside the strange table.
“I’m sorry, that’s not close enough. I’m afraid you will have to leave.”
To Alice’s surprise, she didn’t want to leave. “But I can’t sit any closer at this odd table.”
“You think our table is odd?” said the bunny man.
“I don’t mean to offend you, but most tables are flat, so the cups and saucers don’t slide off.”
“Are they?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this isn’t most tables.” The man in the hat gave a harrumph. “It’s a sex chair. But that doesn’t change the fact that if you want to stay, you must sit closer.”
Alice didn’t believe there was any such thing as a sex chair, but she thought it might be rude to say so.
“Are you going to sit closer?” The Hatter asked, and he and the rabbit man stared at her, and there wasn’t a bit of rudeness in their eyes. In fact they even smiled. “Please?”
And at that, Alice felt she would be the rude one if she didn’t at least make an effort. So, with a feeling of supreme naughtiness trilling up her spine, she plopped one hip on the edge of the leather top of the curvy, slopey-slanty sex chair table, her nipples jutting only inches from their faces.
The men stared and time ticked by. Alice thought they might have fallen into some kind of trance.
“Are you okay?” she finally asked.
“We’re giddy,” said the Hare.
“Why wouldn’t we be?” echoed the Hatter. “A naked stranger is sitting at our table.”
“I wish all of our tea parties were this good,” the Hare said.
“Well, shouldn’t we do something?” Alice asked. “Other than just sit here?”
“What do you suggest?” the Hatter asked. His eyes glinted with wicked possibilities.
Alice wanted to say something exciting. Something outrageous. But, once again, her embarrassment got in the way.
“May I have some tea?” she eventually asked.
“Tea?” The Hatter frowned, as if he’d never heard the word before.
“Yes, tea. Isn’t this a tea party?”
“No, we’re not really interested in politics.”
“I mean the kind of party where you serve tea. The beverage,” Alice clarified. “Or is this a costume party?”
“Why would you say that?” asked the man in the rabbit suit.
“Because you’re dressed as a bunny.”
“I’m the March Hare,” he said.
“And I’m the Hatter,” said the other, facts she’d already surmised based on what Cheshire had told her. “And this,” he pointed to the sleeping man, “is Dorien. Dorien Maus.”
The man gave a snore, as if in hello.
“Dor Maus for short,” the Hatter said. “Even though the work we’re parodying is in the public domain, it should be noted that parody is protected under the First Amendment as part of free speech, just in case.”
Cheshire has said they were mad, and he was spot-on.
“My name is Alice.” She looked at the March Hare. “And I’d like to know why you’re wearing a costume.”
“Because I’m a hare, Alice,” he said to her breasts.
“But you’re not. You’re a man. You’re just dressed as a hare.”
The Hare stuck out his chest and proudly began to recite:
The rabbit has a charming face,
Its private life is a disgrace.
I really dare not name to you
The awful things that rabbits do.
“You people are batty,” Alice said, meaning it.
“Not batty,” said the Hare. “I’m harey. Or, more technically, furry.”
“People who dress up as animals are called furries,” the Hatter whispered to her. “They believe they are the costumes they wear. It’s an odd kink, that’s true, but judging others is quiet dull and repressive.”
“I don’t mean to be dull, or to repress anyone, but he surely is a man,” Alice insisted. “Those rabbit ears are attached with a headband.”
“I am a rabbit,” the Hare said, “who also happens to wear a rabbit costume.”
“No you’re not.”
“Can you prove I’m a man?” the Hare asked.
“Yes, I can, if you’ll take off your costume.”
So he took off the lower part of his costume, revealing he was naked underneath. Naked, and very aroused. Not quite as big as Pilar, but the Hare’s manhood curved upward in a way that Alice found quite erotic.
“Do you wish to touch it?” the Hare asked.
Alice did, but again shyness prevented her reply.
“I would so like it if you did,” the Hare said. “And stroking a rabbit’s foot is lucky.”
“But that’s not a foot!” Alice insisted.
“True, I’m only seven inches,” said the Hare. “But doesn’t it have a nice, upward arc to it?”
Alice agreed. “Yes, it does.”
“So touch it.”
“Well, I don’t want to be rude.” Alice reached out and ran a finger up the underside of the arch. “See?” she said, feeling him twitch under her fingertips. “You are a man.”
“No,” said the Hare, “I’m a well-endowed rabbit. The Hatter is a man.” And he pointed to the Hatter who had peeled off his pants and shirt and was wearing a different hat, a rakish fedora this time.