Melinda Duchamp: Fifty Shades of Alice in Wonderland

“There’s nothing,” she yelled, pulling out her hand in anger and humiliation.

“Of course there is nothing,” the Hatter said. “Who ever heard of such a ridiculous thing?”

“So why did you make me do it?” Alice demanded.

“Because it was really hot,” he answered.

The Hare nodded in agreement.

The Duchess was right. Men were pigs.

“Well, I have to get dressed,” the Hatter said. “I can’t play croquet like this. It would cause a scandal.”

The Hare nodded. “And sunburn.”

And as they dressed, the Hatter in his suit and the Hare in his costume, Alice again felt self-conscious about her nudity. “What about me? I have no clothes.”

“You have boots,” the Hatter said, studying her, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his manhood started to grow again. “And they make your legs and bottom look stupendous.”

“I have something for you to wear,” said the March Hare. And he reached into the discarded furry pants of his costume and pulled out a leather bra. “Put this on.”

Grateful to finally have something that covered her breasts, Alice slipped the bra on. But though the leather contraption fit her perfectly, it was like no bra she’d ever worn before. Made of leather straps and silver buckles, the apparatus surrounded each of her breasts, hefting them high. But it left most of her fleshy mounds totally bare, her nipples protruding luridly in front of her.

“I can’t wear this,” she said.

The Hare made a face. “Of course you can. Look in the mirror. You’re wearing it right now.

“But it doesn’t even cover my nipples.”

“Your nipples are delicious, Alice,” said the Hatter. “Why ever would you cover them? They should be seen and tasted and suckled by the world. But…”

“But what?”

“You’re right. The look isn’t quite complete.” And so he took off his leather motorcycle cap and plopped it on her head. “There, that’s perfect. We’ll see you there. Just walk through that hedge.”

“Don’t be late,” added the Hare, and the two of them walked away to the house and left her.

Alice looked down at sleeping Dorian Maus, then shrugged. It had been the loveliest tea party she’d ever attended, but now that it was over, what was there to do but continue on her way?

Alice wasn’t sure what croquet was, because she lived in modern day America and not nineteenth century England. She had never seen croquet on YouTube (though one of her favorites was that adorable little baby panda sneezing), and the sad fact is that most teenagers are, by their nature, rather dense, and Alice was no exception. She thought it may have something to do with knitting, recalling that she once received a terrible birthday gift from one of her elderly aunts, who had croqueted a sweater.

But she had never met a queen before (other than a rather flamboyant boy in her science class who painted his nails pink and called everyone girlfriend) so Alice was both excited by the prospect and a little nervous. If anyone knew how Alice could get back home, it was probably a queen.

She walked through the hedge, as instructed, and it lead to a clearing with a green, lush, carefully maintained lawn hemmed in by bushes trimmed in the shape of playing cards. Her spiky heels dug into the sod, making walking awkward, but anyone watching would have agreed that her legs and bottom looked awesome. However, no one was watching, which suited Alice fine. Even though she’d been naked for what felt like forever, she still hadn’t gotten used to it, and every time she met someone new it was embarrassment and humiliation all over again. Alice once heard it said that more people were afraid of speaking in public than dying. She understood completely. But there was one thing worse than public speaking; public speaking while all of your private parts were showing.

Sounds of conversation and laughter broke through the bushes, and Alice followed them until she reached a crowd of people. Considering all the weirdoes she’d recently met, these people were dressed more or less normally. Alice had heard it called business casual. No ties or suits, but the men wore pleated pants and long sleeved shirts, and the women wore fashionable skirts and tops. It made the ridiculous outfit Alice was wearing even more outrageous.

She hobbled up to the group, which seemed to be circled around four people hitting colored balls across the lawn with large, wooden mallets.

So that’s croquet, Alice thought. How ridiculous. Haven’t these people heard of PlayStation?

Three of the players were men, but one was a woman. She was tall, in a red dress that clung to her every curve, and she wore red boots that had heels just like Alice’s. Her hair was deep red, pulled back in a severe bun, and her bright red lips formed a heart when she pouted, which at the moment she was doing. Alice immediately knew this must be the queen. The woman radiated power, and authority in a way Alice had never known, and everyone buzzed and flocked around her as if she was the center of the universe, some people looking timid and frightened, some looking infatuated.

Also, she wore a gold crown, which kind of made it obvious.

“Has anyone seen where my red ball went?” the Queen demanded, hands on her hips.

There was shrugging from the three men she played with, and intense murmurs from the crowd of a dozen.

“If that ball isn’t found immediately,” the Queen said, “you shall all be publicly paddled!”

Alice couldn’t think of anything worse than that, and apparently everyone agreed, because the next few seconds were a frenzy of frantic searching, everyone climbing all over one another to find the Queen’s ball. Alice was pushed, bumped, and shoved, and she wound up flung into a hedge and on all fours. And there, under the hedge, was the red croquet ball.

Alice snatched it and stood, holding it triumphantly over her head.

“I found it! I found it, Your Majesty!”

All at once the crowd went silent and still. They parted, forming a circle around Alice and staring intently as the Queen approached. Alice inwardly shrank, placing an arm across her bare nipples, lowering the hand with the ball to shield her naked loins. A blush crept up her cheeks, getting worse as the crowd began to whisper and point at her.

“And who are you?” the Queen said, her voice loud and mean.

“I’m Alice. I found your ball.”

Alice held it out, meekly. The Queen slapped it away, and it went rolling under another hedge.

“You shall not speak unless spoken to,” the Queen said.

“But you just spoke to me.”

“Silence!” the Queen ordered, pointing a finger at Alice’s face. The Queen’s nails were glossy and red. “This croquet party is private and can only be attended if you have an invitation. Do you have an invitation, Alice?”

Alice wasn’t sure whether or not to answer. She didn’t like being yelled at. It added to the humiliation of being naked in public. She wished, more than anything, to just disappear.

“You refuse to answer?” the Queen asked. “So be it. Guards! Off with her clothes!”

One of the men in the Queen’s croquet game, a man in khakis and a polo shirt, approached Alice and grabbed her arm. “My Queen,” he said, “she doesn’t seem to be wearing much in the way of clothes.”

“Is that so?” the Queen asked.

“Just a hat, boots, a garter belt, stockings, and a demi bra, Your Majesty.”

“So it seems. Tell me, why are you dressed that way, slut?!”

Alice was shocked by the vulgarity. “I’m not a slut!”

“You are certainly dressed like one,” the Queen said.

“But these are the only clothes I have!”