Alice wasn't so 'Liddell' anymore. She wasn't little either, for that matter.
Alice Liddell became Alice Montgomery nearly 15 years ago and now she was widowed. Smallpox was the damnable reason and she found herself alone, no children nor loving husband to take care of her needs.
She sat in front of her vanity, brushing out her wheat-colored hair, now showing the streaks associated with wisdom. Her face, once dewy with sparkling blue eyes, reflected back the slightest crinkles associated with smiles and laughs but now warped by frowns. She was old. She felt ancient. She felt cheated.
Sighing, she folded her hands under her chin and drifted off into her reflection. *The looking glass*, she decided, *was a very cruel instrument of torture*. More cruel than some of the more pleasurable implements she had endured and longed for in Wonderland. She had made several journeys back there, not really knowing fully if the travels were in her dreams or in an altered state. She didn't care. She felt every grip, every stroke, every jolt, every piercing and filling and flooding, every shudder of intense pleasure and breathless moments of panic and infliction of pain. All these sensations rushed through her mind like the maelstrom created by Jabberwock's wings. She closed her eyes, tears gilding her lashes. The heaviness in her chest made her feel truly alone and forever would be now.
The scents of stardust and catnip wafted through the air. A deliciously familiar scent accompanied by the brushing of coarse tail fur past her hair, almost like a lover's caress. A lilting and raspy voice followed:
"How now, Alice? Why do you weep so? The Frabjous Day is past and your victory assured."
She opened her eyes to match the reflection behind her: big blue-green eyes, wide with slits of black and yellow to refract the afternoon sun glare, dusty blonde fur with a twitchy nose, shortened whiskers and an obscene grin that bespoke hidden knowledge and amusement. She thought she was dreaming or perhaps was flash-backing from the previous night's absinthe. It didn't matter, she felt warm and cozy and safe. Alice smiled through her damp eyes.
"Oh it's you, Cat. Or at least I believe it is. I don't know and well, it matters very little." She turned in her chair, coming face-to-face with the source of her delight. His scent was intoxicating and aroused so many memories of Wonderland: moments of comfort and attention. Some of her sweetest moments came from his aftercare.
Her first experience with Tweedledum and Tweedledee (hereby known after as 'The Kings of DP') nearly unraveled her. Her body had been worked beyond all endurance, her very core shaken from the punishing thrusts and poundings and deepest depths that could be allowed. Both intense pleasure and indescribable weakness from the sandwich meat she had become left her in a heap, gaping and oozing. She was so hungry, so thirsty, so pained to move. Then, as if between dozing and dying, a rumble permeated her being, followed by a sweep of warm fur, the scent of stardust and catnip and a soothing purr: ' I'm right here, delicate one.' Nourishment came in the form of a warm drink reminiscent of tea but much sweeter and heartier in texture. Smiling weakly and accepting, Alice understood, for that first time, that Cheshire was her Guardian in this newly-awakened world. Curling around her naked form, his tail cradling her bare bottom, Cat blanketed her and purred softly, lulling her to sleep. She was shy of her 21st birthday.
Smiling at the memory, she stretched her hand to ruffle Cat between his eyes, on his forehead. He grinned and playfully nipped at her wrist. Drawing her hand back and pretending to be shocked, she scolded him. "Really Cat, you need to mind that muzzle of yours. My reflexes aren't as yours are." Floating just out of her reach, Cheshire teasingly reprimanded her. "You speak as though you have no more muchness to offer. Very unlike you, Alice." Sighing, she placed her hands in her lap, looking down at them awkwardly. Cat landed on her vanity, his tail tapping at her powder puff, causing a mixture of wildflowers and Cheshire No. 5 to swirl about. Using his paws, Cat cupped Alice's face tenderly, tipping it up to meet his muzzle. Nodding gently, he waited for her to speak.
"Cat, do you remember my scandalous adventures in Wonderland?" A flash of memories flurried through her mind and collected into Cat's psyche: Alice's year of servitude to both the Red and White Queens, equally cruel and kind mistresses, culminating into Alice's appreciation for thick leather posturing collars (*"OFF WITH HER HEAD!"*) and serving a proper tea in glass stilettos. The Hatter's penchant for unpredictability and a fondness for word games (*"Pray? Why is a raven like a writing desk?"*), which left Alice desiring cravat bondage more than she'd imagine. Her dangerous rendezvous with Caterpillar, allowing her innocence to be bartered in exchange for whatever potted herb he had to offer, to ease her pain and profit his hookah. Her stint with Dormouse and his tendencies to burrow into soft, wet places and finding sweet spots to make her squirm and fidget while appearing composed...all the while her loins raging with heat and her honeyed fluids. The time she'd spent with the White Rabbit outside of the Red Queen's court, as brief and unsatisfying as it was: Rabbit's desire for quickness and to never be late, left Alice's desires twisted in knots. Deserving or undeserving of pleasure. This was her breaking point. In every situation Cat had more than come to Alice, without reserve or judgment, to strengthen, renew and energize his trusting charge. He was indeed her anchor in a maddening, drifting current that would have swept away a weaker woman. But not his Alice.
Grinning, Cat replied, "It's all as clear to me, Liddell one, as it was that first moment I taught you the rules of Wonderland. You were so vulnerable yet as solid and stubborn as the unyielding Emerald Coasts. Always my Liddell one, you are."
Licking her lips, she stammered, "Cat, I don't know if you're really here or if this is a sweet hallucination, but I must speak plainly. I am no longer that little girl you cared for so deeply. I have grown old and am far past any form of innocence or vulnerability or.....or....." She felt her eyes mist again. Oh damn, where had the time gone?
"Or....?" Cat queried, looking straight into her eyes, softened by her despair yet slightly amused by her naiveté. A creature of eternity cannot help but see the unfettered beauty she possessed, blooming under the façade of humanity. She was forever his Liddell: young and needy, flawless and fragile. Teachable and .....
"...youth, Cat. Youth has slipped through my fingers....why can you not *see* it? Or can you and you are just mocking me, you fuzzy devil?" She felt weak and lain bare to that steady gaze, regretting the words as they fell from her lips and aching voice. Suddenly, rage welled in her chest. She stood up abruptly, causing the chair to tip and clatter to the floor. Cat's paws briefly released her face, barely scratching her reddened cheeks. Taken aback but not without resolute, Cat floated above her, leaning onto one arm, studying her. He was about to see something magical and he wanted the best view.
"How? How can this be? I have seen wonders and endured impossibilities: poker cards that shuffle themselves, silver swords that sing triumph over black-hearted dragons, imaginary tea parties and talking cats...." She looked around her boudoir wildly, seeking to connect his face. "How can I have suffered and served and learned and given so much...to have it stripped away as chaff? The loving servant and the degraded whore and the consummate student, powerful and strong in all her weakness ....and all that remains now is this aged husk of who I once was. It's not right, Cat. "Alice sank to her knees on the floor, her hands falling into her lap. "I give and gave so much and gained nothing in return", she whispered. Resentment flooded her and she shook in muted fury. She felt she had lost this round of chess to an absent opponent who took her Queen and ran from life's tessellation.
Cat, awed by the rawness of her anger, landed gracefully to the place next to her and laid his head in her lap. Absently, she stroked his ears, laughing sadly. "I must be a sight, Cat. I'm mangier than you." Growling lightly in his throat, Cat warned, "Are you implying I'm mangy?" Pawing into her dress, Cat nuzzled into the apex of her thighs, seeking the deeper scratch behind his ears. Smiling and finding that ridge, Alice scratched Cheshire, making his purr more felt than heard. Rolling in her lap to look up at his princess, he asked, "Why do you resent aging so? Is it not the hallmark of a fully lived life? A bounty of experience and teaching opportunities? Pray, enlighten me."
