To the House of the March Hare [M/F]

You try to remember as much as you can about the story of Alice’s adventures, and it occurs to you that there’s a great place to meet almost all the characters in this tale at once: the Tea Party hosted by the Mad Hatter and March Hare.

You spin to your left and set off at a determined pace, trying to enjoy this experience. “I’m in Wonderland,” you remind yourself, “how cool is that?” But your effort at enthusiasm rings hollow in your own ears. There’s a sinister vibe in the air that seems to discolor every aspect of what should be a magical place. You keep catching odd flashes of movement out of the corner of your eye, as if there is something—or somethings—out in the woods bordering the path, watching you from the shadows.

Things don’t get any better when the path takes a sudden turn and you find yourself standing in the shadow of a truly enormous house. Not that the house was a mansion; it was more like someone had taken a normal house and blown it up out of all proportion to the rest of the world.

There is no doubt that this place is the home of the March Hare: craning your neck upwards, you can just make out two rabbit ear-shaped chimneys protruding from a roof thatched with fur and spewing bluish smoke into the sky. But how can you join the Tea Party if you can’t even reach the knob on the building’s gigantic front door?

You curse softly to yourself as you remember all of the nonsense Alice had to go through to get to be the right size in this world. “I don’t suppose it would be too much to ask for a little bottle with ‘Drink Me’ written on it,” you mutter as you look around hopefully. Off to the side of the road, you spot something strange and walk closer. It’s a large toadstool, so big it comes up to your chest. And curled on top, bright green eyes watching you curiously, is a caterpillar.

But this is like no caterpillar Lewis Carroll ever imagined. This caterpillar looks like a young woman with very light blonde hair that flows down her back, wearing a green dress completely covered from shoulders to hem in waves of pale lacy ruffles that flutter constantly in the breeze. The effect of the dress does actually make her look vaguely like a caterpillar, or at least it would if the dress didn’t end at mid-thigh. Instead, your eyes are drawn to her long legs, stretched languidly across the surface of the toadstool. With a jolt, you realize that the dress is completely sheer, despite the ruffles, and the curves of her lithe body are very apparent. If she wasn’t lying on her stomach, you think, this would be truly indecent.

“What do you want?” the caterpillar asks you sternly. You snap your eyes back to her face with a guilty start. You were enjoying tracing the curves of her round ass a little too much.

“I’m trying to get to the Tea Party, you see,” you begin, trying to remember more of how this story is supposed to go.

“I don’t see!” interrupts the caterpillar. You recall that the caterpillar is not one of the most helpful characters in this tale.

“Look, I need your help!” you say, “I need to get bigger.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” observes the caterpillar with a mischievous smile, her gaze lingering on the bulge in your pants.

“My height!” you cry, “it’s my height that’s wrong.” You’re starting to feel like this whole conversation is spiraling out of control.

The caterpillar pushes herself up into a sitting position, tucks her legs under herself, and glares down at you. “Our height is a perfectly good height, indeed,” she informs you indignantly. (Intuitively, you realize that this is Wonderland, and the caterpillar is exactly your height.)

The young woman’s new position makes it abundantly clear that you are dealing with a rather busty caterpillar. It’s getting harder and harder to keep your thoughts straight, but you bravely soldier on. “Wasn’t Alice here earlier?” you ask. “Didn’t you give her something to make her taller so she could enter the March Hare’s house?“

“Oh, Alice!” the caterpillar cries happily. “Why didn’t you mention her before? Of course I helped her out. Who could possibly say no to such a delicious, delectable woman? But I didn’t give her anything. We found a much better way to make her bigger. Look, she even left instructions.”

The caterpillar shifts position again, moving her legs apart and revealing a note pinned to the front of her dress that provides her a small measure of modesty right where she needs it the most. You lean in curiously, trying to make out the small words. The caterpillar helpfully slides closer, sitting right at the edge of the toadstool, which brings your face between her legs. As your eyes focus on the note, two simple words appear: “EAT ME.”