October 31st, 2022
Before heading to work, Agatha took one more look at the costumes she'd picked out for Halloween that year. She was Alice in Wonderland. Jack was supposed to be the Mad Hatter, though he hadn't even taken the costume out of its bag yet, just given it a long look when she handed it to him. Somehow, that look had sounded disapproving all on its own.
He hadn't helped her set up the decorations either, even though she'd been buried in work, on top of her recent MBA acceptance. "We look stupid, Agatha. If we at least had kids. But no, we're just two childless grown-ups dressing up a house for a children's festivity." That stung.
"You certainly have the body of a dad," she muttered to herself.
"What did you say?" he asked, genuinely, “didn’t hear you.”
"Just that I should probably stand this body up," she said instead, pointing at a skeleton lying on the grass. She caught his frown, but he nodded and went back inside.
She loved Halloween, loved handing out candy to kids and teenagers and anyone who wanted to dress up and celebrate. On top of everything, he kept eating the candy she'd bought. "Can you please stop eating the candy." She wanted to tell him he was being an asshole, that he shouldn't be eating so much of it anyway, since he was putting on weight. She didn't say that either. She just kept arranging the witches and skeletons across the front yard, same as every year.
She left her costume on the bed, next to Jack's still-unopened bag, and headed to work, hoping he'd change his mind and dress up with her that night.
Several miles away, it was Iñaki's first Halloween in Amsterdam. Not a holiday he usually celebrated, but three years in Texas had made him oddly fond of it. This year, Hans had sworn he'd found the best party in the city: a two-hundred-year-old bar built into a dungeon, good, overpriced food, the kind of place that turned into a club after a certain hour, and tonight, obviously, it was all Halloween. Which meant women in slutty costumes, looking for a good night.
Hans had come as a Viking, braids and all, the costume genuinely convincing.
"Damn, Hans. You actually look like you stepped straight out of the TV show," Iñaki said. He'd gone as a vampire himself, though really it was just a heavy cape over black pants and a white shirt. The makeup was the part he was proud of, he'd done it himself with a kit from a costume shop, pale face, dark circles under his eyes, a thin trail of fake blood at the corner of his mouth.
They headed to the party with Julien, the French one, dressed as Napoleon. "You're a walking cliché," Hans said, the second he saw him.
“So are you,” he responded looking at the blond giant in leather costume.
The bar was packed, as expected, people in full costume, a lot of over-sexualized takes on ordinary jobs, as if any real nurse would wear her top that low, or a skirt that short. They drank strange, brightly colored cocktails, ate fancy snacks shaped vaguely like body parts. It was fun, Iñaki thought.
He wandered onto the dance floor, a little tipsy, a green drink in hand that tasted sour and strong, not great, but doing its job. He laughed watching the Viking pull in attention from every direction, and Napoleon, who by now looked nothing like his namesake, having shed most of his costume from the heat, dancing with someone dressed as a fairy.
Then, somehow, he found himself dancing with a woman, black hair pulled into a perfect bun, her eyes mismatched, contacts, obviously, he could see a hint of brown underneath, but one eye read green, the other blue. Her dress was red and black, a large heart pendant hanging strategically at her cleavage.
"What are you supposed to be?" he asked.
"The Queen of Hearts. From Alice in Wonderland." She said it right against his ear, one hand on his chest, lingering longer than necessary. He didn't mind. She was gorgeous.
"So you're the evil one, then."
She laughed, low, seductive, and nodded.
"Good," he said, mouth close to her ear now too. "I like evil."
They danced. His hands found her waist, turned her, pulled her in close, his lips brushing her neck, and he watched her eyes fall shut as she leaned into him.
He kissed her. She let him. She smiled at him after, the kind of smile that made him think he might actually get lucky tonight.
Then another woman appeared out of nowhere, said something quick in her ear. Her expression shifted, no longer happy, some kind of disagreement with her friend. The moment soured instantly. They stood there, frozen, in the middle of a dance floor still moving around them, bodies pushing past on all sides.
"I'm so sorry, I have to go, a friend of mine isn't feeling well," the Queen of Hearts said. "I really am sorry."
One last kiss, and she was gone.
He didn't say anything. Just made his way to the bar, ordered a proper gin and tonic. About thirty minutes later, Julien joined him with a glass of wine. Together, they watched the Viking dancing with yet another woman, clearly having the time of his life.
"Lucky bastard," Julien said.
"Indeed," Iñaki answered.
Then they both laughed at their own matching bad luck.
—
It was around 6 p.m. when Agatha, now dressed as Alice, met her friends on a busy corner. Her blonde wig itched a little, but it was a crucial part of the costume, which, if she was honest with herself, fit about one size too small. She'd never normally wear something this tight, boobs practically spilling out of it. It was shorter than it should've been too, she hadn't been trying to look slutty, she'd just gotten the sizing wrong, probably the whole costume. White leggings and black Chucks helped soften the look, and the black cape she'd borrowed from an old costume doubled as both a coat and decent cover for her cleavage.
"Ohhh, sexy Alice," Laura said, the second she spotted her.
"Sexy Fiona," Agatha said back, looking at her very pregnant friend in a green dress and matching green makeup. She looked adorable, especially surrounded by her tiny six-year-old Shrek, her four-year-old Donkey, and a two-year-old Puss in Boots. She'd even decorated the stroller to look like a carriage.
"Hello, bitches," Barbara announced, arriving last at the meeting spot. She made the perfect Barbie, blonde wig, all pink, fitting her a little too well. Her baby boy was dressed as the cutest dog Agatha had ever seen.
Agatha helped Laura pull the stroller, helped her friend's kids knock on doors and trick-or-treat. She grabbed some candy for herself along the way, including a few Reese's for Jack, without even thinking about it.
She loved trick-or-treating. Loved the decorated houses, everyone in costume, the whole street having fun together. They debated which house looked spookiest, which one had gone completely over the top.
"Skeleton house is next!" Jessica called out, having joined the group partway through the route.
Skeleton house was the kind of place that went all in every single year, hundreds of skeletons, every variety the market had ever produced. Two three-foot skeletons guarded the front yard, alongside pirate skeletons, animal skeletons of every kind, and one massive skeleton climbing out of the roof. Lights, music, a line forming to trick-or-treat, and full-size candy bars, none of the cheap stuff.
This time, Agatha asked for the M&M's. Her favorite. Fuck Jack.
"What'd Jack say about your costume?" Laura asked, grabbing Agatha's boobs and jiggling them for effect.
"He didn't see me," Agatha said, pushing her hand away. Her tone gave away more than she meant it to, clear enough for a friend who'd known her since childhood to catch.
"He probably won't be able to keep his hands off you tonight, hottie," Laura said, smiling, reassuring. "You know men. Even Phil thought I looked sexy in this, huge belly and all."
Agatha envied her friend's marriage. Together since high school, four kids now, and still, somehow, having great sex. Three times a week, Laura had mentioned once, like it was the most unremarkable thing in the world. Agatha hadn't found the nerve to admit she'd count herself lucky to get Jack once a week at this point. Sex had gone flat lately, boring even, he always seemed to need to finish himself off just to get there, barely sparing a thought for her after.
She was deeply, chronically unsatisfied.
But she never told anyone. She felt like the failure, somehow. Like something must be wrong with her, not them.
She'd started reading smut instead. Downloaded an app where amateur writers posted stories full of explicit scenes. Got a little obsessed with a few of them, if she was being honest.
She got home around nine. Jack had already eaten some takeout he'd picked up on his way back from work, and had now moved on to the leftover candy.
Not leftover, exactly. Just candy he'd quietly set aside for himself instead of putting it out for trick-or-treaters.
"Left some Indian food for you in the fridge," he said, mouth full.
She had a thought, right then. Ignoring the half-chewed mess in his mouth, she let her cape drop to the floor and walked over to him, slow, deliberate.
"Do you like my costume, Jack?" She twirled, lifted the skirt a little, leaned against the kitchen island and pushed her chest together for him.
"Isn't it a little small for you?" he said. Then, quickly, catching her face fall, "You still look good."
"Yeah. Wrong size," she said. "I notice you never even put yours on." She nodded at his pajamas.
"Nah. Wasn't feeling it." He went back to his phone. Back to ignoring her.
Agatha sat down on the couch, pulled out her own phone, and went back to the story she'd been reading.
It had been a little uncomfortable at first, the protagonist in her early twenties, the man over forty, her boyfriend's stepfather, who fucked her into oblivion every single time. Three orgasms a night, minimum. Every position she'd never let herself imagine.
He gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise and pushed into her, inch by inch, his thick cock already slick with precum. "So tight," he said. "Perfect for my cock."
How big were these fictional men supposed to be? How big was too big? She glanced at Jack. Perfectly average. Had it ever felt tight, that first time? She didn't think so.
She tore his shirt open, stared at the body underneath, abs and pecs carved like stone, strong arms holding her exactly in place.
Her eyes drifted back to Jack. His white t-shirt straining slightly at the stomach now. She tried to picture his chest. Nothing like that. Soft. Very pale. Barely any hair, just a few stray, mismatched patches. She wondered, honestly, what it might feel like to touch a man built like the one in the story. She'd never actually been with anyone like that.
She sighed, loud enough that it almost felt like a small act of rebellion, and kept reading, a scene where the man went down on the woman like a starving man, murmuring filthy things the whole time, things that probably should have unsettled her more than they did, and somehow, in this story, just worked. He took her apart in every position imaginable, made her come in each one, before finally letting himself go, filling her completely.
Agatha fell asleep without realizing it, her wig knocked askew beside her, phone resting on her stomach, hands folded over her chest.
—
She found herself walking in her costume along empty cobbled streets, slick with old rain, fog swallowing everything except a low lantern light somewhere ahead and a canal running alongside the street. She was cold. No leggings now, high heels instead of her Chucks, somehow easy to walk in even on the uneven stones.
"Hello?" she said softly into the dark. "Where am I?"
Something moved, fast, close, a breeze brushing her face like someone had passed right in front of her, too quick to catch.
"Is someone there?" Her voice trembled.
"Yes." The voice was deep, rough. "You seem lost, little girl. Do you need help?" He stood in shadow, just a shape, broad shoulders, tall, a cape so long it brushed the ground.
"I'm not lost, and I'm not a little girl, I’m an adult," she said, defensive, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Where are we?"
The stranger stepped closer, his dark eyes moving over her, her legs first, then her pressed-together chest, finally her face. "You're so beautiful," he said, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Look at you. Perfect."
Yeah, right, she thought. I really need to stop reading smut.
She tried to look away. His eyes were hypnotic. She made herself study his face instead, strong jaw, straight nose, dark, unruly hair falling across his forehead.
He raised a hand, stroked her cheek, and a shiver ran straight down her spine.
Some part of her remembered how fiercely she usually guarded her personal space, especially around strangers. This one made her forget the rule entirely. He smiled, slow, dangerous, and she felt herself melt into his palm, eyes falling shut, leaning into his hand.
His other hand found her waist, pulled her against him. She felt it immediately, how solid he was.
"Careful, love. You almost fell." An excuse, clearly, to hold her that tightly, because she hadn't felt herself falling anywhere at all.
She couldn't stop herself, ran her hands over his chest, down his stomach, up along his arms, feeling muscle shift under her palms.
A thought surfaced, unbidden: how big was this stranger, exactly? If everything else had been this perfect so far, please, please, let him have a massive cock. For what reason, she had no idea, but every story she'd ever read seemed to feature one, and every heroine seemed thrilled about it.
She wanted one too.
"You look flushed. What's going on in that naughty mind, beautiful?"
Agatha smiled despite herself. "Fuck it," she said, and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him into a devastating kiss. He let her, met her, opened under her, his tongue exploring her mouth. He pushed her back against a wall, cold and damp. She didn't care. The kiss was filthy, hot, and she could already feel herself growing wet.
He felt it too, apparently, because he broke the kiss just to look at her again. "Those eyes are going to be the death of me," he said, and moved to her neck instead, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower, not stopping until he reached her chest.
He pulled her costume down, freed her breasts, stared at them like he was starving. He teased her hardened nipples first, then took one into his mouth, sucking, nibbling, while his hand worked the other, twisting, pinching.
Her hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in thick, dark strands, pulling him closer.
His hand slid beneath her skirt, slow, dragging up the inside of her thigh. "You're so wet, little Alice. I can feel it running down your thighs. Aren't you ashamed, being this desperate for a stranger?"
"Not even a little," she heard herself say, already pulling her underwear off herself.
"Good girl." He dropped to his knees. Suddenly his mouth was right there, his tongue dragging over her folds, again and again, a maddening, relentless pace, exactly like a starving man. He pushed two fingers inside her, and God, it felt incredible. "Please. Fuck me," she said, voice wrecked, breathless.
"Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you until you forget your own name, Alice?"
"Yes. Please." She rocked her hips against his fingers, chasing more friction, feeling the pleasure build fast. He pulled his hand away right before she could tip over the edge.
He stood, hovering over her now, undoing his pants. She watched him like the starving woman she suddenly was. And God, did he deliver, thick, hard, a vein running the length of him, pulsing. All she could think was how it would feel in her mouth, though what she really wanted was to feel it inside her, filling her completely, maybe even hurting just slightly, just from the size of him.
She could feel exactly how hard he was as he lifted her by the backs of her thighs, pressing her up against the cold stone wall.
"Agatha… Agatha…"
"It's little Alice," she corrected him.
"Wake up!"
"What—?" She jolted awake, Jack standing over her, blue eyes fixed on her face.
"You were moaning in your sleep. Do you feel bad too? I think it was the Indian food. I feel so sick. Going to sleep in the guest room, just in case we're both about to be sick."
She watched him go. "I think it might've been the hundreds of pieces of candy you ate, honey," she said, to no one. At least she'd have the bed to herself tonight. That thought shouldn't have felt as good as it did.
She skipped the Indian food, grabbed the M&M's instead, shoving them in one after another, angry, wondering how exactly she'd ended up raising an adult she'd never agreed to raise in the first place. And to think, he kept talking about adding an actual child into this mess. Absolutely not.
She checked the time after a few more chapters of her "book." Midnight.
"Time for bed, little Alice. Taco Tuesday tomorrow," she said, to herself, again.
Lying down alone, she sent up a small, half-serious prayer to whoever might be listening, please, let her slip back into that dream. The dark-eyed stranger. That street.
As Agatha fell asleep in her house in Denver, Iñaki woke up at the exact same moment, eight a.m. on his side of the ocean.
He'd had an amazing dream, a humid, foggy street somewhere in Amsterdam, a stunning stranger dressed as Alice in Wonderland, dark hair, green eyes. Except he was one of those people who could never hold onto a dream once he woke. So all that was left was an erection, and the vague impression of green eyes chasing him into consciousness, which he then mentally corrected, remembering the woman from the party had fake contacts, and her eyes hadn't even both been green to begin with.
Still tired, he got up anyway, went for a run, came back, showered. Met his friends for lunch. Someone from work had mentioned a Colombian guy he should meet, since they both spoke Spanish. Right. As if that were really all it took to become friends. Just in case, he'd invited Hans and Julien along too. Yes, childish, absolutely childish.
"What happened to the woman you were talking to last night, Iñaki?" Hans asked, still sporting his braids.
"Her friend got sick. Had to leave," he said sounding longing."Left me standing there without my little Alice."
"Alice? I thought she was the Queen of Hearts," Julien said. "The evil one. I liked evil better."
"Yes. You're right." Iñaki shook his head, trying to clear the image of the brunette Alice that had somehow lodged itself in his mind. "You know, I thought I liked evil too. But I think I'd rather corrupt Alice a little instead."
