Wonderland in Alice
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A Dream Of Alice free porn video
[Author's Note: This story emerged from a recent experiment with
A.I.D., an online story-generating "game" in which the software and
human collaboratively write a sort of choose-your-own-adventure story.
This was an early effort to learn how to use the Author's Notes and
World Information of the software effectively. Intended as a short
simple scene and established as a dream (to offset some of the AI's
more erratic narrative shifts), it gradually evolved into something I
certainly hadn't set out to write. The below is a roughly 50/50
collaboration between the AI and me. More author notes at the end.]
A Dream of Alice
You are John, an unhappy twenty-year old university student. You are
dreaming a very odd dream. It starts out normal enough: you're in your
room at home, you have some homework to do and then suddenly you feel
like something is wrong. Something isn't right about this situation.
This is not the way that dreams usually go for you. You try to wake
yourself up by trying to think of happy things or anything really, but
nothing seems to help.
You look at yourself in the dream. You are wearing jeans and a t-shirt,
and you also have on a pair of athletic shoes. Your hair is still in
its usual messy state. The only thing different about this dream is
that you can see yourself from above as if looking down at yourself
from the ceiling of your bedroom window.
You watch yourself in the dream walk over to your wardrobe and open it.
You stand there for a moment just staring at the wardrobe. You watch
yourself pull out a pair of women's shoes and hold them in your hands.
You have no idea why you are holding women's shoes, let alone why you
are dreaming about them.
You watch yourself put the women's shoes back into the wardrobe and
close it.
You hesitate, then open the wardrobe again. You reach back in and pull
out the women's shoes and look at them closely. You try to rationalize
why a man would wear women's shoes. You continue to watch yourself in
the dream as you put the women's shoes on your feet. They are strangely
comfortable. They are black and have a slender and short heel. They
also have an open toe and are made out of some sort of soft leather.
You don't know why you are wearing women's shoes, but they feel good.
You therefore stand in front of the mirror, and begin to take off your
male clothing. First you pull off your shirt and feel the cool air of
the room against your bare skin. You then unbutton your jeans and slide
them off. You now are standing completely naked in front of the mirror
except for the black shoes. You look at yourself but don't like what
you see.
You are thin and scrawny, and short for a boy. You've never been
popular. You've had a few girlfriends but it never lasted. Looking at
your naked body in the mirror, you wish that could all change.
You look at your body again, but this time you see yourself with female
attributes. Your hair is long and flowing, and your skin is smooth and
soft. Your body is slender and curved in all the right places. You
think you look like some kind of model. You turn from side to side and
see yourself from every angle.
"This is so cool," you think as you examine your reflection.
In this dream, you are still only wearing the elegant high heeled
shoes. They feel even more comfortable than before. Examining yourself
in the mirror, you feel an overwhelming feeling of lust.
"Wow, I must really be horny if I'm feeling this turned on."
You are slender and curvy. You have D-cup breasts and a very ample ass.
Your legs are long and elegant, and your skin is soft and smooth. Your
long blonde hair flows over your shoulders and down your back. You feel
a strange sensation in your stomach that you have never felt before. It
feels like butterflies, only it's a very pleasurable sensation.
Embracing the dream, you walk over to your dresser, inexplicably
barefoot again, to find some lingerie to wear. You pick out a black
lace thong, a matching lace bra, and a garter belt. You slowly slide
the thong up your legs and feel the silky fabric slide up your smooth
thighs. You pull the thong up and over your hips and sensuously wiggle
them until you get them up around your waist.
Pulling the thong up as far as it will go, its lacy fabric settles
against your new womanhood. For the first time you realise how complete
your transformation is in this dream: even your cock is gone, replaced
by a pussy. The thought excites you, and you slide your hand down to
feel your new slit.
You reach behind your back to unclasp your bra, and as you do so you
feel the soft touch of fabric on your breast. You lift the bra away and
take in the sight and feel of your naked breasts. They are perfect, and
the touch of air against your sensitive nipples feels amazing.
Then you feel an unexpected hesitancy at exploring your naked body. You
put the bra back on, and search in the wardrobe for clothes to wear.
You find a short black leather mini-skirt and a pink corset. You put
the corset on first, then tighten it as much as you can before reaching
behind to do up the laces. You pull on the mini-skirt and examine your
reflection.
Pleased by what you see there, you then search for appropriate
footwear. You find a pair of high heeled platform shoes with five-inch
stiletto heels. You pick them up and return to the full length mirror
on the back of your wardrobe door.
You stand in front of it and put them on. You gasp at the sight of
them, and feel the blood rush to your head as you wobble slightly.
You've never worn heels before, especially not ones that tower like
this. Even in a dream, they feel strange and awkward, yet also
titillating and exciting. Taking a few tentative steps, you start to
get used to the feeling of wearing them. You take a few more steps,
getting used to the shoes, and slowly start to feel comfortable in
them.
Your legs feel light and airy as your heels touch the floor with every
step you take. You turn and twist in front of the mirror, and enjoy the
sight of your thighs and ass moving with your smooth new curves.
Finally, your dream self suddenly feels a powerful need to do herself
up properly. A feeling begins to grow in you, as though time is running
out before someone arrives. Moving with some urgency, and as quickly as
your shoes will allow, you search for some makeup.
You find it in a handbag next to the bed, which you unclasp and open.
Inside is an array of beauty products, including several colourful
lipsticks, blushers and eye shadows of various colours, and a black
mascara tube. You quickly take them out and line them up on your
dressing table, then sit down in front of the mirror.
The real you has never even touched a tube of lipstick before, but your
dream self moves with an assured grace as she begins to paint her face.
First, you apply a layer of foundation, smoothing it over your skin.
Then, you take the black mascara tube and carefully apply it to your
lashes, making them stand out and giving your eyes a wider, more open
appearance. You take the blusher next and sweep it across your
cheekbones, giving your cheeks a soft, feminine glow.
Finishing, you then take one of the lipsticks and carefully apply it to
your lips, drawing attention to their plumpness and fullness. You then
take a tissue and wipe away the excess, making sure that the colour is
even. You stand back and look at your dream self in the mirror.
What you see in the mirror takes your breath away. You look stunning.
Your long hair has been tamed and flows down your back in gentle waves,
your makeup accentuates your high cheekbones and full lips, and your
eyes are open and wide and staring at you with an unearthly beauty.
Your eyes travel down across your body, taking in your curves and your
charms. Your breasts are large and perky, sticking out against the
tight material of your pink corset, your waist is tiny and your hips
are wide and inviting. Your long legs are covered with black silk
stockings that lead up to a short black leather miniskirt that only
just covers your ass. You smile at your dream self, seeing how stunning
you look.
You feel a strange pride at how good you look. At the same time, you
remember that this is a dream and that you are really a boy. This
confuses you, and you decide that it doesn't matter. If this is a
dream, you're going to enjoy it.
A soft tapping sound at your door startles you. You turn, placing your
hand over your chest and feeling your racing heart, and call out "Who's
there?"
"It's me," says a gentle voice from outside the door. The voice sounds
familiar, but you can't quite place it.
"Who's me?" you call back, taking a step toward the door.
"John," comes the answer. "Let me in. I need to talk to you." You
hesitate, frowning. "I know you're in there. I saw you walk in here."
Profound confusion seizes you. John is... you. But then, who are you?
If your male self stand outside that door, then girl-you must be some
other person. You have a sudden urge to open the door, but you're
afraid of what you'll find on the other side.
"Go away," you call. "There's no one here called John." Silence
follows, and you hold your breath, wondering what will happen next.
"So, you're still pretending?" says the voice. "Still trying to hide
from the truth? You've had 19 years. It's time to grow up and face
reality."
"Go away!" you shout. "Leave me alone!"
A sigh comes through the door. "I'll leave you alone when you let me
in," the voice says. "Let me in, and I'll go away."
"Go away!" you shriek, terrified. You're shaking, and your skin feels
like ice.
"Never," the voice says softly. "We'll never part."
"Then tell me who I am," you shout at the door. "Tell me who I am!"
Silence follows, and then a final voice speaks, deep and booming. "You
are the girl in the mirror," it says. "Look behind you, and you'll see
me smiling back at you."
You whirl around, but of course there's no one there. You turn back to
the mirror. Staring back at you is your reflection, unchanged. You look
like a girl. You are a girl. But who are you?
You don't know.
The thought terrifies you.
"I'm..." you whimper, turning this way and that in front of the mirror.
"I'm..."
"Yes?" the voice asks, taunting you. "Go on."
"I'm..." you say again, your voice trailing off.
"Yes?" the voice asks again.
You stare at your reflection, tears welling up in your eyes. You're so
close to knowing who you are, but you can't quite reach it. Who are
you?
"Let me help you," the voice of John, your male self, from beyond the
door. "Let me choose a name for you."
You stare into the eyes of your reflection. They're your eyes, but they
look different. The longer you stare, the more you see the same eyes
looking back at you from other faces. Your eyes.
"Alice," says John from beyond the door. "Your name is Alice."
A feeling of contentment washes over you as you stare into your
reflection's eyes.
"Alice," you whisper. "My name is Alice."
"That's right," says the voice from beyond the door. "Alice. I chose
that name for you."
"I am Alice," you say, nodding slowly. "I am... Alice..."
You stare into your reflection's eyes. She stares back, nodding slowly.
"Yes," she whispers. "I am Alice."
"And now," the voice of John continues from beyond the door. "Will you
let me in?"
"Yes," you say. "I'll let you in."
"Open the door, Alice," says the voice.
You turn away from the mirror and walk towards the door. You take a
deep breath and reach for the handle.
Sudden fear grips you as your hand touches the handle. Taking notice of
your hands for the first time, you pick out the details of your slender
fingers, of your painted nails, of your pale skin. Part of you wants to
open the door, to let John in. The other part of you is terrified.
Terrified of what he will think when he sees you.
"I'm beautiful," you whisper to yourself, staring at your reflection in
the brass handle. "I'm a beautiful girl."
You take a deep breath, and open the door.
Light washes over you as the door glides open, and you shield your eyes
from the sudden intrusion of brightness. When your eyes adjust to the
light, you find yourself staring at a man. He smiles at you warmly, but
his eyes betray his fear.
"Hello, Alice," says the man. "I'm John."
His appearance is intimately familiar to you because, of course, John
is you, John is your male self. For the first time, however, you feel
doubt that John is your real self, outside of this dream. You step
aside, allowing John into your room. He walks past you into the center
of the room, turning to watch you as you close the door.
"So," he says, smiling at you. "This is your room."
You look around your room, taking notice of all the little details
you'd never really seen before.
You look at your bookshelf, noticing all of the classics: The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer, The Time Machine, Dracula, The Strange Case
of Dr. Jekell and Mr. Hyde, and many more. What else does he notice?
you wonder. This is your room and you are Alice and what does Alice's
room contains that reveals her personality?
"Nice bookshelf," says John, his voice snapping you back to reality.
"You have some nice books."
"Thanks," you say, staring at him. His eyes are a beautiful shade of
colour like your dad's. You wonder what he is thinking as he stares at
you.
"So..." he says, cautiously. "Can you tell me about yourself?"
This is a trick question, you think to yourself. But you answer anyway,
unable to stop yourself. "I'm Alice. I'm a girl. This is my room. These
are my books. I like to read."
"That's a good start," he says, smiling at you. "What do you like to
read?"
"I like to read about crossdressing," you blurt out before you can stop
yourself.
He raises an eyebrow, then smiles at you.
"Good," he says. "Go on."
You stare at him, your mouth half open.
"What do you like to read about crossdressing?" he asks again.
"I like to read about... the experiences... of other crossdressers,"
you say, blushing. "I like to read about their... their tales..."
John smiles at you. "Go on," he says.
You shake your head. "No." Even in a dream, you dare not admit this to
yourself. It is too shameful. This is not something you want to face.
Better to live out the fantasy in a dream than face the embarrassing
truth in reality.
"I want you to tell me your story," he says. "I want you to tell me
what happened when you went out dressed as a girl for the very first
time."
You stare at him, then sigh. No matter how hard you try, you can't
escape it. You have to face the truth. And so you begin...
"Well..." you begin, pausing as you try to remember. "I had just gotten
out of the shower and I was getting ready to go out. I was... sixteen,
I think. It was summer vacation and I had nothing better to do, so I
decided to go out."
"Go on," he says, smiling at you encouragingly.
"I was so nervous... I was afraid someone would recognize me, yet I
still decided to go out in my sister's clothes. She's a few years older
than me, so her clothes were a little more... fashionable, I guess. I
grabbed her purse and I headed out the door. My mom saw me and just
told me to have fun, not realizing it was me."
"What did you do then?" he asks.
"I bought a bottle of wine with my sister's ID and I went down to the
park. I sat there for a while, drinking, and trying to ignore the fact
that I was scared and excited by the fact that I was scared. Eventually
I decided I'd had enough. I got up to leave, and that's when it
happened."
"What happened?" he asks, leaning closer to you.
"There were these three guys in the park. They were around my age and
drunk... I guess. They came up to me and started hitting on me. I tried
to get away, but they followed me. One of them grabbed my arm and
turned me around to face him."
"What did he look like?" John asks.
"He had short brown hair and the beginning of a beard, the kind of
thing a teenage boy might grow. He was probably a year or two older
than. He was tall and thin but had the build of an athlete. He looked
like the kind of guy that would be a high school quarterback."
"What happened next?"
"He... he put his hands on my waist. I told him to get off, but he
didn't listen. He slid his hands around my back and tried to pull me
towards him. I hit him in the face with my elbow and he stumbled
backwards."
"What happened next?"
"I turned to run and bumped into the other two guys. When I turned back
around the first guy was right in my face. He looked really pissed off.
I could smell the alcohol on his breath."
"Did he recognize you as a boy?"
"Not at first. He just started yelling at me and calling me a bitch. I
tried to tell him I wasn't a girl, but he didn't listen. He just kept
getting closer and closer until I could feel his breath on my face."
"Did he kiss you?"
"He tried, but I turned my face away at the last second. That's when I
felt his hand on my chest. He grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked
it open."
"What did you do?"
"I was so scared. I just froze up. He kept yelling at me and saying I
was a bitch. Then he slapped me across the face."
"Did you fight back?"
"No. I was too scared. I just stood there and took it."
"Did he hurt you?"
"Yes." You gulp, and your eyes drop to the floor. "Yes, he did."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he says.
"It's OK. It's over now."
"So what happened?"
"He kept yelling at me for a few seconds. Then he punched me in the
stomach."
"Did it feel like this?" He punches you in the stomach and you exhale
loudly, your breath leaving your body.
"Yes," you say, catching your breath. "But only partly."
"Did it feel like this?" He spits in your face.
The sudden aggression from John, and your passive, almost nonchalant
acceptance of it, should surprise you - but this is a dream, and so you
take it in stride. In a way, it barely even hurts, the rigid boning and
stiff fabric of the corset seemingly absorbing the blows. John
continues.
"Did it feel like this?" He grabs your hair and pulls your head back.
"Yes," you say, as he releases you.
"Did it feel like this?" He wraps his hands around your throat and
begins to throttle you.
You don't even try to fight back. You just stare at him in a mixture of
fear and wonder as you start to choke.
"Yes," you say, as your head begins to spin.
He releases you and steps back. The room is spinning and all you can
see is his face, smiling at you.
"Did it feel like this?" He throws you to the floor and rips off your
skirt while you gasp in shock.
"No!" you say, scrambling away from him.
You stand up and back away from him. He steps towards you, but you are
ready. You slap his face hard and scream "Never!"
"Oh," he says, stepping back. "So is that what happened?"
You stare at him for a second and then nod slowly.
"But that isn't where it ended, is it?" John asks. His voice has
lowered, and his posture is no longer threatening. Rather, he falls
into a crouch and looks up at you, almost sadly.
"No," you say, shaking your head. You step over to the bed and sit
down, consciously bending at the knees and folding your legs to one
side, your posture straight and rigid. Remembering that day - that
moment - isn't where you wanted to go with this dream, to the extent
you had any control over it. Why couldn't it have stayed as it was, a
brief escape for reality, a joyful dressing up and escape into fantasy?
Yet here you are.
"It ended -" you begin to say, and simultaneous John speaks, too: "It
ended -". You both continue, your voices joining as one. "As these
things always seem to."
And yet it wasn't so simple. That boy, that day, with drink on his
breath - as though that excused anything - slapped you, then punched
you. He tore off your shirt and threw you to the ground. He kicked you.
As his friends watched. They didn't cheer him on. They didn't say
anything. They simply watched in terrible silence as the larger boy
crouched over your crumpled form.
In a moment of unexpected - tenderness is too forgiving a word; abated
violence perhaps - he cradled your head in his hands and tilted your
face towards you and leaned forward and kissed you softly on the lips.
Through your tears and streaking, stinging mascara, you looked back at
him. Your eyes met his in a moment you never quite forgot, no matter
how deeply you buried the memories of everything else that happened
before and after. You saw in those eyes a reflection of your own fear,
self-hatred, desire and hope. You saw momentary regret and sadness
flicker across those eyes; then jealousy and then hatred. Finally, you
saw the promise of violence and pain.
The boy kicked you, and soon his friends joined in again. They battered
you and left you there in your sister's clothing, now torn and bloody,
by the beach.
You woke up in the hospital.
John looks up at you sadly. "It ended as these things always do."
"I don't want to remember," you say, and you sniffle.
John moves to your side, and holds you gently. He strokes your hair. "I
know."
"It was my fault," you say.
"No, it wasn't."
"I should have fought back harder," you say.
"No," he says.
"I shouldn't have gone outside at all," you say.
You pause and look into his eyes.
You are looking for confirmation of this truth. Sixteen and wearing
your sister's clothes out in public. Your first time fully dressed and
outside. And you pushed the boundaries, took risks. You bought alcohol
with your sister's ID. You sat on a bench by the seaside and thrilled
in the sensation of the wind tickling your bare legs and tugging at
your hair, and loving low wayward strands stuck to your lip gloss. You
repressed this memory as well: how happy and content you felt, dressed
as... Alice, for the first time in public on a sunny day under a
crystal blue sky.
John gives you a brief hug.
"Should you have gone outside?" John asks.
You feel a sudden surge of anger. "I was happy," you say. You feel a
wave of panic. "I had fun for the first time in years." You feel
tears streaming down your face. "It was the best day of my life," you
say, and sob.
"Then it wasn't your fault," John says. "Happy moments are never ruined
by tragedy."
You hug him tightly.
"I love you," you say.
"I love you too," he replies.
And in that moment, you realise that John is about to leave.
"I have to go," he says.
You take a deep breath, and nod. "I know."
"I don't think we'll ever meet again."
He smiles at you, and kisses you on the cheek.
"Bye, John," you say.
"Bye, Alice."
He turns, and leaves you forever.
You sit alone on the cold floor. It is impossible to know for how long
you sit there. After all, this is a dream. But then, you stand up. You
return to the mirror where this all started.
You stare deeply into the mirror.
Then, you smile.
You unfasten your skirt, and remove your blouse. A moment's effort
releases the front hooks of the corset and you cast it aside. Then you
take off your shoes, and remove your stockings. You unhook your bra and
toss it aside. You slip off your panties, and look at yourself in the
mirror.
You look at your naked, honest self in the mirror.
The real you is a beautiful girl. You are tall and slim, with long
blonde hair. You are a little embarrassed by your nakedness, but you
accept it. After all, this is the real you.
This isn't about the clothes, at least, not anymore. You look at the
clothes you've cast aside. The corset, the garter belt, the stockings,
the shoes, and the skirt. You look at them for a long time.
Then, you turn your back on them. You realise you yearn for something
more, a truth you suspected you always desired but suppressed for too
long. You step up close to the mirror until you can only see your face.
You stare deep into those slate-grey eyes.
The smooth skin, untroubled by stubble. Your thin nose, high
cheekbones, and pouty but downturned lips. A light sprinkling of
freckles. A few strands of wayward blonde hair.
This is you, and only now, in this dream, do you realise that this has
always been you.
You stare into your own eyes for a long, long time. You feel the
need... no, the *desire* well up inside you. A desperate, all-consuming
desire to...
"I..."
You swallow nervously and try again, and this time you find your voice.
"I... am a girl."
You stare at yourself in the mirror, and in your reflection you can see
yourself accepting it, no, *embracing* it.
"I am a girl. I am a girl. I am a girl. I am a girl. I am a girl..."
"I... I am a girl!"
You repeat it to yourself, again and again and again, each time a
little louder.
"I... am a GIRL!"
You throw your head back and laugh, the sound of your laughter filling
the room. You can feel the air around you vibrate with the force of
your voice. A smile slowly spreads across your face. You can feel the
warmth of tears in your eyes.
"I... am a GIRL!"
You open your eyes and stare at your reflection. You see a girl, a
young woman, gazing happily back at you. Your blonde hair falls down in
front of your shoulders. Your eyes are bright and clear. Your face is
soft and rounded. You slowly reach out and touch your reflection. Your
fingers caress your cheeks, trace your lips. You lean in close and kiss
yourself on the mirror.
"I am a girl," you say. The words feel so right, so natural, so...
perfect.
You turn away from the mirror and take a deep breath.
"I am Alice," you declare.
You turn and walk from the room.
---
And in another room not in a dream, Alice wakes up.
The End
[Author Notes: Over a decade ago I stopped writing, for a range of
reasons. The longer I went, the harder it became to get back into it,
the few times I tried proving painful and producing nothing of value.
However, playing around with this AI has helped me take a first step
towards writing again. The AI requires a lot of guidance (I mean, a -
lot-) to keep it on track, and it has an unfortunate tendency to either
veer off into something wildly off-genre, completely forget where it is
and who the characters are, or to suddenly drop into violence or sex
with surprising intensity and speed. But at the same time, I can't
deny it was guiding -me- along the way, coughing up unexpected prompts
that engaged the long-slumbering creative parts of my mind.
John's appearance in the dream? The AI - mainly because it forgot who
was who, but it was a compelling shift for a dream. The flashback to
earliest memory outside? The AI. Almost the entirety of the encounter
between Alice and the boys? The AI. Alice's final triumphant
realisation of self - mostly the AI. It remains incapable of producing
anything even remotely coherent with the guiding hand of a human, but
like the rantings of a drunkenly rambling uncle, once you sift through
the incoherence it's often possible to extract some real gems of a
story.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little experiment. I'm hoping to try
my hand at a few more of these things, gradually rediscovering myself
as a writer before stripping away the training wheels. Then,
hopefully, I can return to and finish off Constant in All Other Things.
- Fakeminsk.]
Charlize
- 23.02.2021
- 11
- 0
