Both dropped their hands and stood at attention as though they were in grade school about to be scolded by the headmaster.“Miss Hattie, you look good enough to eat,” the Queen spoke with a baritone lisp. “And who might thith tiny tart be?”Hattie pulled her dress at the sides and curtsied. “This is Ali–” She paused and frantically turned away from the Queen. “Why I don’t even know your full name,” she said in an undertone so only Alice could hear.“Make something up,” Alice replied with a wink.Hattie’s eyes grew wide. “I may be falling in love,” she quipped.“No time for her name,” the Queen ordered. “Get the tart to the slalom gate!”“Slalom? I… I can’t ski, not yet…”“Tea. Not Ski,” Hattie said directing Alice’s chin toward the far corner of the room. A long, narrow neon-lit block of ice sloped at an angle from the ceiling with a serpentine-like trough carved into the center from top to bottom. “All guests must drink the Queen’s tea.”Hattie led Alice to kneel at the base where a pussy. "I don't know how that woman can hold up her head in church; I'msurprised she's not struck by lightning at the doorway," my mother oftensaid.My mother never explained why; she just told me to stay away from MrsCashmore which was a funny thing to say because it's not as if I hadanything to with her. I just worshipped her from afar.On Sunday mornings I'd wait for her to leave for church and follow herat a discreet distance, staring at her bottom and legs, getting hornylike only a teenage boy can and then I'd race home and masturbatethinking about her.When I masturbated I would slip my cock into the leg of a stocking I hadstolen from her clothesline and caress a pair of her knickers, similarlysnowdropped. I replenished the nylons and knickers as necessary oncethey became too tattered and torn, about once every three months. I wasconfident that she didn't suspect that it was me snowdropping herlaundry, at least she gave no indication on the rare occasions that Ispoke to her.I studied.
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