Alice After Hours

Fanny Press

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Seattle, WA 98127

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Cover design by Sabrina Sun

Alice After Hours

Copyright © 2015 by Galia Ryan

ISBN: 978-1-60381-361-7 (Trade Paper)

ISBN: 978-1-60381-362-4 (eBook)

Produced in the United States of America

* * *

As Always, For Jason

* * *

G
athering the remnants of her evening meal—a medium-sized portion of dragon noodles with a side of spicy prawns—Alice crossed to her kitchen and dumped the foil trays into the bin and her plate and fork in the sink. Then she returned to her desk in the far corner of her living space and quickly scrolled down the final page of her report. Completing it had taken longer than she'd thought. In fact it had turned into a marathon forty-eight hour slog, but the effort to finish had been worth it. Now she could take off her glasses, pin up her dark hair, and indulge in a long hot soak in the tub with some deliciously expensive bath oil and an aromatic candle for ambiance.

Alice knew her colleagues considered her a workaholic. It hadn't always been that way. A fun-loving twenty-seven-year-old, she'd had her fair share of moments. Why, she'd even been engaged to be married once, but that fell apart when for no apparent reason her fiancé got cold feet. She'd had to return the wedding gifts, cancel the arrangements, and write explanatory notes to family and friends, even strangers. That was why she preferred a no-strings arrangement now, and often chose men already in a committed relationship. Sure it was all very predictable but there was no way she could be hurt.

She wasn't lonely. She still had a warm circle of girlfriends to add richness to her life; it was just a shame that all but one had moved out of the city, making the chance for a get-together rare. And then there was Moriarty—a scrawny, aloof mongrel of a cat that had emerged from the shadows one day. Fiercely independent, he was also completely unreliable, since he tended to come and go without notice. Sometimes a whole week would pass before he returned.

Theoretically, things could change at any moment and Mr. Right could thunder into their lives on his white steed and whisk them both away to realms unknown. However, she considered the scenario unlikely.

Just as she was about to log off her laptop, Alice hesitated.

Last night, too wired to sleep, she'd poured herself a finger or two of bourbon and began to trawl the Internet. She chanced upon an article relating to sexual domination, a concept she found ludicrous. Even so, she was soon singling out certain words and feeding them back into a search engine.

The results were astonishing, though the first few offerings were little more than low-class porn sites featuring graphic images of women tightly bound and gagged, and certainly not her thing. But halfway down the second page was a forum, a place for those of similar mind to chat and exchange views. Tumbler in hand, she scrolled down the list of threads posted by the site's users and then opened one at random.

A moment later, she snorted in disbelief.

Someone—a woman, obviously—was extolling the joys of submission, and another poster had replied in support. Going even further, she announced her complete and unwavering belief that she should not only subjugate herself to her husband by obeying him, but also go out of her way to please—in whatever way he asked.

With a shake of her head, Alice thought, Unbelievable! Surely no one really thinks this way? Not in this day and age?

There were more replies. That the original poster was truly a wondrous person. That great joy would come from such a relationship. That her husband was indeed a very lucky man.

It had to be a setup. Either that, or the woman was a spineless non-entity, the type who wouldn't baulk if she were short-changed at the supermarket, or if another driver nabbed the last available parking space ahead of her. It was females like this who let their sex down, and wasn't life already hard enough? The words
glass
and
ceiling
immediately came to mind.

Regardless, she opened up another thread and discovered a woman who got off on knowing her husband was attracted to other women, and found it arousing that he might take advantage of that fact whenever he felt like it.

Thanks in part to the alcohol coursing through her system, Alice's irritation was growing by the moment. How could anyone believe the male of the species was superior, and that monogamy was unnatural? And the idea that wives should be able to cast aside their insecurities and encourage their husband's sexual fulfilment with other willing partners …. What the heck was that all about?

Then again, it would make her life easier if other women felt that way. After all, she'd slept with more than one husband behind his wife's back.

Her glass was empty. She needed another hit. Going into the kitchen, she fetched the bottle—not that she intended to drink any more than another finger or two—and returned to her laptop. She scrolled down and opened another post. There she found the word
compersion—
finding happiness in the joy of others.
Well, fuck that!
Hell would have to freeze over before she would give any man she was in a relationship with free rein to screw around just so he could
enjoy
himself. In fact, he'd be shown the door at the first hint he'd even looked at another woman, let alone made a move on her. Self-respect was paramount, and Alice was not brought up to be a doormat.

Interesting
, the little voice in her head popped up as it so often did at such times,
so
you'd rather he snuck around behind your back?

No, she answered back, I'd rather he be faithful.

But, said the little voice, all too smoothly, wouldn't such certainty make life a tiny bit boring?

In the morning she would put it down to liquor-induced madness, but right at that moment she had an overwhelming urge to confront the original poster. To tell her to grow up and get a life. And so she did, daringly creating a user name and password and then typing her disparaging response.

Alice pressed the return key with a flourish, and when the screen refreshed, her post was displayed in all its glory, slightly indented beneath the original post.

She waited.

Yawned and stretched her arms up over her head.

And waited.

There was no action, no reply. Nor was there five minutes later. Rejecting the remaining dregs in her tumbler, she shut down her laptop and went to bed.

Now she wondered if it would hurt to take a peek and see if anyone had responded to her comments, as stupid as the whole thing had been.

It took only a moment to discover not one, but two responses directly under her post.

“
I will always be his favourite, and the one he comes home to because the others are just passing fancies. I am more to him than sex, and that's why it works for us. Why would I want to tether him just because my sex drive may not be as strong as his?”

Alice shook her head. The woman was clearly beyond help.

The second was from Archangel: “Interesting point of view! But a little too emotional, perhaps? Your insecurities are showing.”

She bristled.
Insecurities? Really?
She scanned the side column, found the green light next to the username. Hmmm, so they too were online at that moment. How convenient!

Her fingers raced over the keyboard. “Give me reality over fantasy any day.”

She waited. Would he or she respond?

“
Reality is perception,” came the reply, “and perception merely an interpretation of a given environment. Not a universal truth.”

Alice took a deep breath and wrote: “Reality is hard data and proven fact.”

The reply: “And what of faith? Hope? A belief in your fellow man? Or is there no place for such ideals in your life?”

Her keys tapped furiously. “None of the above could possibly form an objective basis for a relationship.”

The reply: “Then what should?”

Alice took only a moment. “Understanding motivation and agreeing on expectations.”

The reply: “And is that how you live your life?”

If only he knew, she thought.

“
Far better than leaving it to chance,” she wrote.

“
Making calculated decisions rather than step into the unknown and take a risk?”

“
Risks are for gamblers,” she wrote back.

“
And you'd rather control your destiny?”

“
As much as I can.”

“
And if life throws you a curveball?”

Alice was beginning to get annoyed, not only with the replies of her online correspondent, but also with the fact that their conversation was being played out on a very public forum.

He or she must have felt the same, for a message box popped up suggesting they move to a private area.

Alice thought it a good idea. But before doing so she checked out the poster's profile: male, aged between 35 and 45, location London, UK. She wondered if he had looked at hers: female, aged between 25 and 35, location blank.

His message was waiting.

“
Hi. Thought I might have frightened you off.”

“
Why would you think that?”

“
Tell me, do you really have a problem in trying anything new?”

“
Not at all.”

“
But not before you have assessed and factored for all possibilities.”

“
I see nothing wrong in that. Why are you so interested?”

“
Simple curiosity.”

“
Don't be.”

“
Interesting. Not only emotionally reserved, but resistant too.”

“
You value me too highly.”

“
And with a sense of humour.”

“
I'm shutting this down.”

“
Then I've annoyed you, and for that I apologise. Let's talk again tomorrow. Same time and place.”

Alice didn't bother replying, just logged out.

“
H
ello again.”

The message box popped up the moment she logged on, the suddenness causing her breath to catch. It was as if Archangel were in the room with her, had seen her sit down. But of course, that was impossible.

She read the two words again. Hesitated. They were innocuous enough, weren't they? But even as she was questioning why she would even want to re-open the conversation, her fingers had taken on a momentum all their own.