Title: Snow White and the Seven Curls

More Notes: Who on earth are these people? Well, Andy is Gollum, Brad is Grima (Wormtongue), Lawrence is Lurtz, Jed, Robbie and Nathaniel are Orcs, and Orlando and Liv you know. :-)

Pics of these men.

-----

"Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who's the curliest of them all?"

Good question, that.

Liv stood before them, her own hair straight as a curtain, weighing the golden apple in her hand like a proverbial female Paris. How to choose from the profusion of curls before her?

Brown curls, blond curls, black curls, grey curls. Curls cascading in crampand glory onto broad, chrome-shaped shoulders. Wiry curls, corkscrewing stiffly in all directions, scribbling their curlicue signatures on the wind. Shirley-Temple curling-tong twists, snailing in on themselves in shell-like whorls. Dreadlocks, braided in gabardine-thick hawsers. Curls like clouds, fizzy and frizzly. Ringlets around earlobes. Forelocks against temples. The treble-clef commas of wisps at the nape.

"Oh dear," Liv said and sighed. "I really, really don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" asked Brad.

"How hard can it be?" piped up Andy.

"She's just embarrassed at having to shoo you all off," said Orlando. "It's quite obvious that I'm the winner. I'm the curliest."

"Oh, don't start again," said Jed. "This is why we roped Liv in to begin with."

"Yeah, to avoid a blood bath," chipped in Lawrence.

Robbie and Nathaniel said nothing. They smiled at each other with mysterious little lip-curls.

"Come on, Liv," said Brad. "Make your choice, dish out the apple and let's be done with this."

"Well," said Liv desperately. "I suppose it all depends on what you mean by 'curly'."

Everyone talked at once.

"What do you mean, what we mean by 'curly'?" "That's obvious, innit?" "Curly is curly!" "Curly is whorly!" "Curly is the opposite of straight!" "I thought, gay was the opposite of straight." "I thought crooked was the opposite of straight." "Yeah, well, in your case it is: you're crook!" "Who're you calling crook?" "And you call those curls? Those limp little noodles?" "They're a hell of a lot curlier than your thinning wisps!" "And that mat of hair, that can hardly be called curly, that's just a messy bit of thicket." "Yeah, birds could roost in that!" "Birds probably have died in that!"

Fisticuffs broke out. Orlando pulled at Brad's wisps with a sneer; Andy tugged at Jed's mop; Lawrence tossed his locks contemptuously at everybody. A punch was landed on someone's shoulder. Somebody else's shin was kicked. A third person's arms were twisted against his back, and yet another one choked in a headlock.

"Hey!" yelled Liv. "Guys, guys! Control yourselves! I have an idea!"

"What?" gasped Jed, his face red between Orlando's brawny forearms.

"Who said anything about curls on the head?" said Liv. "Maybe I should be judging curls somewhere else on the body."

"You wanna see my chest?" shouted Brad and pulled off his jacket.

"No, no, I was thinking," said Liv and smiled, "of somewhere a bit lower than that."

"What?" "Lower?" "What's she talking about?" "Pubes, mate. She's talking about our pubes." "About our short'n'curlies." "I'm not showing my pubes to any girl." "I'm not showing my pubes to any of you lot!"

"But," Orlando pointed out, "all pubes are curly."

"Exactly," said Liv.

Brad looked at Orlando, Orlando looked at Andy, Andy looked at Jed, Jed looked at Lawrence, Lawrence looked at Nathaniel, and Nathaniel smiled enigmatically at Robbie.

Then, as if on some unspoken command, they all unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, unlaced, unhooked, untugged, until no curl was left to the imagination.

Seven specimens of glorious curliness quivered in the noonday air, like the fine wrinkled ends of endive salad.

Liv walked up and down the line of assembled curlage, peering closely at this thatch and that, testing stray strands between thumb and forefinger for elasticity and twirl, scratching fingers through arabesque undergrowths from left to right.

Strangely, though, the guys had stopped gauging curls. They were still eyeing each other but it was no longer the curl-factor that seemed to be uppermost in their minds.

They had moved on from curly to straight, to straight as a sword and stiff as a blade and hard as a cucumber straight from the freezer.

"Um," said Jed.

"Er," said Brad.

"I don't think," said Andy and cleared his throat, "that Liv is actually the best judge of this kind of curl."

"No," said Lawrence, "I agree. We'd better do this one ourselves."

"Oh, definitely," said Orlando and grabbed Lawrence's straight and stiff cock.

"That's not..." said Lawrence.

"Hey, yeah," said Brad and enfolded Andy. "Oh, good," said Jed and touched Nathaniel who held Robbie who, in turn, fingered Jed.

Liv bent forwards, leg stretched back. She executed an abbreviated cricket-run and bowled the golden apple all the way across the floor, rattle rattle, until it ricocheted off Jed's shoe and came to rest in the middle of what had become a knot of men.

"I know," she said, "first one to come gets the golden prize. But..." And she smiled. "No cheating."

Liv left the room, and the walls buckled with the force of Snow White's seven moans.

-----

The End.

19 January 2002

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to [email protected]

All original parts of this story: © Lobelia

Back to Lobelia's stories.