by Raven, C L
"Hubba hubba!"
I sat her up to undress her. She coughed. I froze. An apple piece landed in her lap. Ugh. So uncouth. She gasped and opened her eyes.
I imagined this is how it would feel for a guy's blow up doll to suddenly awaken. My desire deflated.
"Who are you? What are you doing?"
I'm doing a Paint by Numbers picture. What does it look like I'm doing? There was no way I'd survive this without looking like a pervert. "I…saw you in the woods and…fell in love with you. The dwarves brought you here."
How could I explain my Sleeping Beauty fetish without sounding like I should be put on a register?
"You want to marry me?"
Not particularly. She must be one of those who read Mills and Boon and dreamed of their Prince Charming. I sighed. My compass was definitely pointing south now.
"Yes."
That's how I ended up marrying Snow White. I wish I could say it was a dream wedding, but her being conscious spoiled the whole day. Given a choice between marriage and prison…I'd rather be a husband than a bitch.
When she questioned why we were never intimate, I told her I was saving myself for our wedding night. She thought I was gentlemanly and romantic and gushed to the dwarves about me in her letters. On our wedding night, I spiked her drink and was able to finish what I'd started when we'd met. The next night I tried making love to her while she was awake. I couldn't perform. She was really understanding but I was humiliated. I didn't care if it 'happened to every man.' The point was it happened to me.
She was boring. A goody two shoes who loved cooking and cleaning. She acted like my mother, not my bride. Even without my unusual…fetish, I wouldn't have fancied her. No sane man wants to make love to his mother. I couldn't brag about her to my friends. When they boasted about their hot or kinky girlfriends, what could I say? 'She baked me muffins.' No-one went to Amsterdam for that. Her idea of sexy and daring was wearing a tweed calf length skirt with her hair down. And her knickers! I could've used them to sail my boat. The dwarves must've dressed her in the sexy set, hoping a handsome prince would take her - save them digging a grave. I was conned by pros.
After that I drugged her regularly, sometimes just to stop her nagging. She developed a tolerance so I had to keep upping her dose. One night I gave her too much.
My Sleeping Beauty never woke again.
***
I needed a new wife. The 'in' way was to hold a ball, complete with television crew for the hit reality TV series, Groom with a View. I was rich, handsome and lost my beautiful young wife tragically. I even shed a tear in the opening credits. Not many people could pull off crying whilst looking heartbreakingly handsome. I was a ratings winner. Anonymously nominating myself for Bachelor of the Year helped.
Most contestants were old or ugly but desperate to snag their prince or fifteen minutes of fame. Under normal circumstances, I would never allow these degenerates into my home, but once the director saw my grand abode, she insisted on filming here.
"What do you think of the contestants?" The presenter, Ashleigh, asked.
"Ghastly. If I wanted a WAG clone, I'd order one from the WAG Slags Monthly catalogue."
She looked shocked. "How about dancing with some then giving an opinion and marks out of ten?"
"Raise their hopes then dash them to boost your ratings?"
"You applied for the show."
"It seems so cruel. Can't I just behead them?"
Surprisingly, she refused. Beheadings were always a crowd-puller.
"Can they dance with those oversized novelty breasts? Surely the weight will topple them. Do they know it's Groom with a View not Strippers Got Talent?"
I danced with some of the fame-hungry trollops before rejecting them so the crew could film them fleeing in tears then chase them down for an interview for the nation to revel in their misery. Decapitating them would've been kinder. At least their makeup would've stayed intact.
Then I saw her. Slim, pretty, shy and wearing a gorgeous dress that wouldn't fit a seven year old. I asked her to dance. She smelt of grime, like she'd been cleaning a cellar. I discreetly sprayed her with my deodorant.
"So you've always dreamed of marrying a prince?"
"Who hasn't?"
Realists.
She watched the clock the whole time, which I thought rather rude. I was the best company in the country. I held her close, imagining how she'd feel in my arms; limp, warm, her perfect body still beneath mine.
I hoped she couldn't feel how much she turned me on. My little soldier saluting on camera would ruin the show's 'chaste' image.
The clock struck midnight. She mumbled some lame excuse and ran. I chased her but those dreadful desperados blocked me and my princess vanished. I vehemently rued the 'no decapitation' clause in the contract.
"Have you made a decision?" Ashleigh asked, the camera in my face.
"I want her."
She faced the camera. "Prince Charming has found his princess. But will she agree to live happily ever after with him?"
"Poppycock. The only thing hotter than me is the sun."
Unable to bear being surrounded by money-grabbing tramps way past their sell-by date, and Footballer's Wives rejects, I locked myself in my honeymoon suite. I leaned against the door, admiring the glass coffin in the centre of the room. Snow White wore her wedding dress. I touched the lid, remembering the day we met. I removed the lid and stroked her hair. Strands broke on my fingers. Her flowery perfume was tainted by an unpleasant aroma. I kissed her sunken cheek before replacing the lid and leaving her to sleep.
***
I held another ball the next night. The contestants wore dresses that cost as much as a house, despite there being more material in my handkerchief. I danced with them to keep Ashleigh happy then gave scathing opinions to the camera and marking them with minus figures, whilst wishing I had a crocodile pit to throw them into.
"What did you think about Candice?" Ashleigh asked. I stared blankly. She pointed her out.
"I think she needs an Epi pen."
"Sorry?"
"She seems to have had an allergic reaction. Her lips are swollen like a trout's."
"It's collagen," she whispered.
"Dear god! She did that to herself?"
Girls thrust their grotesquely enormous fake boobs towards me, hoping I'd notice. Notice? If I twirled them on the dance floor, the wind current would wipe out China.
"Prince Charming, you're well fit," one girl gushed.
"Can I see your sword?" Another winked.
I shuddered. "My name's not Charming. My parents didn't work for Disney." One girl gyrated her arse in my crotch. "Your mating ritual is frankly disturbing! Did you copy it from the Discovery Channel?"
The door opened. My heart stopped. She wore a different dress and her hair was pinned.
"May I have this dance?" She took my hand. The cameraman followed us to the dance floor. "Why did you vanish?" Her hair smelt of jasmine.
"I had to get home."
"I'd like to get to know you."
She smiled. I didn't bother dancing with the others. I was with the woman I wanted. Why should I risk spray tan rub-off and false nails imbedded in my arse, just to make the show entertaining?
The clock struck midnight. She made her excuses and fled. I stalked her and was thwarted again. I burst through the door. A glass slipper lay abandoned on the steps. Its delicate beauty matched Snow White's glass coffin, resurrecting delicious memories.
"Your chosen bride has disappeared. What will you do now?" Ashleigh asked.
"Weep inconsolably." She looked hopeful. "I'm going to find her, you nitwit."
I took the glass slipper upstairs and set it on a crimson velvet cushion, imagining it gracing her foot.
The next day I began searching for my dancing princess. A camera crew insisted on following. I visited everyone on the guest list and made them try on the glass slipper. My assistant nearly suffocated in one girl's breasts when he crouched to
put the shoe on her.
I'd reached the last house and was beginning to despair. I watched while two trolls tried forcing their wide feet into the slim slipper.
"Don't break it!" I ran my hand through my hair, resisting the urge to snatch the shoe and beat them to death with it. That's not the way you treat fragile glass.
"I have a stepdaughter," the mother said.
"What do you want? A medal?"
"Would you like her to try it?"
"Apparently, everyone in the neighbourhood suffers from clown foot syndrome."
She returned with a scruffy girl. Her dirty blonde hair was plastered with dust. The thought of her filthy foot tainting the slipper turned my stomach. She sat and smiled nervously as she raised her skirt and offered her foot. I clicked my fingers. My assistant knelt and slid the slipper onto her foot.
"You're my princess?"
She wasn't a princess at all. She was a cleaner. But then, I wasn't the fairytale prince she thought I was. I didn't inherit my title, I bought it off eBay. Our whole relationship was built on lies.
"I'm sorry." She lowered her gaze. "I really wanted to go to the ball."
"Do you have the other slipper?" She nodded. "Fetch it."
Her sisters glowered like gargoyles. I was tempted to behead them and mount their heads on my gateposts to frighten Boy Scouts.
"I can't believe that scrubber's the princess," the toady one said.
She returned wearing the other slipper. My heart raced as I pictured her lying on my bed, naked except for those shoes.
"Would you do me the honour of being my princess for eternity?" Whoever wrote that into the contract should've been shot.
"She has work to do," her stepmother said.
I clenched my fists so I wouldn't use her face to create interesting dents in the fireplace. "Rules are rules." I took my princess's hand. "What's your name?"
"Cinderella."
***
The production company paid for the wedding. I made an obscene amount of money selling the photos to OK! It was a fairytale wedding with a glass carriage, white horses, footmen and a fairy godmother dress designer. Cinderella's hair was now black. Footballers' WAGS tried outdoing it but although they had money, they lacked class. Their weddings looked cheap and trashy, their overly tanned skin, collagen faces and silicon boobs more suited for a porn film than a wedding DVD. They'd be lucky to sell their photos to their local Gazette - as I helpfully revealed in an exclusive centre page spread in Hello! My name trended on Twitter for two days.
On our wedding night, I laid Cinderella on our bed.
"Pretend you're asleep. Don't react."
I ran my fingers over her face. Her eyelids flickered, but I ignored it. I traced down her beautiful dress to her glass slippers. I stroked her slender ankles then up her leg, raising the dress to see the white garter. I rolled her over and unzipped the dress. I eased her onto her back and undressed her. At my request, she wore a white satin basque and knickers.
I took my time exploring her pale body. She lay perfectly still until I caressed her inner thigh. She gasped.
"You're not doing it right!"
"Sorry. This is my first time. Tell me what to do."
"Don't speak, don't moan, don't move. Play dead."
"Why?"
"You got your perfect wedding, I want my perfect wedding night."
I touched her breast through her corset as I kissed her. She responded eagerly.
"I can't do this." I walked out.
I fetched a glass of water and spied Snow White's sleeping tablets in the cupboard. I emptied two into the water and carried it upstairs.
"Babe, don't cry."
"I want to make you happy. But when you touch me…"
I stroked her hair. "Drink this."
I held her until she fell asleep. I had a wedding night I'd always remember.
Cinderella became my next Sleeping Beauty.
***
I was on the Internet when Cinderella entered the room. I'd found a fascinating article about locked-in syndrome. I was aroused thinking about it. In the screen's reflection, I watched her sashay over, wearing her wedding lingerie and glass slippers. She stroked my chest, her breasts molesting the back of my head.
"I was thinking of having an early night," she murmured, kissing my neck.
"Goodnight then."
She wheeled my chair backwards and straddled me.
"I know what you do when I'm asleep." I froze. If she'd installed one of those nanny cams...Dear god, what if she saw my drag Britney Spears performance? "Why don't you do it when I'm awake?" Because you're awake, sweetheart. "I want to feel it. Enjoy it." She thrust her breasts to my mouth. Is she trying to suffocate me? "I've been practising."
She closed her eyes and went floppy. I pushed her upright. Her head drooped forwards. I kissed her. She didn't respond. I gripped her waist and kissed her breasts. She did nothing. I pushed her against the desk. She slumped backwards over it.
"Oh baby," I groaned.
I undid my trousers then sat her on my lap and made love to her, quickly and passionately. She remained limp and lifeless. At that moment, I loved her.
She opened her eyes.
Ruining the moment.
"See?" She whispered. "I can play dead."
Cinderella's performance improved every time we made love. She even learned to keep her eyes closed until I'd rolled over to sleep. I loved her even more. She was so beautiful, so compliant. But during the day, when she was awake and talking, I resented her. It cheapened our nights together. She was everything I wanted. But she had one flaw.
She woke up.
After a few months, I found a witch on the Internet and invited her round. I know, I went against every Government guideline, but I couldn't exactly discuss my requirements in the middle of Starbucks. I brought her to my room, where Cinderella slept, naked except for her glass slippers.
"I want this. Forever." I gestured to her.
"I don't understand."
"I want a wife who's alive but never wakes up."
The witch looked at me like I was deranged. It wasn't like I had a fetish for being an adult baby.
"You want a sleeping potion that lasts until death?"
"Yes! I've dreamed of this." I paused, wary about blabbing my deepest secrets like a guest on the afore mentioned chat show. But then again, if she told anyone, I'd have her arrested. Hell, I lived in the middle of nowhere, I could just kill her.
"You want a living, breathing, sleeping doll. That you can touch," she stroked Cinderella's hair. "Play with," her hand danced over Cinderella's breast. "And abuse at will." She rolled her over and smacked her backside. Cinderella didn't stir.
I swallowed, aroused. "It sounds so creepy when you say it."
"It won't be cheap."
"I don't suppose I can pay you with magic beans?"
"I'll have the potion in two days. Don't give her too much."
"If you succeed, I'll give you anything you want."
"Sometimes getting everything you want is a dangerous thing."
***
Two days later, I had my potion. It worked better than Snow White's sleeping pills. I loved Cinderella more each time we were together. But after three days, she woke up. She was too weak to get out of bed and she vomited for days. She had no recollection of our rompathon but when I went to see her, she sent me away. She had this look in her eyes, like she knew. I waited until she was better then slipped the potion into the drink the maid took her. I doubled the dose so she'd stay asleep longer.
When I woke, she was cold.
I summoned the witch.
"I can't cure death."
"She can't be dead."
"You gave her too much."
"Fix her! Or I'll have you hunted for sport."
"Get me another girl and I'll get it right."
"I don't want another girl! I want her!"
"I'm the only person besides you and your dead wife who knows your flag only
flies for unconscious girls. Unless you want that becoming an MSN link, do as I say. I don't care about your twisted desires, I just want my money."
She left with promises to improve her potion. I held Cinderella for three days until her funeral. At my request, her glass coffin was returned to the castle. I'd dressed her in her wedding gown and placed the glass slippers on her feet before laying the coffin on a cushion in the honeymoon suite, on the shelf above Snow White's.
***
I didn't leave the honeymoon suite for a fortnight.
But staring at my dead wives was more unbearable than an EastEnders omnibus, so I went for a walk. Part of me hoped to stumble across another glass coffin, but unlike in fairytales, it's not an everyday occurrence.
Beautiful singing travelled through the woods. I followed the voice to a tall tower. A haggard old woman approached it so I ducked back. If fairytales taught me anything, it was that haggard old women were always nasty. Even if their hips snapped like breadsticks.
"Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!"
Fiery waves of hair rolled down the tower from the high window. I was mesmerised. She wasn't in a glass coffin, but that could change. The old woman climbed up the hair. She stayed inside for a while then left the same way. I waited until she'd gone then I sneaked to the tower.
"Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!" I bellowed like a hammy thespian.
The stunning red locks tumbled down. I stroked them then began climbing. Her roots must lift weights. I dragged myself in through the window. Rapunzel gave a startled yelp. She was gorgeous. White skin, emerald eyes and beautiful, endless hair. I imagined it wrapped around me as I made love to her.
"Is your name really Rapunzel?" She nodded. "Are your parents celebrities?"
"I don't know my parents."
"Oh. I just wondered because celebrities have that psychosis that makes them give their offspring ridiculous names."
"What does everyone call you?"
"Your Majesty." I surveyed the barren tower. "Do you live here or are you roleplaying a fantasy game?"
"I've always lived here."
"Are the waiting lists for council houses really that long? Get pregnant and say you've been thrown out. You'll go straight to the top of the list."
