The Audition for "Little Miss Curly Top"

by HardJulia

There was a polite knock on my dressing room door and a plump, balding man popped his head around. It was the producer himself, not just the floor manager.

"We'll be starting recording in about half an hour," he said. "Sorry things are running a bit late."

"That's OK," I said, closing the lid on my laptop. "I'm ready. Just reading some mail."

"You look amazing," said the fat old lecher, looking me up and down.

"Thank you," I said sweetly. I knew very well how I looked, I just wanted him to go away.

"Some of the contestants who didn't make the final twenty are doing a warm-up act for the audience," he said. "They're loving it."

"Great idea," I said genuinely. "I'm sure it will go really well."

"It will now you've joined us," he said with a greasy smile.

You're paying me enough, I thought. I had held out for a very ritzy fee before I agreed to be the leading judge for the TV audition, even though I was dying to do it. So what? The TV company had plenty of money from their last "reality tv" hit show.

I turned back to my computer. He got the hint and disappeared. I was looking through my fan mail, most of which came electronically these days. It was sorted by a woman working for my agent, so it came to me already categorised in the way that I liked. It had taken ages to convince her that I wanted all of it, warts and all.

"Surely you want me to get rid of anything..er..inappropriate?" she had asked. I explained that she could ditch the snail-mail envelopes containing little plastic bags full of sperm but the rest should be just sorted and sent on to me. The data stick with the e-mail portion had arrived this morning.

Mavis's first job was to sort everything into mail from men, women, pre-teen boys and pre-teen girls. If age or sex weren't made clear she was to use her best judgement. As promised, on my screen were four folders named "M", "W", "B" and "G". I clicked on folder M and deleted it immediately. I had a quick look at folder B . They had been sorted in to folder "P" (photographs attached), "S" (sexual content) and "R" (the rest). It seems I am very popular with little boys, as Mavis's 'readme' note said there were 108 emails in the B folder all told.

One dubious men's magazine had said that I was propbably the most masturbated-over celebrity on TV. They also claimed to have calculated that, over the years, the total volume of sperm produced by my male fans of all ages would have filled an olympic sized swimming pool. Sure enough, the first "S" email I opened was from an eleven-year old boy who said his daily routine included coming home from school, switching on the tv in his bedroom, tuning to the late afternoon quiz show I was appearing in and unzipping his fly. He said how much he liked the dress I had been wearing the previous Tuesday and how it had helped him have a really nice time. I made a mental note to wear that tight blue satin number again sometime. I wondered what his mother had been doing while this was going on. Maybe she had been watching me on the downstairs tv!

I'm quite attracted to young boys if they're pretty and very girly-looking so I went to the P folder within B. Mavis, a plump woman in late middle age I had met only once, was getting better with computers and she had extracted the photos from the emails, They were all clearly visible as thumbnail images, named after the email they were from. I scanned though them but there none of my special boys there.

I deleted the B folder and opened W. Fan mail with photos of the sender are usually sexual, but not always explicitly. This was a particulary good haul as there were twenty pictures from only about 40 emails, although one woman had sent three of herself in various states of undress. Of course, a lot of the mail I get comes from male posers pretending to be women or girls but Mavis has become good at detecting those. She puts them in folder F for fakes but there was no such folder here. Today, the photos in W\P included some very attractive women indeed. I saved the five best ones in another personal folder, taking care to find the relevant email and file that, too. I didn't include the stripping woman, whose legs weren't great.

My taste in women is very variable. I'm as susceptible as the next lesbian to voluptuous dumb blondes but sometimes I'm just as attracted to studious types or plump and plain mumsy ladies. I guess if it has a pussy I'll try it, depending on my mood.

I had left the G folder until last. At the bottom of the screen it said there were 50-odd files contained within, which looked very promising. I was just about to dive in when there was another knock on the dressing room door. The young floor manager opened it just a crack and called to me.

"On stage in one minute please," she said.

I stood up and checked myself out in the mirror. My dress was as low-cut, short and tight as I thought I could get away with on a show like this. A journalist from one one the tabloids once criticised me for looking too sexy on a kids' show but to hell with him. Even if I do say so myself, I was looking very hot indeed. "I could do you myself," I whispered and blew a kiss to my image.

The TV audition was being recorded in a big, plush victorian theatre. My two fellow judges and I waited in the wings for the host, resplendent in his white tuxedo, to introduce us. I walked on last, to rapturous applause, and we took our seats on a raised platform above the orchestra pit. As we sat down the host continued.

"Ladies and gentlemen, these are the judges who, in six weeks time, will finally select the lucky little girl who will become Shirley Temple - little curly top - in a new blockbuster movie. Now please meet the contestants!"

The audience roared as twenty pretty little girls between eight and eleven, according to the rules, came skipping onto the stage to form a chorus line. I looked them over one by one as they went into a high-kicking dance routine. My mouth watered and my groin tingled. I was like a kid in a candy shop.