Date: Mon, 7 Mar 2005 09:07:25 EST
From: Jonah
Subject: The Mannequin - 3

Before we start just a few words about arithmetic.  Some of you have
commented that the mathematics in this story don't work out.  I can only
point out that I haven't given you enough data to tell whether they do or
not.  For those sad enough to try to calculate these things here are the
missing bits:-
The story is set in the year 2002, and Jonah (who nobody said was me, you
can write in the first person without changing your name by deed poll) is
30 years old.  Now if you try starting with that 100 years head start
that I mentioned last time you should get the right answers.
Alternatively, why not forget about the calculations and just enjoy the
story.  There are still no real live people in the plot (so the name
Jonah doesn't mean me) ,there is however fairly explicit gay sex
involving an apparent minor (he isn't really).  If that will offend you,
or if it is illegal for you to read it, now is the time to stop.

When I came home from work the next night I brought with me an old zinc
bath (galvanised steel sheet really but you know what I mean) and a
sizeable quantity of casting wax.  My mother had kept the bath in her
shed for years and was glad to see the back of it.  they sell casting wax
in hobby shops for candle-making, but I had to buy several king sized
bags.  I had no idea whether my plan would work; nor would I even attempt
it until I had talked it over with Anthony. I had to wait until we were
in bed that night to discuss it.  We did not, of course, know anything
about the nature of whatever sorcery had transformed Anthony into a part-
time mannequin; but if it involved something physical concerning his form
as a mannequin - the shape of the cuts representing his toes or fingers,
the unusual colour of his eyes, or any number of other things, then they
could be replicated without it being necessary to know what they were.
He could, of course be formed from an unusual composition of plaster, or
something like that, which we could not know about and therefore could
not replicate.
There were other risks too.  My plan hinged on the fact that, during the
day, Anthony
was an inanimate object which could come to no harm in the moulding
process.  This was, however, not necessarilly so. I had already
established that the plaster Anthony could feel stroking and tickling, so
could very likely feel pain due to the hot wax: worse, he would be unable
to tell me about it.  It was also posible that burns sustained
painfully, but invisibly by the plaster dummy, would come out in more
tangible form when the dummy reverted to boy.  Given these facts, I was
reluctant even to suggest the scheme, but the advantages were undeniable
if Anthony was prepared to take the risk.  He would have somebody to
share his agonising loneliness, even when I wasn't there.  That alone was
argument enough for Anthony.  Any pain, any inconvenience, any risk was
worth it if only he could have a brother to share his strange existance.
That was the next ethical problem.  The new mannequin would become a new
person doomed to the half life Anthony had endured.  If I were to play
Frankenstein, could I create a being and immediately sentence him to
that.  Anthony, who I had trouble remembering was older and more
experienced than I, answered for me.  We were not thinking about another
boy-turned-dummy, but the other way round.  Even if the new being
inherited the ability to live at night, as Anthony did, it could not be
endowed with his experience, or most of the other characteristics which
made Anthony a living being even when in mannequin form.

The next morning being Saturday, I had no work to go to.  I was up early
- even before Anthony "froze" again.  Anthony told me then, for the first
time, that he loved me, and further that he trusted me.  I was beside
myself.  I had no notion of playing God.  If anything I was humbled by
the magnitude of what I was about to do.  By the time I had melted a
large quantity of the wax Anthony was completely rigid.  Using a latex
glue I attached a thread to his body, running it all the way round under
both feet, between his legs, up both sides to his armpits,  down and up
both arms and around his head, the ends of the thread meeting on top of
his head and being left loose.  I then soaped the dummy all over. Then I
partially filled the bath with wax which I allowed to partly set.  With
my heart in my mouth I gently lowered the dummy into it.  I then glued
the loose ends of thread to a point on the bath's end.  Using molten wax
I carefully filled the bath to a level with the thread then, cooling the
wax as much as I dared, I poured wax over the rest of his body.  That
being done I poured the rest of the molten wax in. It was afternoon
before the wax was set solid,  I did not dare touch it till evening.  By
that time I had been out to obtain a couple of sacks of modelling
plaster.  As a graphic designer I already had paints of several sorts in
the house.

Now it was important to get Anthony out of there before night fell. I
stretched out a large polythene sheet on the floor and inverted the bath
on top of it.  It weighrd enough to make it a struggle.  I boiled a
kettle and then began pouring hot water around the outside of the bath.
After about five minutes there was a thud as the wax fell to the ground.
Quickly I removed the bath  to reveal a huge block of clear wax.  With a
carving knife I cut a groove all the way round level with the thread,
then,very carefully, I pulled the thread away cutting through the wax
with it.  I was then able to lift off the top section of the block.
Anthony still lay, face down, embedded in the lower section, but I was
able - by grasping his heels - to lift him free.  I sponged him down with
a warm sponge.  He thanked me.  I jumped several feet in the air.  I had
not noticed that the dummy I had been sponging had become a boy even as I
sponged.
"Steady!", he admonished me, "Cor, blimey! I never want to have to go
through that again"
"Are you all right?" I asked anxiously.
"As rain squire," he replied,"Thanks for keeping the wax as cool as you
could.  It could have been nasty if that had been too hot.  Just as well
I was plaster though.  You couldn't have done that to a real person."
"You are a real person", I reminded him as I pulled him to my lap and
started to play with his toes," want to help me finish the job?"
"Wait!" he said, sliding from my lap and kneeling upright on the floor.
"Stand up!" he commanded.
I stood up - only to find nimble fingers undoing my trousers and pulling
them and my underpants down to my ankles.  His mouth closed around my
cock.  I couldn't stop my fingers from grasping his lovely head. As I
fucked his gorgeous face I glanced down at the young body kneeling in
front of me.  Right down to the soles of those little feet with the
lovely toes pointed away from me.  This was heaven.  He didn't stop until
I filled his lovely mouth with my man-juice.  He swallowed every drop and
licked my cock clean. I collapsed, spent.  We lay on the sofa, in each
other's arms for some minutes.  Then he helped me to mix and colour the
plaster, to fill the moulds, and to put them together.
We went to bed then.  He lay and licked my feet. so I licked his.  I fell
asleep still sucking his big toe.  I think he was still sucking mine.