Date: Sat, 2 Apr 2005 14:25:36 EST
From: Jonah
Subject: The Mannequin 7

This story is a work of fiction and does not include any characters based
on real people.  It does, however, contain some pretty explicit accounts
of homoerotic sexual
activity with minors (or apparent minors), so if you are likely to be
offended by this - or if it is illegal for you to read it - don't.  Still
with us?  Hope you enjoy it.


I found that I saw a lot of Patrick over the next few weeks.  Peter had
been correct: Patrick really did enjoy being tormented.  He got into the
habit of turning up at my house late evenings.  A peculiar twist was that
he found with me and my mannequins the only opportunity he had to bully
instead of being bullied.  He reasoned that, since the mannequins were
inanimate during the day, he could tie up Andrew in the late afternoon -
a plaster mannequin could not defend itself - and then wait for him to
come to life. Andrew was ticklish all right.  Of course the ploy should
work with Anthony as well,  but for some reason nobody screws around
with  Anthony.  I half expected that Peter would get jealous, since he
could only come over when his parents arranged it.  Peter, however, was
getting in some quality time with Patrick at school.  I discovered that
Peter had become the leader of a group of boys who preyed on Patrick.
Patrick enjoyed this attention, but made up for it with Andrew in the
evenings.
It was about three weeks after Patrick's very own, private tickle-fest
that Andrew came into the bedroom looking worried.  Patrick had not
appeared so Andrew and I had the room to ourselves.  Anthony had not
appeared either.  Why had Anthony not appeared?  Come to think of it this
was the third night in a week that Anthony had failed to come to life.
"What's wrong Andrew?"
"It's Anthony."
"I know that.  What's happening.  Is it his age do you think?"
Andrew climbed into bed beside me.  We did not touch each other: Andrew
simply lay on his back and looked up thoughtfully at the ceiling.  He
shook his head.
"I don't think so: he's lasted this long he'll probably last for ever."
"Then.......?"
"I think it's probably you", he said, "His incarnation depends on the
person he's with.
We can't come to life when we're on our own; we have to be with someone
who can love us.  He's never been with the same person for so long
before.  The only night this week that he's moved was Tuesday - when
Patrick was here".
I thought about this.
"He asked me, when he first came, never to sell him.  Now it looks as if
I may have to.  You think he'll stay petrified unless I do?"
Andrew nodded.
"I don't think he knew that it could wear off when he asked you to do
that.  He'd never been this long with anybody before.  He says it's three
months since you bought him."
"I'll have to sell him then".
Andrew shook his head vigorously.
"Uh uh!  He'd probably get bought by somebody who'd break him up or use
him as a tailor's dummy.  He needs to be with somebody who can love him.
Don't you know anybody?"
I didn't have to think long.
"If I  could find a pretext to get him into my brother Jethro's house", I
said, "Peter would be there.  I'll call him tomorrow and ask him to look
after one or two things for me."
"Great!  Just one thing though".
"What's that?" I asked.
"Well Anthony had been here less than a week when you made me.  I've been
with you nearly as long as he has."
I was shattered.  His words, though softly spoken, hit me like a hammer
blow; but I knew what I had to do.
"I couldn't have let him go without you anyway", I told him, "He'd have
been so lonely".
Andrew must have spotted the tears welling up, for he reached out and
pulled me to him.  As he held me tightly I lost it.  The tears fell on
his naked shoulders as he whispered,
"You still have the mould.  We'll make another Anthony, and another
Andrew.  Colour one of them like Patrick - he'd like that.  The magic
isn't in the plaster, or the mould, or anything on our bodies.  The magic
is you."
I sniffed while Andrew went on.
"The evil man who abducted Anthony was no magician.  All he could do was
destroy.  Anyone can do that.  Do you want to know how he made Anthony as
he is?"
A horrible suspicion was forming in my mind.  Suddenly I desperately did
NOT want to know how it was done; but Andrew went on,
"That villain made the mannequin in there exactly how you made me.  The
real Anthony was cruelly smothered to death in the mould.  His bones lay
buried in a garden in Holborn.  But Anthony was a fighter and his soul,
with it's great capacity for living, was not so easy to destroy.  The
villain thought he was talking to a lifeless casting that next morning,
but Anthony lived on, his soul imprisoned in the plaster.  It only needed
someone who could LOVE.  That's the real magic.  The greatest force in
the universe.  In a hundred and thirty years you are only the third
person that Anthony has met with love strong enough to work the miracle.
When you cast me I was created through that love.  If you were to create
another mannequin for yourself now, it would owe it's existence to your
selfish desires and the magic would not work; but love grows and sustains
itself like fire.  You created me out of love for Anthony.  Tomorrow
night I will show you that the mannequin you created now has love enough
to create a new mannequin for you, and for Patrick.  He needs our love as
well.  I will make two new mannequins, then you must phone your brother."

I was dumbfounded. My indignation at the terrible wrong done to Anthony,
my amazement at all that Andrew had just told me, My love for both of
them and my sense of impending loss, all these feelings welled up inside
me and the tears flowed copiously.  Andrew might have looked like a nine
year old child, but that was no nine year old talking.  We kissed then.
His little three or four inch erection rose between us and I ground
myself into it. I knew that I was hard as well.  I knelt up between his
legs and he lifted the soles of his feet to my face.  Then as I licked
his lovely soles, I did something that I had not done before with any of
my boys.  I knew that Andrew wanted it because of the way he reached for
the KY in the bedside drawer whilst I sucked on his beautiful toes, and
because of the way he guided me in whilst I kissed the tip of each toe in
turn, and because of the way he moved in time to my movements as I licked
all over those perfect heels, and because of the way his breathing got
faster and stronger as my tongue tickled, those lovely high arches,
and because of the rapturous gasp as we both climaxed together (did I
tell you he had been wanking himself off?), and because of the way that
he lay happily panting as I finally collapsed down beside him - careful
to stay inside him until I had subsided.  We lay together until the
dreams came.  In the morning I should wake to find a plaster dummy beside
me.  In a day or two I must lose two of my closest friends, but because
of the magic - because of the miracle - it would all be all right.
And the name of this miracle ? Andrew had left me in no doubt about
that.  It is LOVE.