This story is a work of fiction and if any character resembles a real person it is entirely coincidental. There may well be pretty explicit material in here so read no further if it will offend. Jonah
I first saw him on a Wednesday. Wednesday was the day for our local antiques market, and - between the die-cast cars and yet another second hand bookstall - was a bric-a-brac stall. There, tumbled together in wierd juxtaposition, lay the visible remains of the lives and loves of strangers. An old wooden jack-plane rubbed shoulders with a brass coal scuttle, which in turn rubbed shoulders with a ship's figurehead, and that in turn rubbed shoulders (literally this time) with - a tailors dummy. It was not the softwood torso on a stand that dressmakers use. It was the sort you see in shop windows. It was a boy; about five feet tall with a turned up nose and blue eyes which paid tribute to his manufacturer's imagination; an Archie Andrews type of face surmounted by a crop of straightish yellow hair. Its flesh coloured alabaster limbs and body were naked though the outline of the briefest of briefs was printed where it would save the trouble of modelling genitalia. Its hands and feet were perfectly proportioned though only scored lines separated the fingers and toes. It was love at first sight. Well actually it wasn't but I thought it might be a laugh. I paid nine pounds for the mannequin and went away well satisfied.
I live on my own in a flat in darkest Chiswick. My last visitor read the gas meter three months ago. Even he had to force a passage through the mountain of junk which I don't seem to be able to get rid of. My little mannequin found a place in the living room. He fitted snugly between a pile of books and my collection of cardboard boxes.
Wednesday afternoon, as usual, was spent down the pool hall; then it was fish and chips for dinner, which I brought back with me. Two bottles of "Newkie Brown" accompanied the match on the telly so I fell asleep on the sofa before the end of the game (Spurs won 2-0 anyway). About half past one I woke, took a slash and staggered into the bedroom. I undressed and climbed into bed. I don't know how long I slept this time, but I woke to the wonderful sensation of small fingers gently jacking me off. Somebody had climbed into bed with me, but I was too tired to protest ( tired as a newt probably - I never could hold my liquor). The sensation of arousal was amazing and, before long, I was turning onto my back to present myself fully to .... To who? I turned to find myself face to face with a boy with the most fantastic coloured blue eyes, delicate lips, upturned nose and straight(ish) fair hair. "Who....?". I'm not usually monosylabic. He never paused in his work. "I'm Anthony", he said softly with more than a hint of east London, "you paid nine quid for me: Remember?". I was too far gone to be surprised by this, but if it were true he'd changed a lot. The plaster had given way to smooth, soft skin and the fingers and toes I could feel were real. So were the silk briefs which failed to contain his erection. It was a puzzlement. "Anthony!", I repeated, just for confirmation. "S'right" "And I just paid nine quid for you!". Only an eager nod this time, but those brilliant blue eyes stayed glued to my face. I shook my head. "No way. I bought a tailor's dummy. Things like that just don't happen," "Whereas", retorted my visitor, "a nine year old boy climbing into bed with you is an everyday occurrence." "Is that what you are?" ,I responded, " nine years old ? I could get arrested for this you know. Hey! What are you doing?" He leaned forward to kiss me on the lips. "Anything you like. You bought me, remember?" "So where's your parents kid. You must have parents". "Not any more; they died before you were born, and I'm not nine years old. I'm older than you are." That sounded like it was going to be a long story, and if I was going to have to listen to a long story I might as well enjoy it. I pulled him towards me and then face down on top of me. "Wait!", he commanded. He rolled off long enough to wriggle out of his briefs, then rolled back on again. A small but erect penis duelled with my own. As he began to rub himself off on me I settled back. "OK ! What are we talking about? Some kind of magic or something?" He nestled his head against my shoulder, gently kissed the nearest cheek, and began his tale.
"I was nine years old in 1867, we lived in Cheapside - my mam and me. I never knew my dad. My mam, she used to keep us fed by doing things she didn't like to talk about, but it meant I didn't see her a lot of the time. She brought men back to the little one room house we lived in, but that meant I had to be out of sight. Then she got sick and I had to get the money to keep us fed. There was a man used to sell us boys trays of matches to sell on the streets. I tried that for a time, but it didn't make more than a few pence each week and two of us couldn't live on that. Then Mam died and it would have been the workhouse for me but this man said would I like to earn more than I could earn by selling matches. Well I'd heard about what men like him do to young boys and - at first - I was too scared , but in the end I went anyway. He only played with me a bit, and I found I liked it. I went with a few more men. I hadn't anywhere to live any more, so if they wanted me for the night at least it was better than the streets. Anyway, I went with this one geezer wot lived in a big posh house around Holborn somewhere. Sometimes I had to go far afield with them, and I never minded. Well he took me into a big room and told me to strip. It was dark in there and I wasn't half scared. Especially when he put on a sort of cloak thing and started saying strange things. Well after he'd walked all round me for a bit, waving his arms about and saying words I didn't understand, he gives me some liquid in a bottle and tells me to drink it. I was too scared so I told him I couldn't, but he just says, 'drink it!' and as I looked at his eyes they started to glow sort of red like hot coals, and I knew that whatever he told me to do right then, I'd have to do it. I drank the whole lot without even tasting it, and then the room went all blurry and I blacked out. Next thing I knew it was daylight. I was still stood up and still naked but I was standing in front of a big window looking out at the street. I knew I was still naked 'cos this geezer was dressing me so I tries to look down. I couldn't. There was not a muscle on my body anywhere that I could move. I was so scared that I started to cry, but I couldn't even do that. The geezer was talking to me while he was dressing me. He said 'Welcome to eternal life. I know you can hear me, and see me. From now on you'll hear and see everything. You can't shut your eyes. You won't need sleep or food or anything. But you'll be the best mannequin in any window in town. You can't help it. I was that scared, but he was right. There was nothing I could do."
I was aghast. "But that's horrible!", I exclaimed, "Its just like being buried alive, except that it lasts longer." He nodded "I know. The only thing is I can go back to being real again at night, but it wears off when daylight comes, and it only works in private. In shop windows and things I have to spend all day and all night looking out of them. This is only the third time I've come alive since 1867. Please keep me. Don't ever sell me. "
I reached down the bed towards his legs and gently forced him to bend his knees so that I could take one of his perfectly -formed feet in each hand. As I played with his toes he carried on rubbing his penis against mine.
"You're lucky no one ever tried to break you up", I said, "a hundred and thirty five years old is a lot even for a mannequin, but then it would have put an end to your ordeal. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer that?" It was his turn to be horrified. "No! Please don't do that. I would be so scared. In any case I don't know that I can be destroyed like that. I would be conscious the whole time and afterwards it would be even worse." I had to admit he had a point. To be or not to be? In his case the question didn't arise. "So what now?" I asked finally. "Like I said - you bought me" , he replied, " I'm yours". I thought for a moment then rolled him off of me and pulled his feet toward me. He took the hint and swivelled round - diving under the duvet so that his little bare feet stuck out. Those toes were real all right. The gentlest of downward curls distinguished all but his big toes. His little toes turned in, but not in the forced-under way that tight footwear causes. His heels were small and perfect, leading naturally into high and beautiful arches. The pinkness of his vodal skin - the bottoms of his heels, the balls of each foot, the pads of his toes - spoke of softness, and the wrinkles in his arches did not contradict this. Holding both ankles I buried my face in the soles of his lovely feet. He had gone back to jacking me off and I began licking arond his soles. I felt his mouth on my cock and the most wonderful sensation seized me. Boy I was hard. I started taking his toes in my mouth. The slight salty taste made me even harder. I was not far off now . Anthony was alternately wanking me, and sucking on the head of my cock. Occassionally he licked my balls. I felt the build up in my balls and suddenly could not hold it no longer. Anthony drank down every drop, then licked my cock clean. I lay back exhausted and was ready for sleep. My new boy started massaging my feet then licking them. I drifted off thinking how good it felt to have my toes sucked.
I woke to the sound of the alarm clock at about seven. Quickly I silenced the alarm. Beside me lay my new mannequin; his plaster form rigid and hard. Of course I could have brought him to bed in my drunken state and then dreamed it all, but I didn't think so. I remembered that he could still hear and see me as I dressed for work. He probably could not wait for the night to get "real" again. ....what sort of existance was that? Yet if he could be real for me I could at least give him some sort of nocturnal life. He would pleasure me because it made him real. I would enjoy him because it was the least I could do after all he had been through. I tucked him in as I finished dressing. "Don't worry Anthony", I said to the dummy, "it will soon be tonight - and you're going to enjoy tonight ...."