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Mannequin. by davistrell@aol.com
I was standing by the store window, watching a sales-assistant disrobe a male mannequin.
It was comic, in a Charlie Chaplin way, this sexy mime going on before me. The boy and the humanoid look-alike made an odd couple. The assistant was real, but not my type, but the mannequin aroused my curiosity.
It had no penis of course, but they had molded a crease between its buttocks. It looked like a man, but was just a real size Ken-doll. No hair and no life in the eyes. De-nippled, with square flat pectorals, detailed enough,to know the master mold was made by a gay, that the clothes he would be forced to wear, would conform to a suburban idea of fashion sense. But nude it was odd to see this figure, stand before me with arms forward in a supplicating gesture. If he'd been given tearducts, he probably would have cried.
Suddenly he appeared to move, and look directly at me. It took me a moment to realize what had occurred. A man had stood beside me, in front of the store window, and cast a reflection in the glass and had superimposed his face over the store-dummy.
I turned to look at him. He looked a little like myself, if I were taller, more well-built, and had different color hair and a different set of facial features.
"Do you know the time?" I said, looking at my watch. I couldn't have done anything dumber. But maybe he thought it was cute.
I walked past him, and looked back. He looked back too. I slowed down and feigned interest in the store's display again. We drifted back to one another and made...contact.
His eyes queried to ascertain my interest. I messaged back:
"Let's pursue this further."
"Would you like to go for a coffee?" he asked, politely.
"I'd rather visit your place, if it's not far away." I replied, impudently, full of self-confidence. He laughed, clutched my butt with a smack, held it there and said:
"Sure, why not? Follow me."
It was a typical pigeon style pick-up, as we lowered heads, glanced at each other peckers, looked up, around and walked off up the block. Me, slightly behind, so I could watch his butt-wave. Small, square, undulating less than a woman's, as alternate legs took the weight as he walked on.
I sometimes think that flirtation signals would be more fun if man had lost the power of speech and become a little more stupid. I imagined what it would be like, as we walked along, how this would've happened if man retained his pre-evolved mating patterns.
I would raise my arms above my head like a peacock, thump on my chest like a gorilla and strut my dick forward like a turkey, and bellow like a rhino. He would have his hands behind his back, resting above his butt, waggling them together like tail feathers, his tongue flicking from his mouth like a cobra, making kangaroo leaps in circles around me, part of the ritual and part of the dance.
We hurried back to his apartment in the up-scale part of town.
We were holding hands by now, he'd let me intertwine his fingers between his, as we went up the stairway and he let us in.
"Make yourself at home."
I did and relaxed and looked around the room and found a print of Bosch's Earthly delights next to the Morrisey poster.He had plenty of mirrors, so I knew he was vain.
He came up behind me and put his hands around my waist and kissed me on the neck.His hands undid my shirt and cupped my nipples, teasing and stroking, as I continued grinding my ass on his hardon. He undid the belt, and slipped his hand down my belly, into my pants and found an aroused prick, ready for sex.
"The sofa or the bed? You wanna watch TV?"
"Oh, the bed, yes, the bed."
We stripped slowly, matching articles of clothing, wondering who would be the first to be naked. OK, it was me.
"You like the top bunk or the bottom?" I left it up to him to decide.
We sucked each others cocks while he made up his mind.
"We'll do it both ways, but I get to start."
We were young and it was clumsy, give him time, he'll getter better, I thought, as he tried to fuck my young butt. In a couple of years when we hit twenty, we'll look back at this and laugh, but there were tears in the bedroom that dark September night.
I woke up in the morning, and found the bed, empty by my side. He stood fully dressed at the end of the bed.
"Get dressed- you're leaving. This has only been a one night stand, you understand. I never want to see you again." he said.
The sex hadn't been good and he blamed me.
I was shattered, I couldn't believe it. He was perfect for me but he pushed me out. I got angry, and so on the way home I shattered the window display, grabbed the man-mannequin and took him home. I stood him up by the bed and he looked as if he belonged. I still go for sex in bars and dance clubs;
but now I go home for love.