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.