Man to Mannequin

by Tanya Jane Richards

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© Copyright 2014 - Tanya Jane Richards - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; M/m; bodymod; surgery; encase; plastic; mannequin; shipped; store; display; lingerie; stuck; cons; X


I gazed with longing at the slim figure that was arrayed in the most up-to-date, fashionable clothes, with the lovely hair that was so perfectly trimmed and cut, and the perfect face with it's lovely pursed lips and wide open, innocent eyes. I turned my gaze away from the mannequin in the shop window and looked at my girlfriend who was in so many ways just as lovely, just as desirable, as the object in the window. More so in fact, for she was warm, living flesh, and the dummy was just cold, hard plastic. Unlike me Julia was simply interested in the fashions that the dummies disported. She looked straight past the dummies that were dressed in them, and of course she knew nothing of my most secret desires.

I looked back at the favourite of my mannequins and once more the full force of my desire, ambitions and plans hit me with sensations of arousal and of dread combined. It thrilled me to know that soon I would be imprisoned in such a thing, encased forever in unyielding plastic, functioning as nothing more than a display item for lovely and silly headed young girls to pick out their clothes. I was also terrified of the prospect, of the years I would have to spend motionless and restrained.

It was true that I had led Julia on. We were soon to be married, or so she thought. However I knew that for my plan to work at its best with me to endure the maximum amount of agony and humiliation in the years I was to spend as a dummy, I would have to know at the same time what I had thrown away - the chance to love and spend my life with a gorgeous, pretty woman.

My plans were in fact even better and more elaborate than that. They would, if it all came right, mean that as a dummy I would see Julia practically every day and be the object of her attention regularly. She would not know it was me, of course, in my plasticized, feminised form. She would simply look past me at the clothes I was displaying, with some new and young lover on her arm, as I stared back at her, motionless and helpless but far from lifeless - experiencing all the yearning, jealousy and frustration that would be the hell I was so much looking forwards to.

Julia was exquisitely pretty, there was no denying it. I looked at her again, at her chestnut coloured hair that cascaded down onto the shoulders of her fawn jacket. I looked downwards and caught a glimpse of the pretty flowery skirt that I knew covered black lace stocking tops and thong black knickers.

Julia was a goer, and I was lucky to have her, so I was told. She was also affectionate, and as we stood there she kissed me on the cheek and said, "Come on, it's time for coffee."

For a while the real world returned and my plans slipped out of my mind as the hustle and bustle of the shopping arcade, the banal function of buying coffees as she found a table, of making small talk as we sipped and smoked, all took over.

I could not put my plans out of my mind for long, though. That evening I had another meeting with the doctor who was to help me make it all come true. He had been struck off several years ago for using his surgical skills in conjunction with his sadomasochistic sexual practices and he wasn't the kind of man you put yourself in the hands of unless you were truly, deadly serious you wanted things done to you. He was even willing to waive a fee, he was so keen to do to me the things that I asked, but I was determined he would take some money as it gave me a greater sense of security that things would be done the way I wanted. He was a clever man and technologically inventive.

The scheme was really quite simple. My living flesh would be encased in cold liquid plastic that would be moulded into the shape of a shop window dummy as it set. That wasn't the whole of it, however. Of course, I had to survive like this and go on living in this state if my plans were to work. I had to breathe, I had to eat - or ingest nutrients. I had to take on liquids, or else I would die before I had had my 'fun'.

Of course, to actually fit into the dummy certain extreme modifications would have to be made. For a start my cranium was too large to have a female dummy's head moulded around it, so it would be necessary to grind down the skull and rearrange certain features. My teeth would be removed, my jaw and nose broken and some of the bone removed, and much of the flesh. My scalp would go, as would my ears. The need to remove all hair follicles was necessitated by the fact that I would not wish to grow hair whilst encased in the plastic of the dummy.

It was quickly decided between the doctor and myself that my feet were simply too big to have the feet of a show room dummy moulded around them, so they would be cut off at the ankles. My hands, he assured me, could be sculpted and thinned so as to provide the basic mould for the fine, thin, feminine shop room dummy hands that I desired. This would require the removal of flesh and some delicate sculpting of bone, but would be worth it for the finished effect, I was sure. I would have to have all my finger nails pulled out to prevent them from growing once I was encased in the plastic.

My chest would also have to undergo some contraction to fit into the slim figure of a dummy. It would be quite a lot actually, necessitating the shortening of the ribs and the loss of a considerable amount of lung capacity. As I would never, ever have to do anything that remotely approached physical activity again this was quite alright, of course. As a man I was very active and played more than my fair share of sports - football, cricket, tennis, squash. What I was going to undergo was, I knew very well, a complete waste of a healthy and virile male body, but I felt the most extreme compulsion to see it through to the bitter end.

The most important thing was how I was going to survive inside my imprisoning suit. The doctor had decided that I would breathe through my nose and mouth with an aperture left in the nose and mouth of the face mask that my own face was to be encased in. Eating was quite another matter but he came up with an ingenious solution. He devised some nutrition packs, something like an intravenous drip which would feed into my system and keep me alive for many years, particularly as I would not be active at all - I would basically be like a plant.

To fit these inside me most of my stomach would be removed so that there would be plenty of capacity and a large number of these could be fitted in. Water was a problem. I would need to be kept provided with fluid but again the doctor worked out a mini-recycling plant that enabled me to recycle the water from my bladder. This would pass through the dry nutrition packs at the same time. To provide extra water he also devised an intake which would extract some moisture from the air and feed it to what was left of my stomach. This would fit neatly into my rectum so that the intake end would protrude ever so slightly between my plasticized buttocks and be held in place by the mouldings.

The other end fed a tube which would feed the liquid up my colon and through to my stomach that way. It was a perfect solution as my anus would no longer be used for shedding solid waste. The device was chunky, about eight inches long and six inches in diameter and would vibrate gently for as long as it worked. I was satisfied to think that it would provide a comforting sensation during the long, lonely and agonising hours during which I was alone and held forcibly immobile.

Then there was the matter of my eyes. I would be able to smell and hear and the insides of my nose and ears would still be intact, but I also wished to be able to see. The doctor devised some transparent covers for my eyes that looked like the eyes of dummies but which also disguised the fact that my own eyes lay behind them and would be moving, taking things in. These transparent covers - not contacts - would contain fluid to keep my eyes moist as I would no longer be able to blink or close my eyes. They would be replenished from my tear ducts. They were also connected to my fluid reprocessing system to enable tears to be recycled. This was most necessary as I was convinced that in the years that lay ahead I would be doing a lot of crying. Not audibly, as my larynx was going to be removed.

One thing that would not be altered in any way would be my genitals. They would remain as they were but constrained, in fact crushed, inside the hard plastic that would form a smooth, feminine pseudo-pudendum such as shop dummies have. I knew from long experience of chastity belts and other restraining devices just how satisfying the mental discipline that these can enforce. The slightest physical arousal would be agonising. But the belts and cock-cages I was used to had had the fault that they were removable, or that someone I trusted had the key.

Now, in my plastic prison my cock would be trapped forever, never to be released, whilst I myself stood erect, garbed in pretty clothes and with plenty of attractive women right before my eyes - a recipe for erections and resulting agony without intense mental discipline. Such was the future I had planned for myself. It was to be soon now, and as I left the doctor's surgery that night and stepped into the cold night air mixed feelings of fear and excitement gripped me.

That night I made love to Julia with an enthusiasm I had never known before. The idea of becoming the dummy was on my mind all the time as my penis moved in and out of her vagina and she gasped and wailed with the ecstasy of it. She adored my manliness, I knew. She had sucked my cock willingly, hungrily. She had kissed my inner thighs, pulled my pubic hair with her lips and teeth. She had giggled as I licked her cunt. All of these things would be lost to me forever and the thought of that made me ejaculate hard and fast inside her. She was pleased, and I was delighted too.

Then another shopping trip came around and we found ourselves in front of the window again. This time the event was much closer. In fact the doctor and I had arranged the start of it for that very evening.

As Julia made her choices from the clothing racks I went over my plan once more. Tonight I would disappear - permanently - from the lives of all who knew and loved me, never to be seen again. I had arranged a number of false trails that led to dead ends. I would simply be like the many people who go missing every year, never to be found. But I would be right under their noses if they only knew where to look - or what to look.

The biggest problem to get over had been how to get myself accepted into the department store. In the end it was simply a matter of a slight forgery and the courage to take the chance and have myself sent to the women's department at the store with some forged documentation. After all, firms contest bills, not deliveries, and I was to arrive with a letter from head office saying that they were sending me down and instructing staff to make use of me in a new display. No one would ever question it, I felt sure.

So it was all set. That night I made love to Julia for the very last time - the very last time I would ever make love to any woman, or anyone ever again, and I had an orgasm that practically rocked the whole city. Then as she slept I sneaked out, went to the doctor's surgery and started to undress. I put on a surgical gown and lay on the bed and soon the anaesthetic was taking its effect....

For weeks I experienced phases of consciousness followed by lapses back into oblivion as the doctor did the work I have already described. At times I was convinced that his sadistic instincts got the better of him and that he allowed me to experience more pain than was necessary, but I was powerless to do anything about it.

The plan I have outlined was implemented. My feet were amputated at the ankles and in their place were substituted the structures that would form the basis for the pretty, life sized dolls feet that would soon be mine. My rib cage was rebuilt and masses of lung tissue removed and discarded. My skull was ground down to permit the smallest possible of dummies' heads to be moulded around it. Similar grinding work was carried out on my fingers. Last of the major operations was the removal of my stomach, to be replaced by the nutrition packs. Before this was carried out the doctor allowed me to revive so that I could excrete for one last time into a bedpan. I then had my colon cleaned out by suction, ready for the insertion of my moisture intake device.

The show room dummy that I was to become was to have certain features that would in fact set me apart from other dummies. I had worked on this with the doctor and had insisted on certain basic specifications. I had noted that many dummies came mounted on a stand to which their feet were permanently attached. I didn't want this as I wished the window dresser who clothed me to have the option of garbing me in stockings or tights and also shoes.

The doctor had worked out a design for my new pretty, petite feet that would enable me to stay upright, when positioned, mounted on these alone. They also contained enough weight to stop me from being toppled over.

The cleverest thing about me as a shop window dummy was to be my flexibility. My joints were to be encased in stretchy plastic that would enable me to be placed in any number of positions by the dressers. They would be able to swivel my head by up to 45 degrees in either direction. I would not be able to move by myself as my muscles would be constrained and neutralised. In fact I wouldn't even be able to twitch any part of the new me, let alone move a centimetre. Due to my flexibility I would in fact be a more useful item than many of the hard plastic dummies that are provided to shops, capable of being utilised in a greater variety of displays.

I had confidence that I would be able to fulfil my new role in life as static window fitting, modelling the latest ladies fashions, with considerable success.

The day came for the final moulding. The doctor said that I had to be fully conscious for this but I still wonder if that wasn't just another example of his sadistic tendencies. My torso and limbs were wrapped in the strong gauze that was to enmesh with the initial hard plastic coating which would form a shell around me, keep me restrained and result in the basic feminine shape of the dummy.

It was to be highly constrictive, and only as the gauze was wrapped around my body by the doctor and two of his most eager assistants - a man and a pretty young woman whom he had recruited over the internet through a BDSM site - did I realise how restrictive it really was going to be.

The last pieces to be added were the wrappings for my head and my genitals. Before the last of these the moisture device had to be placed inside my anus and secured. It was the young woman who thrust it up there and I am sure she meant to cause me unnecessary pain. It was coated in glue to hold it permanently in place. A short tube that would be surrounded by the plastic ensured that it would be able to draw air from the outside. I would have cried out in pain as the gauze was twisted tight around my groin, but for the fact that my larynx was already in the form of surgical waste heading for a dump somewhere.

After this my new face was placed on the front of my head and strapped on, again very tightly, and the doctor said that I was ready. As had been previously explained to me, the basic resin was spread over like treacle and then smoothed down before the encasing mouldings were added. These were screwed on tightly around my head, torso and what remained of my limbs. I was then allowed to set for many hours.

After this came the immersion in the latex that would form the flexible skin that would give me an attractive look and would cover my flexible joints. I was to be immersed in this for a full five minutes and would have to hold my breath for that time. I am convinced that that length of time wasn't really necessary, and that it was a lot longer than five minutes that I was in there.

After the immersion in the latex I was stood upright and allowed to harden off once more. I was now held quite immobile and would be forevermore. After I had hardened the doctor and his assistants set to work on the final details. My transparent eye covers were given a bright blue tint and large eye lashes added to my unnaturally large lids. The coarse dummy's hair that I was to sport was threaded into my head. My finger and toenails were painted. Finally I was ready and the doctor brought out a full length mirror and placed it in front of me.

My heart leapt and then pounded at what I saw staring back at me. It was a beautiful - a most beautiful - life-sized doll. She had staring, wide open blue eyes, glassy and too large to be natural. Her eyelids were heavy but looked right for the eyes and sported coarse but appropriate long lashes. The most striking thing was the hair, which was a short and severe blonde bob of obviously synthetic hair. Her lips were painted red and she had sculpted cheeks that were coloured a little with red paint, affecting rouge.

Her basic colour was an off-pink. She showed off red toenails and fingernails. I felt at once a stirring in my groin at the very sight of the new me - me, the object that was a window shop dummy. But I quickly put a stop to the swelling of my encased penis when the pain reminded me that an erection was now forbidden me forever.

If I could have wanked at that moment I would have wanked and come as never, ever before. But I could not.

The doctor said, jokingly, "How is that for you sir?"

As if I was at the men's barbers. A static - but not lifeless - doll, the doll that was me, remained silent and speechless before him. I would have thanked him, if I were able, but as I was now I could not even make one tiny sign of gratitude. The doctor was satisfied with his work, however, and left his two assistants to clear up. It was then that I was the victim of a piece of truly brutal cruelty. This pair had arranged to bring with them a television, a VCR and some videos of the very sort of thing that they knew would turn me on most.

They rigged it up right in front of me and left me to watch hour upon hour of shemales and transvestites getting humped, sucking cocks, dressing up in pantihose and indulging in the most erotic of pleasures. Unable to close my eyes, it was my very first testing experience of the true hell that was to be my life from now on as I struggled and concentrated in those hours to keep my penis from achieving the erection that I knew would bring incredible agony.

After a few hours sleep, the doctor returned to help with the final phase. I was placed into a large cardboard packing tube that was then filled with polystyrene packaging material. A lid was then fastened onto it. I would have enough air to breath for a few days - until I was unpacked, hopefully. Along with me went the accompanying letter on a forged letterhead, allegedly from the firm's head office and saying that I was a new design of dummy that was being tried out. It referred to my elastic qualities and used this to explain away my unusual weight (I was slightly heavy for a shop dummy).

I also came complete with an instruction sheet explaining this and showing some of the poses I could be placed in. I was then taken to a parcel centre near to the store's head office (to make it look right) and sent on to the very store where I had gazed into the window all those weeks ago with my beloved Julia. The department store where she and so many of the other people I had known in my former life regularly shopped. I would be seeing them all again soon, I hoped, and they would see me. But they would never recognise me now, and I would never be able to make myself known to them.

The transportation was rough and I was manhandled and mishandled on several occasions. When I finally arrived I was unpacked in the store's basement by a couple of male shop fitters who took a delight in me, spinning me around and placing me in sexual positions as they groped and fondled me. It was a while before I was handed over to the female assistants who did the window dressing. As planned, it seemed the letter was given full credence and I was placed in the main display window as it instructed.

The summer season was coming to an end so my very first assignment was to model some summer sales clothes - a short red and black dress in a flower pattern with some sandals were placed upon me - with welcomed gentleness, I should say. I took pride of place in the window display.

My first day was a proud one indeed. Plenty of people passed by without looking at all, but others, particularly young women, stopped and stared into the window. I knew that it was the clothes they were actually looking at, of course, and that really they didn't even notice me; but the attention was flattering nonetheless.

Just as flattering was the attention from the few men who quickly and furtively gave me admiring glances as they passed, hoping not to be noticed. I got the impression I was quite a dish, for a dummy.

For hours I stood there, helplessly still, wondering what I looked like. Then, as the sun finally went down I discovered an immense piece of good fortune. The window was close to a bright street lamp which illuminated the window after dark. Not only this, but it shone at such an angle that it caused a reflection in the plate glass right in front of me. I could see myself as a reflection! I looked beautiful in my skimpy red and black dress and high-heeled black sandals, No wonder the passing males had been admiring me.

But the person I most wanted to look into the window and see me was Julia, of course. My heart pounded and longed for her even on that first night, and tears began to well as I thought what I had done and how I would never lie with her again, and how my only chance of ever seeing her again was the possibility that she may look into the window every so often. It was a bitter thought, and it was an anguish which I relished that night as the tears flowed and were slowly recycled.

It was to be months before I was to see Julia again. I suppose that the suddenness of my unexplained disappearance must have been a shock to her. Perhaps she took a holiday to get over me? Perhaps the few times that I saw her again were only visits and she had in fact moved away. I would never know and would never able to find out. It was sad, intensely sad, but then I relished sadness.

The seasons changed, and soon autumn came and I found myself garbed in autumn fashions. A light brown miniskirt covered ribbed black tights which disappeared into my ankle-length boots. A black leather jacket and a fawn scarf complimented this attractive ensemble. As the tights were put on me I was turned upside down by the assistant, who handled me quite roughly this time. The tights were stretched over my fake toes and down my ankles and then over my plasticized bottom.

At this point I am convinced that the assistant became aware of the apparatus in my rectum because I felt a slight touch, as if a long fingernail had been poked into the tube which supplied my moisture intake. It was only momentary, however. She must just have wondered what it was for and them dismissed it and got on with her duties. It was a slightly worrying moment though, as I didn't want to be investigated too closely.

A few people that I knew passed by the window that autumn, but there was still no sign of Julia. The pain and the longing for her grew in intensity, but of course I could only stand there, disporting the autumn fashion statement I was wearing, with my moisture device buzzing and vibrating inside my anus.

Christmas approached - the frilly season, I read of it being called once in a woman's fashion feature - the season when shops try to tempt boyfriends and husbands into buying expensive lingerie for their beloved. Such was to be my new role as the window was changed again.

This time my flexibility was used properly. My knees were bent so that I was kneeling down, my legs already having been encased in sheer black stockings with lacy welts. I was wearing a red suspender belt, thong back panties and a matching red bra. My head was turned the full 45 degrees and placed at a cheeky, jaunty angle. I was kneeling beside one of the other dummies who was wearing similar erotic underwear. This certainly attracted the attention of a lot of passers- by and I found myself - or perhaps my underwear - to be the subject of attention from men and women alike, of all ages.

Two of these people were Richard and Jessica. Richard was an ex-squash partner and Jessica an ex-lover whom I had introduced to Richard. It seemed they were going out together now. When I became aware of them, gazing into the window, they were certainly holding hands. I didn't really know who I was more jealous of, him or her.

She had been a good lover but we had disagreed over some things and our relationship had cooled. Richard was a stud, six foot tall, muscular, with a beautiful penis that I used to admire secretly in communal showers when we had finished our games. He had certainly pushed the buttons in respect of my gay desires. Now here he was, admiring me in my thong-back knickers as he held my ex-girlfriend's hand.

She looked a lot prettier than the last time I had seen her. She was done up against the winter cold in trousers and a jacket, her face flushed and pretty with her blonde hair scrunched back into a pony tail. I remembered the time that we had gone for a picnic in the countryside and we had ended up having sex on the warm bonnet of the car in a sunny lane. It had felt good then, as good as it had ever felt, as my hard male ardour had thrust into her soft feminine flesh and she had reacted with discreet, feminine pants and gasps that had grown louder until discretion had been thrown aside and she had cried out for me to "give - give it to me - now! FUCK ME!"

He was going to do that tonight, I knew, whilst I was stuck here in this window, trying all night to stop my penis from expanding as I thought about the two of them in bed together. I wanted her now, I wanted both of them and the longing hit me like a torrent such that I thought I was going to explode in my totally restricting plastic shell.

They walked away from the window and left me to my static hell, and to the dream I would never be able to fulfil. I could not scream. I could not even emit a single, plaintive sob to indicate my wretched condition, imprisoned in my dainty case; I could do nothing but remain perfectly still and wear the fashions that rarely reflected my moods.

That Spring I found myself upturned again to have my legs and bottom encased in a sheer brown pantyhose. I was standing up again and this time found my waist sporting a pretty check mini-skirt in light colours with a pretty pale blue blouse above. It looked good, I had to admit. As well as me there were two other dummies in the window. In the long - very long - lonely hours I had come to think of them as Lisa and Samantha.

Samantha had stunning chestnut brown hair cascading over her shoulders and bright blue eyes. For the spring season she found herself in a pale fawn trouser-suit with a pink blouse beneath. Lisa sported a black bob and had brown eyes. This season she was in darker colours: a black jacket over a pink blouse with a brown mini skirt and fawn tights.

We both were wearing pretty ankle boots with stiletto heels, but in different styles. Samantha was in court shoes - a more business look with her pant-suit. I had come to think of Lisa and Samantha as my work colleagues, which indeed they were.

In those long hours in the window I did at times try to detect signs of life in both of them. Could it be, I thought, that someone else had experienced the compulsion to have this done to them as well? Could I be sharing my display case with another such as I, who had trod the same road, and that Lisa or Samantha had a living man imprisoned inside their feminine forms?

I would never know, but the very thought thrilled me and forced me once more to concentrate on keeping my penis from becoming erect.

It was that Spring that I was to see Julia for the first time in my new role. At first, I am sorry to say, I didn't notice her. My position in the window did not allow me to see from corner to corner of the window. As soon as I noticed her my heart leapt and bounded so that I thought it would crack and break open my plastic chest and expose me. This was what I had entombed myself for - so that my delightful, pretty, ex-girlfriend could gaze upon me as I modelled clothes for her in the shop window - she being unaware it was me, her ex-boyfriend, feminised, humiliated, turned into an object. A display thing for the very clothes she would desire to wear by seeing them upon me.

She had changed her hair. It was shorter now and not straight but permed, and her clothing style had changed. She didn't spend long looking in the window, but it was long enough to intensify my sense of pain and frustration to an absolute peak. When she was gone I knew a night of despair lay ahead of me - a night of tears as I contemplated all that I had thrown away and the humiliation of my current position. I knew that I was to feel the need to scream more strongly and more fiercely than ever before.

The next time I saw Julia it was worst. This time she was with a man. It was two or three weeks later - I easily lost track of time now. I and the other two girls were still sporting the same Spring fashions, and to my very great excitement Julia was also clad in similar garb! Yes!

She must have liked the look of my ankle boots as she was now sporting a pair very similar, and a design of skirt which I had observed to be in fashion during the long hours of watching women on the street through the window. She was also wearing a blouse similar to the one that I was wearing! I supposed she was wearing tights - nude. If so she must have liked the look of me in the window on the previous occasion and the very fact that she sported clothes similar to mine caused me very great excitement.

It was only after I had observed the clothes that she was wearing that I realised she was with a man. He was about six inches taller than her - taller than I had been - and was clearly very fond of her, and she of him.

So she had got over me, in less than a year, and found herself a new man. The pain went through me like a spear aimed for my heart and striking in the very centre. It was an incredible pain and one which of course I could not express. I had to watch them as they ogled me and the other two girls through the plate glass, as they held hands and chatted excitedly to each other. Then they passed on, at Julia's instigation it seemed to me, doubtless to get a cup of coffee where she and I had once gone.

The pain was overwhelming at that moment. For the rest of the day I tried to distract myself by watching the people on the street - the women who passed in their pretty Spring fashions, the men in their dull drab, the children who ran along the street and occasionally stared and mocked the dummies in the window. It was all I could do to distract myself from the thoughts of Julia and her new man. Who was he? What did he do? What was his name? I would never know, of course. No one would bother to come and tell a shop window dummy such things.

It had been my hope that I would see Julia continuously throughout the years, but in fact I was only ever to see her thrice more. The next time she was on her own, bustling down the street quickly in an autumn gale. Her hair was windswept and her legs clad in thick black tights. The previous summer had brought pretty flower dresses to the window for me and the girls to sport, but by this time we were in our autumn garb - back to thick tights and cardigans with boots and sturdy shoes. I watched Julia heading away down the street and thought how wonderful she looked.

The next time I saw her she was with him again. It must have been a Saturday, judging by the crowds. It was the next summer and I was sporting a pretty blouse with a long flower skirt and open toe sandals. She and her new man were looking in at me once more, not knowing who it was they were looking at. Julia looked relaxed and cool in jeans and a sweatshirt. Even dressed down she looked good, and I desired her more than ever. But then I did not see her again for many years. How long was it? I could not tell. The fashions came and went as the seasons changed and I was dressed and redressed.

I was sporting underwear, then dresses, then skirts and tops with matching shoes. My life was a transvestite's paradise and I enjoyed every aspect of the fact that I was on display in front of the world in such lovely clothes. But as for the rest, I was desperately sad and had begun to regret my irreversible decision to have such a thing done to me. It was only the street and my interest in it that kept my spirits up. Each day it brought fresh fascinations - a lovely woman walking down it, her hips swaying. A handsome man who admired me through the window and who obviously wished for a moment that I was a real woman who would fall into his arms.

Then there were the regular characters and things that I came to recognise: the usual postman on his round, the local beat officers - the dust-cart that came every Monday, devouring the rubbish in the crushing jaws as the dustmen emptied into it the large bins that they wheeled out from behind the shops, and which left in its wake a reassuring air of cleanliness.

One character I came to like was an old tramp who had made his home in the doorway of vacant premises across the street. He drank heavily and often vomited on the pavement but he seemed to get on well enough with the other regulars in the street. He seemed to form a relationship with us three girls - he would come across the street late at night when very drunk and speak to us - words like: "Hello my beauties. It's your uncle Charlie again! I could give you a tickle - could 'ave done even better when I was younger. I was a young scamp! I was in the army! I saw some girls - and had them too."

He told us all about himself, his adventures and what he had been up to. Usually he repeated himself from one night to the next but occasionally something new entered the patter. I found it rather flattering, sometimes. But on other occasions I came to reflect how low I had sunk, when the only thing I could manage approaching a lover was such a degraded creature.

One day, early in the morning, there was a disturbance in the doorway where he had made his home. A woman from a shop next door had called the police on her mobile phone, it seemed, and soon the police were on the scene. The police were followed by an ambulance and "Uncle Charlie" was loaded into it, completely covered over with a blanket. I never saw him again.

It was not long after that that the most terrible thing of all occurred. I had long been worried by the yobs who tipped out of the nightclub down the street in the early hours of the morning. They would shout and yell and fool around in the street - I often feared that they would turn their attention on us. One night they did.

Lisa, Samantha and I were quite peacefully on display in our little window. It was summer and I found myself in casual shorts, a t-shirt and a cardigan draped around my shoulders - appropriate for a chill summer's evening. Lisa wore a sarong with a nice blouse while Samantha was in a beautiful summer dress. We looked very lovely, all three of us in our window, until they came.

They came yelling and shouting down the street, kicking rubbish along in front of them, encouraged by the screams and shouts of the young girls who accompanied them. The first window that they broke was of another shop down the street. For some reason there was no alarm - or it did not activate. The next window they broke was ours. The alarm did start ringing this time but they carried on quite regardless. I suppose it was bravado - in front of their girlfriends.

They climbed through the broken window and turned first on poor Lisa. They dragged her out onto the street and started to kick her like a football whilst the girls shouted "Kick her! Kick the bitch! Kick her head in!"

Quickly Lisa's clothes were ruined. I was terrified. I would say that I was petrified but that had already happened a long time ago. I could only wait for my turn and it came. I was next. One of the boys got hold of me and dragged me out. He danced me around in the street before throwing me down and starting to kick me. The other boys joined in and I could feel the blows to my head through my thinned skull. Again the shout came, "Kick the bitch! - Kick her f****ing head in," and all I could do was lie there and take it.

It seemed a very long time before the police siren sounded and the gang ran off. The blue lights flashed in my eyes as I lay in the middle of the road quite helpless. It was ages before a constable took the trouble to rescue me from the road, during which several cars swerved around me and I really thought I would be run over as well as beaten up. I was returned to the broken window which by dawn was being boarded up under the store manager's supervision.

That day I was inspected for damage and was found to have got off quite lightly, in terms of my cosmetic appearance. Inside I was badly bruised, I knew, and also badly shaken. Then more than ever I would have liked to have gone home, or have quiet pint in a pub. All lost to me now...

Lisa hadn't got off so lightly. The kicking the gang had given her had smashed her face and she was to be scrapped, I overheard. A fate that awaited me someday, I thought to myself solemnly. Although I was not badly damaged I was clearly not considered to be in good enough condition to be returned to the prestige display point. Instead I was taken downstairs and was re-sprayed silver with a car aerosol - after some filling work had been done on a couple of dents.

I was then moved to the lingerie department to begin a slightly different role modelling underwear. In fact I was glad of the change. After my experience with the gang I did not want the prime position any longer. The role of queen of the mannequins in the front window was one I was happy to leave to other girls. I was content with my lot in the women's underwear department.

I wasn't deprived of a view of myself either, as there were several mirrors for the ladies to pose in front of and I invariably found myself near one of them and able to view myself, scantily clad as I always was in my lovely undies. I had a fine time. I found myself permanently semi-naked - clad only in lacy bras, knickers, suspender belts - all the lovely under-things women get to wear. The choicest stockings were rolled up my legs by pretty fresh faced female assistants.

Again, it was a transvestite's heaven, spoiled only by the restrictions placed on my private member. It was in the lingerie department that I saw Julia for the very last time. It must have been several years after I was moved there, and many years since I had seen her last. I was clad in a camisole with suspenders that held up red fishnet stockings, my feet plunged into pretty black sandals. There I stood, between the lingerie and the hosiery when Julia came into view, followed by a young boy and then him - the lover who had replaced me.

"What's all this, mummy?" the young boy asked Julia.

"This is a place where mummies buy their pants," Julia explained to the boy.

"Come on son, this isn't the place for us men," the father said, and my replacement took the boy by the hand and led him away whilst Julia and I remained.

I had a chance to gaze at her for a long time then and was amazed at how lovely she looked, despite having given birth at least once in her life. How I wanted to stretch out my hand and run it through her lovely long hair, to caress her lovely body, to have her as I had once had her...

I would never now do any of those things, not to any woman. I had chosen this instead. It was my lot, and I had to live with it. I was able to see that Julia bought a bra, and then she walked out of my life forever.

Why I saw her so seldom, and never saw her again, I often wondered in the so very long, lonely hours that were left to me. Had she moved away and these were just return visits? Had I hurt her so much she could only bear to return occasionally? I would never know. I never did get to know what became of her, or of her son, or of the man who had replaced me in her life.

It was a long, long time that I stood sentinel in the lingerie department. Ten years? Twenty? There were many sobs that went unuttered and unheard during that time.

Many frustrating nights when I wished - oh how I wished - I had never made the fatal decision to have this done to me. But then one day I found that my torment was soon to be over. The shop has seen better days, there is now doubt. I have survived two refits but I am not to survive a third. No, I have been cast out into a rubbish bin in the alley around the back. The yobs who throng the streets have ignored me the last few nights, hidden as I am down this alley, and concealed beneath the other rubbish. But today is Monday and the dust cart, with its crushing jaws that I know will end my life forever, is due.

Was it worth it? Was my conversion to this worth giving up manhood - a human life - for?

I wish that I could sob, and I wish that my case would break open and that I would be allowed to masturbate one last time. I wish I had never had this done to me at all...


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