Hanahs Mannikin Adventure

We could make a lot of money, mom. Money, you can use to retire that credit card debt, and Cassie, and I can use the rest for college."

"I don't know, dear. It seems a bit risky. What if they can't undo the process?"

"That won't be a problem, Mom. The mannikin process has been used and reversed thousands of times now. Imagine, being dressed in pretty clothes for a week. Designers like living manikins because the clothes hang from a real person rather than an idealized figure that reflects no one's reality. You stand there and dream and doze all day."

"Sounds boring!"

"Well, it is not the most scintillating way to make a living, but they let you select audiobooks that you can listen to, making the time pass quicker. There is a bonus as well. You can catch up on your reading!"

"Lavinia, I can see why they would want you and Cassie, but I'm an old bat."

"Not at all, mom! Teddy described you as a quote first-class MILF. The stores that hire living manikins sell to older women as well. Think about it. Even though we can't often purchase them, for a few days, at least we can be clad in Dior, Versace, and Chanel! Look at the going rate!"

The attractive blonde college student handed a computer printout to her perhaps even more attractive forty-year-old, strawberry-blonde mother.

"They pay THAT much!"

"Can you think of an easier way to make that much money?"

"Not without lying on my back!"

"MOM, TMI!"

The two women laughed.

"So you will do it, Mom?"

"Sure! Daughter, I'm up for any adventure, and with you along, there is nothing to fear. Safety in numbers."

**

A few days later Hanna and her daughters were in an office done up as a medical lab listening to a smartly dressed, clearly intelligent woman tell them about the process.

"Becoming a living mannikin involves the injection of a substance that works as a biological stiffener. It is completely harmless, but it slows down respiration, makes your body stiff but flexible, and, for the duration, much, much lighter. A side effect we like to boast of is that when the process is reversed it takes off between five or seven kilos of water weight, so you emerge thinner and sleeker."

"Really?" gasped Hanna.

"Guaranteed," look at these before and after pictures." The technician handed her a photo album of past clients.

"Wow!"

"Many of our repeat clients like to schedule their mannikin time to end at the start of bikini season or spring break. Most of them find it easier to keep the weight off post mannikin than from regular exercise programs."

"How marvelous!" enthused Hannah.

The perky young technician continued. "We place transparent lenses over your eyes so they don't dry out. We also plant little earphones in your ears so that you can communicate with us and listen to audiobooks or whatever you choose for the duration. Now you won't be able to talk, but you will be able to flex your jaw a bit. One wiggle for yes, two wiggles for no, that sort of thing."

"Does the process hurt?"

"Not in the slightest."

Hanna settled herself in her chair and said, "I'm sold! Girls, how about you?"

Her blonde daughters stated their assent.

A few days later, Hannah received a phone call from the Living Mannikin Center.

"The organizers of the Women's Sportswear Exhibition downtown want you and your daughters for their spring extravaganza in their main store. Can the three of you be here by the end of the day, say four O'clock?"

**

After storing their valuables in company-provided lockers, the girls made their selections from the company's huge library of audiobooks, radio dramas, lectures, and music for the seven days they were to serve as living manikins. They stripped down and donned the company-issued baby blue bikini panties and bandeau before lying down on medical cots and watching with trepidation as a nasty-looking IV needle was placed in their arm. The world spun and became smoked glass and echoes.

"Mrs. Parkhurst? Are you in there?"

The voice seemed to come from very far away. Hannah was reminded of that time as a girl when she fell through the ice atop a pond one frosty morning. That moment of chill and horror and uncertainty. She swam in the direction of the voice and found herself. The clear lenses over her eyes distorted the image, slightly but she recognized the chief technician, a concerned look on her face.

"Wiggle your chin if you can hear me, Mrs. Parkhurst."

Hannah found that she could just do that.

"Excellent! Now on wiggle for yes, two wiggles for no to the following questions."

She passed the interview with flying colors.

Over the buds in her ears, Hannah heard,

"No side effects whatsoever, Mrs. Parkhurst. You will be delivered to the exhibition hall where another contractor will dress and prepare you for the sportswear show They will return you to us at the end of the week and we will restore you, rested, refreshed, kilos lighter, and with a much heavier purse."

An orderly strode into the room. Hannah could not turn her head, so she followed the action out of the corner of her eye. The young man, who appeared strong, but not especially buff, lifted her off the table as though she weighed nothing! He carried Hannah into an adjoining room and placed her in a padded box that bore more than a passing resemblance to a coffin. She felt a shudder course through her stiffened body as the lid to the box was closed. Hanna took a deep breath and fought off panic. She shifted her chin as instructed and her ears filled with the audio version of the current bestseller, she had been desperate to read. She closed her eyes and focused on the narration. It wasn't too bad.

**

He considered again that this was a job he had drifted into. Once upon a time he had hoped to be a meteorologist, but he failed out of college with distinction. Desperate for a job and naturally strong, he had ended up a roustabout with one of the few traveling circuses crossing the great American heartland. The circus went bankrupt just outside Moline, Illinois. He'd hitchhiked to Chicago with a battered valise and a few hundred dollars in cash. He noted some muscular men carting boxes from a truck labeled, "Living Mannikins, Inc." whatever that was. The truck driver, short a man that day, because of a family emergency, hired him on the spot. Three years later, he had moved quite a bit up the ladder. He still handled deliveries himself.

"What have we here?" he asked as he read the manifest.

"Three female mannikins for the sports section."

"Yep, that's what it says."

With no pretense and little effort, the huge man gathered up one of the crates and, toted it over to the dolly and set it down.

The exhibition hall was abuzz with the sounds of power tools in operation, hammering, and shouted orders. Most of the work was completed in the women's sportswear exhibit.

He was a supervisor now, making respectable if not spectacular money. The side benefits of the job more than made up for a higher salary.

"Have you got the clothing, Nick?"

"Yeah, boss. Golf for the older dame. Tennis outfit on the bustier young one. One-piece Olympic swimsuit on the less busty babe."

"Well, let's get started."

He took the boxes off the dolly and opened the one nearest him.

"Ooh! I adore MILFS! I claim this one."

"Whatever."

"Look, Nick, I know you're gay but don't be such a wet blanket!"

"Wet blanket? You should see me during menswear week."

"I've seen you then. A very wise man said there is nothing worse than someone living down to their stereotypes."

"We are all pervs in unique ways! Anyway, where'd I leave the wax?"

"That's your department, Nick."

"I think I left it and the cosmetics in the office."

"Nick!"

"Sorry boss!'

The young red-haired man scurried towards the office which was on the other side of the exhibition hall.

He was glad to have some privacy. He gazed at the beautiful strawberry blonde MILF in the box. She was spectacular in every way, flat tummy, cute innie navel, long shapely legs, a nice rack, sexy shoulders and arms, long delicate fingers, and a face a model would envy.

He ran his hands the length of the supine body. Hazel eyes he decided. Having practiced this maneuver thousands of times by now, he lifted the barely dressed older woman from the box and set her on her feet on the designated dais. He knew Nick wouldn't be back for a bit. He undid the mannikin's bandeau and tugged down the panties. "Mother of God!" he exclaimed. Followed by "Talk about your Mrs. Robinsons!" He whipped out his cell phone and captured the alluring older woman from various angles. If found out it could cost him his job. But all he had to do was ask his superiors to examine Nick's phone for schlong pix, and the worst he'd get was a slap on the wrist. He stroked Hannah all over before opening the other crates and setting Cassie and Lavinia on their respective platforms. Nick emerged into the sportswear section out of breath from having run all the way from the office.

"Hope I haven't cost us too much time, Sam," He stated between gasps.

"No worries, Nick, hand me that wax, we are renowned for giving our mannikins that "famous Wentworth Displays, Incorporated ethereal glow."

"God, you sound like the PR department."

"Well, those guys create our work so we should show them at least a bit of respect."

"Whatever."

Hannah came out of her reverie as Sam's fingers stroked her body gently with the wax. She was startled to realize that she was stark naked. She felt Sam's hands on her back, her bum, her thighs. It was the touch of a skilled masseuse. The owner of the hands came into view. He was just about the same age as her daughters! Handsome in a nerdy way. Broad-shouldered, fit. He smiled as he stroked Hannah's breasts, and he spoke softly to her.

"Have no fear, Mrs. Robinson, I'll have you looking great in no time."

Sam was utterly taken with this beguiling older woman. The hazel eyes dilatated. She was aware of his presence! He smiled at her and added, "Just between you and me, Mrs. Robinson, you are the loveliest mannikin I've had the pleasure to prepare in a very long time."

Sam began applying wax to Hannah's neck and earlobes. The years rolled back, but not all that far. This anonymous mannikin reminded him so, so much of his first obsession with an older woman. He was just eighteen, a senior in high school. Despite his build, none of the girls at Aaron Burr High seemed to notice him. Perhaps it was his overarching shyness, his inability to make small talk, his general insecurity. Perhaps all of these broadcasted a message to girls his age that Sam was too much of a reclamation project to get involved with when they were just looking for a fun, reliable, and relatable boyfriend. His job at the country club was not too strenuous, waiting tables in the winter and caddying in the summer. She was beautiful, blonde, trim, and wore a rock the size of an egg on the third finger of her left hand. She introduced herself as Mrs. Yolanda Bingham and her companion as Mrs. Adele Leeds. Both looked fantastic in their short skirts and tight blouses, but Sam was instantly smitten with Mrs. Bingham. She flashed him a smile as he introduced himself.

"Tell me, Sam can a big strong hunk like you manage to carry both our bags? I'll make it financially worth your while."

"No problem, Ma'am!" he had returned smartly.

"Excellent, I love strong obedient boys." She winked and Mrs. Leeds giggled, "Oh, Yolonda, you are incorrigible!"

It was a hot day, and the bags were heavy, but Sam didn't mind. He watched the two older lovely ladies from all angles as they challenged each other on the course. Yolanda had a fantastic butt and magnificent legs. Sam had caddied for Yolanda's husband on occasion. He was the town's leading attorney, good-looking, rich, and dull as dishwater. How could a man with no personality hold onto a firecracker of a woman, Sam asked himself. Mrs. Bingham was everything, Sam had fantasized about as he jerked off in his room while listening to tunes. The fact that he seemed to have no spark with his peers, led Sam to investigate MILF porn. There was this one video of a beautiful blonde older woman in momwear who was arrested for shoplifting and had to endure a strip search by a much younger store detective. It wasn't hard to imagine himself as the cop and Mrs. Bingham as the sexy criminal. Yes, he very much did undress her with his eyes. Yes, Yolanda Bingham caught him at it and smiled.

"Another conquest, Yo," stated Mrs. Leeds.

"Hey, when you have it why waste it?" she sassed back.

"He's a kid!"

"Yeah, probably firm as steel with rapid recovery!"

"Is that ALL you think about?"

"No, there's shopping and making money, but sex burns more calories!"

"If Franklin heard you..."

"Screw Franklin!"

"That's your job, Yo. You're his wife."

"Don't remind me!"

The wives played another hole.

They took a break on the next green. Yolanda reached under her short skirt and extracted a silver flash. She took a few swallows and passed it to Adele, who took a long draught.

Yolanda strode over to Sam.

"Samuel, it's hot out here take a swig." She offered him the flask.

"Yo! He's underage!"

"Not all parts of him are," she returned with a chuckle.

Yolanda winked at him a second time, "Sam, are you a man? Prove it by taking a swig."

Now Sam had drunk some beer and had experienced vodka mixed with punch at clandestine teen parties, but the taste of the still cool gin and tonic surprised him. The taste was not unpleasant, just surprising. He sputtered and choked it down while Mrs. Bingham and Mrs. Leeds rolled their eyes and snickered.

Yolanda took the flask back, and, for a wonderful moment, her palm was pressed against his arm and wrist.

"Maybe you do have a little more growing up to do, sugar," she said, with a touch of sadness.

Play resumed but things were different after that. Yolanda and Adele focused on the game and behaved as though the caddy both were relying on was invisible. Sam cursed himself for not gulping down the liquor with no hesitation, like an action hero or James Bond. Three holes later, the game was over.

Mrs. Bingham thanked Sam before bending forward and inserting her hand into her blouse. Sam had a perfect view of her succulent mounds restrained by an opalescent brassiere, A bit of her left areola came into view, it was light brown, and Sam could just spy the erect nipple elevating the center of the bra. He was in heaven. Mrs. Bingham came up with a sweat-damp one-hundred-dollar bill.

"Thanks for being a good sport, Samuel." And then she kissed him on the cheek. The rest of that day passed in a blur for Sam. There was still enough time left in the day to hustle up another caddying job, but Sam's mind was elsewhere. He watched Mrs. Bingham and her friend stride off. Soon they would be in the clubhouse locker room, naked under the showerheads! Sam had to find a quiet place to jerk off right now.

In the years since, Sam had pondered those hours on the golf course fequently. What if he hadn't fucked up drinking the gin and tonic? Would he have gotten more than a flash of boob and a chaste peck on the cheek? Mrs. Bingham had a reputation... The more he pondered it the more his angst grew. The fact that he had been mostly unsuccessful with the ladies for nearly his entire life only kindled the flame of misery higher. Sam was certain that Yolanda Bingham's well-imagined nude body was a complete doppelganger for the nude mannikin he was currently working on. It was hard not to imagine that memorable day having a magical ending in one of the country club's quiet, secret places, with Yolanda Bingham naked and sweaty from a different sort of exercise.

Sam checked on Nick from the corner of his eye and then slyly planted a kiss on Hannah's lips. The mother of two was stunned, but, of course, her body betrayed no reaction.

"You are not Mrs. Robinson, beautiful," he whispered, "You are Mrs. Bingham. May I call you, Yolanda?"

With an adept and practiced hand, Sam applied lipstick, eyeshade, and a touch of color to Hannah's cheeks before meticulously dressing her, in a lacy sports bra, panties, sports socks, golf cleats, short skirt, attractive top, and ball cap, gloves, driving iron in frozen mid-swing. Even though it wouldn't show Sam wished he had a garter flask holster to make this Yolanda as close to the original as possible. Sam finished posing her and took a picture with the company camera to document his work and, if need be, forward it up the company chain of command. She looked just like a freeze-frame photograph of a diligent amateur in mid-stroke.

"Hey, Sam! Bust a nut! We have a deadline to meet!"

"Yeah, just reminiscing." With much less enthusiasm, he helped Nick finish the posing makeup and details of Lavinia and Cassie.

Hannah soon forgot the sudden, unwanted kiss as her earbuds transitioned to another chapter of the enthralling novel. She chalked it up to boys being boys and complimented herself on still having it at her age. What harm was there, really? For providing such a wonderful massage didn't he deserve at least a kiss?

Sam completed his assigned tasks with Nick. When they finished, the mother and her daughters looked stellar on their raised platforms under the arraigned lights and vendor posters and products. Sam had no idea he had an eye for design before being hired by Wentworth Displays, Incorporated. Now he was one of the company's rising stars. His life had everything he needed except someone to share it with. He would never admit it publicly, but Sam had reached his early twenties practically a virgin. He'd had a few gropes and clinches with women over the years but had failed at achieving actual intercourse. If only he could have banished his virginity with Mrs. Bingham that afternoon, or any day afterward with some older, understanding woman. Or the MILF he had dressed today! A wonderful idea unspooled in Sam's head. He was overdue for a vacation.

**

Even in mannikin form, Hannah knew something was off. Her position had changed, which she could not do on her own, and she was warm all over. She had drifted off to some relaxing music from her playlist on what she inferred was the last day of the Fashion expo. Was she back at Living Mannikins, Incorporated? She realized she was nude between sheets. Perhaps she was in a waiting area for her scheduled "resurrection" as the company literature put it. But that suspicion changed when she felt someone gently stroking her cheek.

He'd planned exceptionally well. Being in an industry that relied upon, in part, living mannikins, Sam was aware of the crimes committed by perverts to obtain one. While he was not a pervert himself, he'd read police reports and F.B.I. files distributed to the company so that Sam and his coworkers could be on the lookout for shady characters. He had provided himself an iron-clad alibi. He'd bought a coffee at a Starbucks miles away from his apartment and the exhibition hall seemingly at the time the crime had been committed. Five minutes later, had withdrawn some money from an ATM and appeared at a local watering hole. A place with plenty of cameras and had a few beers. All the while, the chloroformed Mrs. Parkhurst had been in a duffle bag in the back of his SVU. The crime was discovered just as he had planned when the burglar alarms went off just as he had planned. The strewn articles, the zip ties, and the tools he had left behind would convince anyone who investigated that the crime had been committed in haste and that the criminal had made a frenzied exit.

"Good morning, Yolanda, honey!" said a male voice. The face of the young man loomed into view. He was vaguely familiar. With a sudden insight, Hannah recognized him as the young man who had dressed her for the expo and stolen a kiss. She turned off her earbuds and focused on the here and now.