This is how it happened.

Candi and I were relaxing around the house one night, not doing a lot, just relaxing with a couple of glasses of wine and watching TV. She’d been reading some trashy law novel, but after a couple of hours she was two full glasses into a bottle and she’d lost interest. I shouldn’t say she’d lost interest: it was more like she couldn’t follow the plot. Candi had a tendency to get blasted and then get spacey and bubbleheaded. I’ve seen her do some really dumb things when she was half in the bag, and I personally felt she probably would have been happy as some blond bimbo who didn’t have a care in the world.

She leaned back in the love seat and fanned herself. "Is it warm or is it me?"

"It’s you, Candi," I told her. I was sitting across the room dressed in my baby doll and panties, watching a rerun of Law & Order.

"Really?"

"It comes from drinking too much." She smiled. "Flush with heat, you know?"

She stretched. "I feel more like I’m flush with lust," she groaned. I could believe that. Candi was about as horny a chick as any I’d ever seen. We’d been dating for two years now, and her capacity for sex appeared bottomless. Fucking any time, anywhere. She’d once started fingering me at the local Costco while we were looking at the soup. If she’d had the time I do believe she would have lifted my skirt, gotten on her knees and ate me ‘til I came if she thought she could do it without getting us both thrown in the joint.

"I don’t doubt it, Candi. It’s probably been—what? Three hours since we’ve had sex?" She’d walked in on me when I was taking a shower and sorta . . . forced me to have an orgasm. There hadn’t been a lot of forcing, though.

"Seems like it’s been forever," she said, giggling.

I grinned again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a prude. I remember once in high school, in my junior year, I’d been sucking off this guy (yes, there was a time when I did guys on a regular basis) in the guy’s locker room and . . . well, you can probably guess. Let’s just say I had to do things to keep the story in the room, and my mouth was pretty tired by the time I got home that night.

Anyway . . . I was just as horny as Candi some of the time. I was more circumspect about where I had sex—usually in the bedroom . . . or living room . . . or dining room—but when I was ready to fuck, I didn’t want anyone getting in my way. I got up and began slinking my way across the room. "Oh, it does, does it? And what are you in the mind to do?"

Candi had a strange look on her face. I knew that look it meant she wanted to do something really kinky. What did she like that was kinky? Everything short of having someone take a shit on her, and I had my doubts about whether or not she’d done scat before we met. As far as what we’ve done? Tying up, spanking, plastic wrap bondage, corsets, anal, oral, latex, leather, piss games, mistress/sub shit . . . you name it, we’d played with it.

"Uh, well . . ." She was really hesitant about telling me, and I was a little afraid about what she might want. I wondered how weird a thing she might have in mind. Up until now the strangest thing we’d ever was suck off this tranny friend of hers, and then after he/she came a couple of times we did a little nut cutting and made them a lot closer to being a she than a he.

"I was wondering . . . if you’d like me to turn you into a. . . mannequin?"

I almost laughed. "What are you talking about?"

"If I had a way to turn you into a mannequin, would you let me?"

I didn’t know where this shit was coming from. Turn me into a mannequin? Oh, yeah, sure. Candi was tripping again. "How you gonna do that, honey?"

She got up and went to the closet and got her purse. She pulled a coin out, a gold coin that wasn’t one of those gold dollars ones that had been put out years before; no, this was different, a little larger and much brighter. "With this," she told me.

"I suppose that’s a magic coin, right?" I was giggling this time.

She put the coin down. "Yep."

"And how do you know that?"

"I was told by this guy in a magic store down on Venture Avenue—"

"The place that sells all the fucked up voodoo shit?"

She nodded. "That’s the one."

I stood there and put my hands on my hips. "And how much did you get ripped off for, honey?"

"That’s the sweet part." She looked like a little girl, all happy and bubbly. "I wasn’t ripped off. I got it for $4.95. Plus tax."

"Five bucks?" Well, a rip off is a rip off, but five bucks isn’t what I’d call a huge robbery. I was thinking more along the lines of Candi getting taken for a couple of hundred. "Okay, so I guess you weren’t hit up that bad . . .."

"So it’s okay if I change you?"

"You’re serious about this?" That was a rhetorical question, ‘cause I could see that she was serious about it.

Candi nodded. "Yeah, damn straight."

"What do you want to do that?"

"Because . . . I got this fantasy . . . a fetish, I guess. I’d just like to see you . . . all hard and plastic . . . rubbin’ ya and licking you—" She was getting visibly excited. "I’m sorry if you think it’s fucked up, but I’d like to do it."

I did think it was a little fucked up, but hey, I like having Candi dress in thigh-high boots with six inch heels and then lick every inch of them while she’s masturbating, so who was I to get into her ass about something strange? "So, how would you do it?"

"I pick up the coin and make a wish."

Seemed real simple. "That’s it?"

"That’s what I was told." She looked at the coin. "’Course you have to make sure you make the right wish—"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if I pick up the coin and say, ‘I wish Nora was a mannequin,’ then you’d change into a mannequin and you’d stay one forever and ever."

"That’d suck."

"Yeah, I bet it would. But, if I were to say, ‘I wish Nora would stay a mannequin for the next thirty days, starting now,’ then you’d only stay that way for thirty days and that would be it."

I had a feeling that wasn’t the wish she was going to make, though. "And what wish are you going to make, Candi?"

"You don’t trust me?"

I raised one eyebrow. "I think I do . . . I just don’t want to end up some fuckin’ piece of plastic for like a year, you know?"

"Yeah, I know."

"So?"

Candi was less than forthcoming about what she had in mind, and I didn’t like that. "I was thinkin’ . . .."

"Yeah?"

"That I could change you back and forth when I wanted."

"Like . . . make me a mannequin when you were in the mood, and change me back to human when you were done with me?"

"Yep."

That also sounded a little fishy. I wasn’t sure Candi was capable of coming up with a wish that detailed. I was pretty sure she’d fuck something up along the way, and before I knew it I’d be standing in the bedroom modeling this baby doll nightgown for the rest of my—existence. I could be wrong, but . . . I didn’t think so.

Then again, it was all bullshit anyway. She was gonna wish me into some kind of glamorous mannequin so she could have kinky sex with me? Hey, sure, take your best shot.

"Okay, Candi," I said. "You wanna do this, go right ahead. Lets see what happens."

Candi grinned, then picked up her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it, then picked up the coin. Apparently she’d given this wish thing considerable thought if she’d went to the trouble of writing it out.

She cleared her throat and said, "I wish that whenever the phrase ‘Nora, hard’ is uttered, Nora will transform into a mannequin that is aware of her surroundings and can both give and receive extreme sexual pleasure, and whenever the phrase ‘Nora, real’ is uttered, Nora will transform back into her normal, human self." And with that she lowered the paper and stared at me. "Okay, it’s done."

I didn’t feel a damn bit different. Not that I expected anything to change after Candi’s legalistic declaration. "Cool. So what—"

"Nora, hard."

I never finished my sentence.

It was like the moment Candi finished speaking I froze. I couldn’t move anything. Not my arms, my head, even my eyes. I didn’t feel like I was breathing. I couldn’t talk, but I could see and hear without a problem. I could also feel—and it felt like something was poking me in the back.

I also felt . . . aroused. I mean aroused. I hadn’t felt like this since I’d been like 16 years old. I was horny—steamy, hot, freakin’ starvin’ for sex horny. My entire body was like that; just one huge arousal point. I wanted to touch myself, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, and I really needed to do something . . ..

Candi walked over to me. She looked like she’d just come face to face with a ghost. "Holy shit," she whispered before running her hand over my breasts. The feel of her skin through my nightgown—Christ, I thought I was going to die. It was every touch there I’d ever had all at one time and magnified a thousand-fold. I should have screamed and passed out, but I didn’t. Well, I did, but it was like all going on in my head. Nothing out loud. I didn’t understand it.

I could barely hear Candi when she said, "Nora, real," but in the seconds after she did I slumped to my knees moaning loudly. "God . . . DAMN, that was good!" I was rubbing my tits without even thinking about while Candi looked on, open-mouthed.

"You—you—" she stammered.

"I was cuming my brains out, baby, that’s what I was doing!" I rose slowly to my feet. "What happened?"

"You changed?"

"What are you talking about?" I was still getting the orgasms out of my body, so I wasn’t much listening to what Candi was saying.

She grabbed me by then hand and led me up the stairs to our bedroom. When we got there she pulled out a pair of my really sexy heeled pumps and said, "Put these on."

"Why?"

"Just do it, please?"

Just to humor her I did as she asked. "Now what—"

Candi put my hands up so that I cupped my breasts. I was about to ask her why when she said, "Nora, hard."

And just like before I was unable to move—and in ecstasy.

I was dimly aware that Candi had gotten out the digital camera and was snappy pictures of me. I didn’t give a damn: I felt so good that everything else was way below secondary. I couldn’t move? So what? I just felt . . . magnificent. Why would I want to move?

It seemed like I was frozen for a long time. I couldn’t actually tell. There was a clock on the nightstand next to where I slept, and it seemed like some forty-five minutes went by before I heard Candi say, "Nora, real." Just like before I came out of my stupor moaning like crazy. "What the fuck is happening?" I asked. "Not that I mind, but goddamn—"

"You got to see this." Candi looked like she was about to piss her panties.

She took me by the hand into the spare bedroom where she kept her laptop. She’d downloaded the pictures from the camera and had them up on the screen. Candi started pointing at the pictures. "Look!"

I did. All the pictures were of me.

But I didn’t look right.

I sat and looked at one more closely. Yep, it was me, but . . . I looked all plastic like. I could see that my face looked like I’d had makeup painted on. I didn’t have any nipples. There were seams on parts of my body, like I was designed to be taken apart.

And there was this matter of this metal pole sticking out of my ass . . ..

Candi smiled. "I guess my wish worked, huh?"

I spent most of the weekend as Candi’s personal dressing dummy. Never mind that nothing I wore could fit her: it was the chance to use me as a dress-up doll that turned her on. And me. God, I was outta fuckin’ mind by the middle of Saturday with all the touching and rubbing and . . . well, you get the idea.

When Candi released me (made me "real") on Sunday night, I just collapsed in a heap. I was weak from all the stimulation I’d received. It was like I’d been involved in a non-stop sex fest for almost 48 hours. When I could move I got up and hugged Candi and told her, "Don’t do that to me too often."

She said she wouldn’t, but she was smiling that evil little smile she sometimes gives me when she wants me to know she had a great time.

Monday and Tuesday went by in a blur. As I slaved away at my job (I was a dental hygienist, oh, yeah, very exciting) I tried to keep my mind off what had transpired over the weekend. It was difficult, but I managed to get through the day without thinking about it a lot.

I’d get home, though . . . shit, I was no sooner through the door than I’d hear, "Nora, hard," and I was stuck fast. Monday night Candi just played with me. Tuesday . . . as soon as I was frozen I heard Candi say, "Let see how much like a real mannequin you are," right before she started taking me apart. Let me tell ya, that was freaky. She broke me down into all my basic parts, then spread me out all over the living room floor—then left me there for an hour or so before she started putting me back together. Nothing said, "You’re an object" like lying on the floor in pieces. Still sexually excited, mind you, but in pieces.

After Candi wished me back into reality I got an idea. "Do me a favor?"

"What’s that?"

"Make me a mannequin again, then remove my legs and see if you can make me real again."

Candi didn’t like the sound of that. Obviously, that had never been part of her wish, and if she tried to make me real without my legs attached . . . "I don’t know; that could kill you," she said. She sounded very worried. "You might just come out of it with bloody stumps and blood squirting everywhere."

"Which you could stop by wishing me back into a mannequin right away," I told her. After a little more discussion Candi agreed to do it, but only if I sat in the bathtub. In case I stared bleeding out all over the place.

She changed me the moment I was comfortable, then removed both my legs. She took a big gulp of air, then said, "Nora, real."

I can’t tell you how I felt.

I could feel my legs. They weren’t attached—no, they were lying on the bathroom floor behind Candi, still bent, still plastic. But my body . . . all of it was real. My legs, however, ended in stumps right where the separation seams had been when I’d been a mannequin. I reached down and felt them. They were completely smooth and flat, unlike anything a doctor would have done.

Candi eyes were as wide as plates. "Mother-fucker," she mumbled. She quickly changed me back into a mannequin and reattached my legs, then changed me back. All whole this time. She hugged me and said he liked me this way better than missing parts . . ..

It was Thursday after work, and I was at the mall heading over to Frederick’s to get a new baby doll and maybe . . . a few other things. Candi liked it when I brought home new thongs and peek-a-boo bras and other items like that. I didn’t mind it, either. Hell, she bought me a $900 leather corset for Christmas, so I figured I owed it to her to keep her sexually amused.

I started out looking at the nightgowns, but before I got too far a dress caught my eye, so I pulled it off the rack. It was short and looked tight (it was made of Lycra) and had a shimmering metallic blue sheen. It looked like a perfect party dress—or one that would drive Candi nuts and make her wanna rape me with good ‘ol Mr. Strap-on.

I took the dress into the changing room and started slipping out of my clothes. I never wore my dental whites out when I was going somewhere other than home, so I was wearing a nice pullover, a knee-length skirt and black heels. I left my undies and heels on and pulled the dress on over my body.

I turned to look at myself in the mirror. Yeah, the dress was really tight, but nice as hell on me. It made my breasts look really good. I went to put my hands on my hips—

And I froze.

I never saw the change, even though I was looking in the mirror. One minute I was "me", and the next I was this mannequin who looked just like me, only I was plastic and really "human" looking. And I had a support rod sticking out of my crotch holding me up.

The first thought I had was "Holy fuck!" I’d never seen myself like this, except in photos. So it was a bit startling.

The second thought I had was . . . how?

Candi wasn’t here. She didn’t say anything. So how did I change? I didn’t understand it. Maybe there was something in the wish that had gone wrong, something neither of us caught. Fuck it, it didn’t really matter, ‘cause here I was stuck in a Frederick’s changing room (and how fucking ironic is that?), not a living person but a mannequin. Wearing their outfit.

I was getting a bad feeling about what might happen.

After a while, maybe five minutes, there was a knock on the door. I heard, "Miss, miss?" a couple of times, then a few minutes later there was the rattling of keys in a lock. The door opened and one of the sales girls, a Latino chick in a leather skirt, looked in. She was surprised: she’d expected to find a real like person in here, and instead she found a mannequin. "What the fuck?" she mumbled before calling, "Hey, Ronnie?"

I heard another girl go, "Yeah?"

"Come here." In a moment a blond girl with very, very short hair walked into view.

"What the fuck is this?" the Latino chick asked.

Ronnie, the blond girl, shrugged. "I don’t know. A mannequin?"

"No shit." The Latino girl looked a little pissed. "What’s it doin’ in here?"

"How the hell do I know?" Ronnie said. "I didn’t put it in here."

"Well, you’re the dresser, honey. I’m figurin’—"

"You figure wrong, Veronica."

There was a moment of silence while the two girls stared each other down. Finally Veronica said, "Well, get it the hell out of the dressin’ room, ‘kay?"

Ronnie nodded and walked into the room. She looked down on the floor and noticed my clothes. "Hey, someone was in here—"

"Waddya mean?"

"Look here." Ronnie picked up my clothes—and my purse—and held them for Veronica to see. "This was on the floor."

Veronica took my stuff. "Okay, I’ll take care of this," she said. "Just get this thing outta here, fast."

"Right-o," Ronnie said, softly adding "bitch" after Veronica walked away. "Okay, you," she said. "You tryin’ to get me into trouble? How the hell did you get in here?" Ronnie got one hand on my stand and another around my waist and carefully lifted me up. I certainly didn’t weigh the 124 pounds I normally weigh, so the girl was able to move me without a problem. She did move slowly, though: it was apparent she didn’t want me to come apart. Neither did I. I thought that would be bad if I came apart and . . . broke.

Ronnie set me down in the back room and left. I had time to think and time to hope that I'd snap out of this and return to normal. Of course, were that to happen I’d have to explain how I’d come to be in the back room of Frederick’s with a couple of other mannequins, wearing a dress I’d been trying on in the changing room. I’d also have to explain how I’d become a mannequin . . . fuck that. No one would believe that story.

In a way I hoped I didn’t change back to the "real" me while the store was open.

Hours seemed to go by. It’s hard to tell when you’re like this, because . . . well, I can’t really explain it. When you’re just an object time doesn’t mean a hellova lot. It’s just there. You only seem to get some sense of time when people are around. On your own it just doesn’t seem to be that big of a deal.

Eventually Ronnie came and started taking me apart. She removed my arms, then pulled off my hair. I hadn’t expected that one, but it only made sense that I was wearing a wig and that I didn’t have "real" hair. My head followed my hair, and I was laid where I could see Ronnie (who had a really cute butt) all through the process of disassembling me. It was sort of freaky, let me tell you. When she was done she walked out with the stand, then came back a few minutes later, put all my parts in a box, and hauled me out.

I couldn’t see much, not with my head in the box like it was. I could hear things being put together—and, strangely enough, I could feel it as well. I could feel each and every part of me, whether I was as a whole or in a bunch of pieces. I felt my torso, my hips, arms, hands, legs . . . all of them being assembled.

And I could feel the outfit on my body. Stockings, shoes, lace gloves, probably a bra and panty sleep set with a very sheer cover. Something I’d seen displayed in Frederick’s window before—only now I was gonna be the one displaying it.

Finally Ronnie put my head on, then slapped my hair back on my head. She stepped before me and gave me a final few adjustments. "Pretty fuckin’ hot if I should say so," she mumbled. "I just wish I knew where you came from. And who’s fucking with me." I wanted to tell her, but it’s impossible to speak when you’re made of plastic!

She finally gave me a pat on the shoulder. "See you in the morning," she said. And with that I was finally alone in the window.

Alone in the window. On display.

Talk about your Twilight Zone shit.

I started thinking that something had gone horribly wrong with the wish. I mean, I was stuck now as a mannequin, and Candi hadn’t been around to change me in the first place, so now how the hell was I going to let her know that I was in the window of a local story modeling lingerie? If she didn’t know that I was here, I couldn’t get changed back. I couldn’t go back to being Nora. I was going to end up being at the mercy of Ronnie’s tender mercies for the rest of my—

And then I stumbled back out of the window.

I almost went on my ass: partially because I was stepping back off a raised dais, partially because I was wearing fucking platform heels that were made for stripping, but mostly because I had been cuming non-stop for hours, and I was so goddamn weak in the legs. I caught myself before I went down, but it took me a good minute to gather my strength and let loose with a hearty "Fuck me," before standing.

There was a clock behind the counter: the time was 11:17 PM. Shit. I’d walked in here around 5:30. Almost six hours. I went behind the counter. I found my purse but no clothes. My wallet was in my purse; the credit cards were there, but the $50 I’d walked in with was missing, big fuckin’ surprise, huh?

My cell was also in my purse. I hit the speed dial. Candi picked up after two rings. "Hello?" She sounded a little blasted.

"What the fuck is going on?" I couldn’t help but sound a little bothered.

"NORA! Where the hell are you?"

"I’m standing in the middle of Frederick’s in a goddamn lacy outfit that I was wearing IN A WINDOW!"

There was a long pause. "You were. . . .. a mannequin?"

"Yeah!"

Another pause. "Oh, shit . . . I didn’t think . . .."

"Think what, Candi?"

"I think you better come home. Like now." There was a hint of panic in her voice.

I nodded. "Yeah. I should be home in about twenty minutes." I snapped the cell shut and started rummaging through the backroom looking for my clothes. After ten minutes I couldn’t find them, but I sure as shit didn’t want to spend the night hanging out here, so I pulled down a red dress (that would match the stockings and shoes), deactivated it and slipped it on, then headed out the back door after turning off the alarm. I didn’t think about whether I’d be nabbed by mall security—though I did wonder what Ronnie would think when she showed up for work in the morning and saw I was gone. I really hoped she didn’t get fired.

To my surprised I made it out of the mall and to my car. Fifteen minutes later I was pulling into the garage. I wasn’t as furious as I had been on the phone, but I was still steamed.

"Okay, Candi," I said as I walked into the living room, "We gotta figure out—"

Candi gapped open-mouthed and pointed at me. "Your HAIR!"

I stopped dead in my tracks. I knew was she was talking about. I headed for the downstairs bathroom and looked in the mirror.

My hair wasn’t dirty blond anymore; it was a curly, brilliant red.

It was the wig I’d been wearing. Only now it was my hair.

It took us about an hour to figure out what happened:

Candi told me that she’d been on the way home from work and had been day dreaming about what she’d like to do to me. She says once she was home she "thought" she might have uttered that phrase. If so, it would have been about the time I was changing and getting changed.

Candi said she didn’t think anything about it. When I didn’t show up she started to get worried, and considered calling the police. (After having a couple of glasses of wine, natch.) She then indicated that she might have said, "Nora, real" or something like that sometime after 11:00 PM—which would coincide with when I changed back.

We looked over the wish as she’d written it out. I’d been forming a suspicion about Candi’s wish, and yep, here it was in black and white. I’d change whenever the phrase was uttered. Nothing about Candi being around me or anything—all she had to do was say the magic words and Bang! I’m a mannequin.

"Oh, this is fucking great." I threw the paper down in disgust. "Now I could change anytime!"

"Yeah," was all Candi said. She wasn’t looking at me.

"Do you realize just how fucked you’ve made my life?"

Candi looked like she was on the verge of tears. "Well, you told me to go ahead and make the wish!"

"Only because I thought it was bullshit!"

"Guess you were wrong!"

I didn’t want to get into an argument, not now. There was no point. This wish thing was done and now . . . "Wait a minute." I stared looking around the room. "Where’s that coin?"

"What coin?"

"The goddamn magic coin you were holding when you made your wish? That gold coin?"

"Oh . . . that." Now Candi appeared frightened. I knew I wasn’t going to like her answer. "It disappeared."

"Huh? Come again?"

"It just sorta . . . vanished." She shrugged. "I couldn’t find it."

"You set it down on the entertainment center, didn’t you?"

"Yeah. And it was gone five minutes later."

I sighed. Great. No chance to make a second wish and try and counter this shit. I touched my hair. "And what about this shit?" My hair was pretty much a light fire red now. And long and curly.

"I think . . . when you changed back that became part of your body."

"No shit."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Tears were leaking down Candi’s cheeks. "I didn’t know that would happen!"

And neither did I. The truth was we were both responsible for what happened. Sure, I was taking the brunt of it, but if I hadn’t just blown off Candi’s "wish" at a load of crap, I wouldn’t have found myself in my current predicament.

Before we went to bed the law was laid down: Candi was not to say those words without me being at least in the house with her. The last thing I needed was to be working with the dentist and suddenly have him find his assistant was a mannequin.

Not to mention anything else that might happen when I was out and about . . ..

I had a hard time convincing the people I worked with that I’d had my hair permed and colored, as well as having extensions put in. I got a lot of "Uh, huh, bullshit," looked, but what was I going to do? I just ignored the snickers about my new ‘do (I heard one girl whisper that it looked like I had "whore hair") and went on with my life.

Things got almost back to normal. Candi held up her end of the deal and made sure she didn’t say the magic words when I wasn’t around. Of course when I was around things were different. Once she got over being upset with my accidental transformation, the little bitch was changing me into a mannequin all the time. And to be honest I was digging it. Getting changed, that is. And dressed. At least Candi did fix my hair by getting me a wig that was very close to my original hair and changed me back while it was on. So that was nice.

We spent the next couple of months like that. It was getting where Candi almost always had me "stiff" when we were alone. I think she actually preferred me that way, the kinky little slut. I wasn’t about to let her know that I was enjoying it as well. I mean, shit, I was in a constant state of arousal all the while, and it was getting very addictive. There were a couple of times where Candi kept me frozen for more than a day, and it was all I could do to keep from begging to be changed back when I came out of that state. Okay, so I was turning into a mannequin junkie. Sue me.

I went by Frederick’s about three months after I’d been mounted there. I bought a couple of things and, just for shits and giggles, asked if Ronnie was around. I’d been told that she was no longer there, but she was now working at a boutique on the other side of the mall. I went to check it out, because I felt sorta . . . well, bad, that I’d caused Ronnie grief. I mean, shit, how would she explain how the mannequin she dressed the night before wasn’t in the window now?

I found the place. It was one of those shops that had sprung up in the last few years catering to women from 16 to 35 who were interested in looking hip and sexy. All the mannequins in the window were in short skirts and low-cut tops and crop pants and high heeled pumps and boots. Sort of the stuff I’d wear if I had a little more money.

I went in and started checking things out. The stuff was nice and very high quality. I saw a leather skirt and looked really smart and a tank top that would go great with it. I was a little nervous about going in and trying the outfit on —remembering what happened last time— but I shook the thought out of my head. I changed without a problem, and walked outside to look at myself in the mirror. I was hot—well, always was. If I could afford about $350 for this outfit I’d look a lot hotter.

I started to walk over by where the shoes were. I thought a nice set of fuck me pumps would go great with this. "Let’s check it out, Nora," I said.

And then I froze.

What the fuck? I was sure Candi didn’t say anything. I know I didn’t. Well, I did say "Nora," but I didn’t say hard after that—

And then it hit me: maybe I didn’t have to.

Could it be that in the seconds after I said Nora someone in the store said "hard". I didn’t hear anything, but . . . but, shit, why even confine myself to the store? Someone anywhere in the world might have said "hard" right after I said my name. The wish Candi had written out spoke of the phrase being spoken—

It made no mention of it being spoken by the same person.

Oh, Christ, I was totally screwed if that were the case. With billions of people all speaking at the same time, the odd were that somewhere the phrase "Nora, hard" would be spoken by any number of people. It was only by sheer chance that I hadn’t changed already.

Or maybe I would have. It was possible that during those times Candi had transformed me someone had spoken the magic word, but since I already was a mannequin . . ..

I’d have sighed if it were possible.

I don’t know how much time went by —maybe fifteen minutes— before I saw Ronnie appear before me. She was holding my purse, and I could see something going on behind her eyes. Was she thinking, "I’ve seen this before?" Could be.

Ronnie picked me up and carried me and my purse into the back room then left, taking my purse with her, and leaving me to ponder my situation once more. It was the middle of the day, a Saturday. Normally I’d expect Candi to change me back once she realized I wasn’t coming home—or so one would hope.

There was only one problem: Candi wasn’t home.

A couple of friends from work had invited her to go along with then to Las Vegas, and Candi wasn’t the sort of girl who could say no. They were making a very long weekend of it; she wouldn’t be home until Wednesday night. She had no way of knowing I was stuck in a store, once more a mannequin. I didn’t imagine she’d figure out that I wasn’t picking up the phone because I was a plastic girl.

My only other hope was that the phrase that would change me back would be spoken by someone in the world. The odds were it would happen. But how long would it take? A day? A few days? A week? A month. I had no idea.

Then Ronnie was back. She started taking me apart, but this time there was a smile on her face, the sort that I’d seen Candi wear. The kind that said, I’m having some fun. Oh, damn. I didn’t know what that could mean. But I was going to do what about it? Not a goddamn thing.

I was eventually put in a box and hauled out front. Ronnie began dressing me: knee socks, boots, a pleated skirt, and a really, really tight white knit sleeveless pullover. Something felt funny as far as the top was concerned, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. She finally got a wig on me—a very long one from the feel of it—and topped me off with a beret.

And there I was, on display, with a mall-full of people walking by.

When I’d been in this position before it had been nighttime; the mall was empty and time seemed to go by quickly. Now, with people looking at me, it was as if I could feel every second tick off on the clock. When I wasn’t feeling like I was going to have the biggest orgasm I’d ever had in my life, that is. The feeling was just . . . incredible. After an hour or so I didn’t give a shit that I was stuck in a mall window. I just wanted more of what I was experiencing. It was tremendous, this sensation that kept coming and coming and . . ..

It at least helped the time pass. Before I knew it the mall’s lights started coming on, then the crowds started to thin out, and eventually everything went dark and I was alone. Well, alone in the sense that I was the only "person" there. Who was a mannequin, that is.

The thing was, I wasn’t all that upset. I wasn’t completely enjoying my stay, but at the same time I was like . . . I don’t know. It was like when Candi would keep me like this for a day; I’d get used to it, enjoy the sensual feeling of being a plastic object, and sorta go with the flow. Loving the sensations that flowed through my body. It was almost better than real sex—

"Nora, real."

I went weak in the knees, but stayed on my feet. I leaned against the display window, gasping for air. "Christ, Candi, how the fuck did you find me?" I asked. I began turning around. "And what time—"

Ronnie was standing there, astonishment all over her face. "Fuck me," was all she said.

I stepped down from where I’d been on display. I tried to look nonchalant. "Ronnie. How you doing?"

"Oh, pretty good." She looked me up and down. "Considering just a moment ago you were a mannequin, I’d say things are going great."

"Yeah, well . . ." I had no words for her comment. "Yeah. I am. Was." I shrugged. "What can I say? How did you find out?"

"Well, I remembered you from the last time," she said. "So I took your driver’s license out of your wallet." She held up a set of keys. "And your keys. And your cell." She put the keys in her purse. "I went over to your place and did a little looking around." She pulled the paper that Candi had written her wish upon out. "I found this."

I nodded. "Oh, yeah."

She folded up the paper and put it back. "This is all from a wish?"

"Yeah." I smiled. "Sucks, doesn’t it?"

"I don’t know . . ." Ronnie had that look in her eye again. "What’s it like?"

Oh, shit, she wanted to know? What the hell was this? "I cum a lot," I told her. "I’m like totally excited all the time."

Ronnie moved a little closer to me. Up close I could better see that she was turned on. "I know I liked dressing you and stuff." That made sense. Part of the wish is that I’d bring pleasure to whoever was with me.

She reached up and pulled on my hair. "That wig . . . it became part of you," she said with amazement.

"That happens, yeah."

Ronnie giggled. "You have no idea what you look like, do you?"

"No, I don’t." Ronnie took me by the hand and quickly led me over to the three-way mirrors. As I was pulled along I knew my body had somehow changed—

The mirror confirmed it.

I wasn’t blond, I wasn’t a redhead: my hair was a bright neon pink that reached all the way to my ass. My torso seemed shorter and my legs longer. My breasts . . . no wonder the top seemed tight on me. I’d went from being a little B cup to at least a very full D cup. I twisted around. My waist seemed smaller and my hips wider, and I seemed to have a much rounder ass. Fuck. There was nothing about me that was the same except for my head and my arms and hands . . . well, my head and my arms. My fingers were very slim and the nails looked like inch-long claws.

"What did you do to me?" I almost screamed.

"I put you together with other parts," Ronnie said. "Mixed and matched you. I wanted to see what you’d look like."

"Well, now you know!" I was getting a very bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I’m not a dressing dummy, okay?"

"How did Candi do it?" she asked. Ronnie began touching me.

"She had this coin that she said would make her wish come true." As much as I wanted to, I didn’t pull away from her. "She used that."

"Really." She put her arm around my waist and snuggled in close to me. I was starting to pant a little. I couldn’t help myself. "I wouldn’t mind someone making a wish like this on me."

"Don’t. You don’t really mean that." I put my arm around Ronnie’s waist, pulling her in. "You don’t want to be at the mercy of others."

Ronnie kissed me. She was gentle, she was slow and tender and sensual as hell. She broke the embrace. "Do you think you’re at my mercy?" she asked.

I nodded. "You know my secret. You can do anything you want to me."

She stepped back. "I read Candi’s journal. All she wants is a fuck toy. All she wants is a dummy that gets her off."

"And what do you want?" I asked.

"I want to know how to be you."

I was a bit shocked. "You want . . . this?"

Ronnie nodded. "Yep. Just like you. Be able to have you do to me what I can do to you."

"What anyone can do to me."

"Well . . . we’ll worry about that later, okay?" She kissed me again, then gave me that wicked smile I felt I was gonna come to know very well. "Nora, hard."

And I froze.

16.06.06