I love my mannequin.
She stands behind my door each night. She watches as I sleep. She never stops staring.
She's taller than me, slimmer too. Her plastic hair feels like heaven between my fingers. Her skin is firm under my hands.
No matter what I do she remains poised and unruffled. Our love is forbidden. No one must know, or they will try to come between us.
Last night she was finally with me in the way for which I've yearned for so long. I pulled her arm from her and put it inside of me. I could deep throat to her elbow. I was so full of her love I could burst.
She scares me sometimes, so still and unmoving, until I remember it is because no one can know that
I love my mannequin.
