I suppose, in hindsight, I could have handled the situation better. Running away was a bad idea. But Christmas 1989 was not the merry holiday season it was supposed to be.

I stand here, frozen on this pedestal in the Neiman-Marcus juniors department, and think if I could have only held out for another week... But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

My name is Angelica, and I am a mannequin. Mind you, I wasn’t always a mannequin. I once was a living, breathing girl, a successful executive assistant in a Fortune 500 company. I had a cat, and a car, and a nice loft in downtown Dallas. I had friends, a lover, and quite a nice life in general. How did I end up a mannequin modeling clothes, you ask?  It all began that Christmas, 1989.

On that Christmas I was a boy by the name of Matthew, and I don’t deny now I was once a male. For as long as I could remember I hoped fervently to become a girl one day, and had planned everything towards that goal.  I had a girlfriend and a promising career ahead of me as a physician. I even had my acceptance letter to medical school. It seemed like things were going well. But, my family...my family always put more pressure on me than I could manage. Caring for my niece and my sick mother, keeping the house tidy, chauffeuring various people were they wanted to go. It may seem innocent enough to you, but I never received any gratitude from anyone. All the frustration and anger built up until I couldn’t take it anymore. And only a week until break was over...

I packed my things in the middle of the night while everyone slept and drove away in my truck. I parked in a nearby park and slept until morning. As the sun rose, and I woke and drove to the nearest bank. The $5000 left over from my school loans would come in handy. I closed the account and headed south, to Austin. I didn’t want to be in Dallas anymore, but I certainly couldn’t leave Texas.

I got an apartment that afternoon, and planned on signing on with a temp agency the next morning. Years of chatting on the net had built up my typing skills to quite a decent level. I bought the minimal amount of furniture I needed, and began scanning the yellow pages for a gender psychiatrist. I was going to take this opportunity to remake myself.

The next day I was hired on as a temporary administrative assistant in an very liberal accounting firm in Austin (It was quite nice that the senior partners were both female and bi). $28,000 a year seemed an awful lot for someone who had never made more than $6 an hour in a summer job. A week later, I found the psychiatrist I was looking for, and it didn’t take long to convince him I was ready to transition. I filled the ‘scrips for the hormones the day I got them, and finally started down the road I had dreamt of for many years.
 

18 months of hormones certainly had its effect on me.  My body filled out in ways I could only had dreamt of 2 years before.  All the laser treatments I had had removed every last hair from my body, and the plastic surgery I had on my nose, brow, and chin improved my appearance beyond my wildest dreams.  I sold my old truck, and bought a new silver Focus.  My bosses from the firm came with me the day I applied for the name change and new driver’s license, then threw me a party with all my friends that night, celebrating Angelica’s “birthday”.  July 2nd will always be my real birthday, but April 17th will definitely hold a special place in my heart.  And finally, the big surgery.  SRS.  I came through with flying colors, and only my gynecologist would know for sure.

It wasn’t a week later when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find my old girlfriend. As you can probably imagine, I was speechless.

“Well, aren’t you going to let me in?”
 
Still having nothing to say, I stepped aside and she walked in as normal as could be.
 
“This is a really nice place, Angie.”

“Thanks...thanks, Amy,” I stammered, finally able to talk. “How did you find me?”

She turned around and smiled that smile of hers that I had fallen in love with so long ago. “You weren’t hard to find, you know. I just knew were to look.” She walk over and put her arms around me. “I’ve missed you.”

The dam broke loose and tears flowed freely. “I’ve missed you, too.” Still attached, we waddled to the couch and fell on it in a heap.

“Why didn’t you take me with you, Angelica?”

I sighed heavily between the sobs. “I wanted to, Amy...I just had to get away from there. You remember what it was like...”

“Yes, I remember. It got worse, you know. I wish you were there for me.”
 
“What happened?”
 
“Your mother and sister just could live together anymore. After your dad came home, your mother accused her of neglecting Madison, though I don’t believe it. She convinced the judge, and got custody of her. Rachael moved in with her boyfriend, and no one has heard from her since. Your mom hoped and prayed everyday you would come back.”

My tears renewed themselves for a while, until we both fell asleep on my couch. A little later, we both awoke, emotionally drained and hungry. I invited her out to dinner, and we got reacquainted. Upon returning to my flat, I sat her down on the couch and got enough courage to ask her if we had a future together.

“I still love you, Amy. I’ve never stopped.”
 
She kissed me and looked me straight in the eyes. “Angelica, I’ve spent a year trying to find you. I’m NOT going to lose you again.”
 
Every negative thought and emotion drained from my body at that moment, and we found ourselves in my queen bed, naked. She took several minutes and looked over my new, softer, more shapely body.
 
“What do you think, Amy? Am I cute?”
 
“Angie...you’re beyond cute. You are a beauty. Inside and out.”
 
Again I started crying. Her approval had drained the last of my anxiety away. She pulled me to her bosom and rocked me gently. The rest of the night was spent cuddling under the covers and reminiscing of old times.
 

A month later, I found a job in Dallas. It was hard leaving Leigh and Stacey, the senior partners I worked for, but even they could not argue with $55K a year. Along with Amy’s generous salary as a junior member of an interior design firm in Dallas, we were doing quite well. We got a loft downtown, and furnished it in an Asian style we loved. Life was good.

One Friday we were at our favorite club, The Village Station, dancing.  I had stepped over to the bar to get a drink when the man dressed in a long leather coat approached me.

“I noticed you’re wearing rubber tights.”
 
The question struck me a odd, since a lot of girls wore rubber and latex at this club. “Why, yes...yes I am,” I replied, not trying to hide the sarcasm.
 
“Do you wear rubber often? Do you LIKE wearing it?”

I was becoming annoyed with him and told him if he wanted some fantasy girl, there were plenty of escort services in town. He laughed softly.

“I would you to model for me, fraulein.”
 
Model??? Frauline??? Who was this guy? He handed me a card, and my jaw nearly dropped when I read the name. “You’re....you’re Peter Czernich. Oh... my... gawd.”
 
“Pleased to meet you, fraulein.”

“Angelica. And the pleasure is all mine, I assure you.”
 
He smiled and bowed slightly. “Take some time to consider my proposal. I will be at the Adolphus all week.”

He turned and left, leaving me breathless. Peter Czernich wanted me to model for him.  Me!  I found Amy, completely forgetting the drinks, and told her the news.  She just smiled and kissed me. I felt lighter than air, and we danced all night to the electronic sounds of the technotrance mix.

The next morning, I called in sick and then called over to the Adolphus.  Mr. Czernich answered and was delighted to hear from me.  I was told to meet him at his suite in the hotel, where he would do a test shoot.  I didn’t need to bring anything, he said.  I asked if Amy could come along, but she had to work that day.  Giddy beyond words, I drove to the hotel downtown and was met by one of Mr. Czernich’s associates.

“Monsieur Czernich is eagerly awaiting you, Mademoiselle.  Follow me.”

I was taken up to the penthouse suite, where a small army of photographers, makeup artists, and lighting techs had transformed the room into a studio.  I was taken back to one of the makeup stations, primped, powdered, and greeted my Mr. Czernich.

“Please,” he said in his German accent. “Call me Peter. All my models do.”

He led me to the small stage that had been erected, where two wardrobe techs fitted me with a flesh tone latex panty and two round latex circles.  Suddenly, I was sexless and had no nipples.
 
“Just let your body go, Angelique,” Peter told me.  I was coy, but only for a few seconds.  Then the realization that I was being photographed took hold, and every exhibitionist feeling I ever had came out.  Six rolls of film later, Peter called for a break and came over to me.
 
“That was incredible, Angelique. You have the gift. Please, would you come to my studio in Hamburg?”
 
I was floored. Hamburg?  Me, a fetish model?  It was almost more than I could handle. Impulsively, I said yes.  He smiled and handed me a plane ticket for a flight that left tomorrow.

“I will see you tomorrow evening, in Hamburg, Fraulein. My associate will see you to your car.”

I dressed and the charming Frenchman I met earlier walked me to my car.  I drove home in a daze, and found Amy lounged on the couch.  I told her what had happened so fast she sat me down and told me to start over while she fixed me a drink.  She squealed when she found out I was to be latex fetish model.  She wasn’t too thrilled about me leaving tomorrow, or being gone an entire week, but she was happy for me nonetheless.  I pulled out my suitcase and started packing, and the rest of the day was spent in a pleasant daze.

I arrived in Hamburg the following evening, and the Frenchman met me at the terminal.  We rode in a limousine into the country, to a large estate.  The Frenchman, who introduced himself as Gerard, told me the place had once been a French chateau, but that history had been ‘unkind’ to this chunk of the world, and was now part of Germany.

We pulled up the front, and several maids, completely encased in black, white, or clear rubber met us.  One took my luggage and another showed me to the wing where the models were staying.  On the way, I realized that the maid wasn’t a model, and was really a rubber maid.  Until then, such things only existed in books, stories, and the imagination.  Now, I was faced with a living one, and desperately wanted to talk with her.  Unfortunately, the hood she wore sealed off her mouth, and the was a slight bulge in her cheeks, the telltale sign of a pump gag.

I arrived at the models’ suite, and met the other four girls who were modeling here.  Two, Tasha and Jennifer, were American; Giselle was French, and Antonia was Italian.  It was glad I had studied both languages in college, and it didn’t take me long to remember them both.  Soon I had a lively discussion with Giselle, Jennifer, and Antonia, with me translating for Jennifer.  Giselle was impressed that I had studied French, and I found a fast friend in her.  As for Tasha, she didn’t seem to interested in talking, not even with her countrywomen.

Soon the head seamstress came in, accompanied by two more rubber maids.  She took each of our measurements carefully, recording every last detail, right down to the length and thickness of our fingers.  She left and returned rather quickly, and we wondered how she had made the garments so fast.  We all were given black catsuits, complete with gloves, feet, and hoods.  The maids lubed our bodies with silicone, and dressed us.  The latex slithered up my legs, and I watched with great enthusiasm as my legs became shiny and black.  I didn’t notice the solid dildo that was put inside me until it was too late.  My sex drive went to high gear, and I had a hard time controlling myself.

Tasha, on the other hand, made no attempts to hide her lust, and tried to rape the maid dressing her. The rest of us giggled softly, between moans and mews. The maids finished dressing us; and four black rubber goddess waited in the room.

Peter came a few minutes later and greeted us, then led us to the studio.  It was much less busy here.  Only Peter, a few lighting techs, and we were in the room.  Peter smiled, took a few candid shots, then started the shoot proper. Eight hours and over a dozen costume changes later, he called it a day.  We were tired, hungry, and horny, since none of us got any relief from the dildos buried inside us.  We returned to our rooms, where our maids undressed us.  A separate rubber attendant bathed us and gave us fresh rubber outfits for bed.  I took the opportunity to bring myself off while relaxing in the tub, and felt totally relaxed afterwards.  I dressed myself in the snug rubber nightie, and quickly fell asleep.

The next morning I awoke to a very worried looking Giselle and Jennifer.  “Tasha and Antonia are gone, Angie!”

“Gone? What do you mean?”
 
“There’re not here!”
 
“I’m sure they’re around somewhere.”
 
However, as the day progressed, neither girl surfaced, and we all went to bed worried.  That night, I awoke to a rustling noise.  I opened my eyes enough to be able to see Giselle and Jennifer being carried off, obviously drugged.  Silently, I followed the kidnappers through the chateau to what looked like a small lab.  In the middle of the room was a large, clear vat of pink liquid, and off to the side were person-shaped plastic vessels, sort of like hibernation tubes from some science fiction movie.  From the shadows I watched as two white clad rubber maids injected Giselle and Jennifer with a large syringe of silver fluid, then lowered them into clear vat.  I watched in horror as their hair dissolved away into nothing, leaving them totally hairless.  They were then removed from the vat and placed over small grates in the floor to drip dry.  A plastic-like sheen began to develop on their skin, and neither showed any signed of movement.

A black rubber male entered with a heavy hood in one hand.  He pulled the hood over Jennifer’s bald head, then zipped it shut.  It must have been very tight, because the man put a lot of effort into closing it.  He turned his attentions to Giselle, who received only minor modifications.  Her sex and nipples were smoothed over, and tall heels were put onto her feet.  He posed her arms and legs, and placed her under a dryer.

Meanwhile, I watched as Tasha and Antonia, also bald, were brought in.  Both had an absent stare which made be very scared.  They were placed in the plastic vessels, and the vessels were slowly filled with thick, black, liquid rubber.  The rubber was drained, and the vessels were opened.  The rubber dried instantly on contact with the air, and several maids descended on them to polish their rubber bodies.  They were dressed in maid’s uniforms and led away.  I gasped in horror, realizing that all the maids were like that.  Mindless rubber zombies.  The black man heard me, and suddenly several maids, including the newly transformed Tasha and Antonia, captured me and took me into the lab.  I was bound to the chair and the man walked over, shaking his head.

“I liked you, Angelica.  I wouldn’t have let you go in a few days, much wealthier and more famous. But now...now I can’t.”

“Why, Peter?  Why’d you do this?”

“They wanted it, Angelique.  This was their ultimate desire.  You, on the other hand, were pure. You had a life beyond your lusts.  These girls were things long before I ever met them.”

“What...what are you going to do?”  I feared becoming a rubber zombie like the others.

“Fear not. You won’t become a maid.  You will be a mannequin, like your friends here.  Let me show you.”

He stepped over to Giselle and rapped his knuckles against her breast.  It was a hard, plastic sound, almost hollow.  He turned and removed the hood from Jennifer’s head. I gasped in fear.  The hood had reshaped her face, making her just an abstract human form, devoid of character.  She quickly got the nipple and pussy treatment, and was left to harden.

“You will be sent home to your lover, my beauty.  I really wished you no harm.  You realize, though, I can’t let you leave as you are.
 
I became defiant. “Why not?”

He laughed bitterly. “How many people would like my work here?  How long would it be before I was arrested, put out of business?  Or, how many women would flock to my door, asking for immortality?  No, I must do this thing.  I am sorry.  You may write a short note, before you are changed, to your lover.”

I was given a pen and paper.  I told Amy loved her more than anything, and not to worry about me. Just think of me as a life-size Barbie, I wrote.  Tears stained the paper as I wrote, knowing I could be kissed, but never kiss back.  It hurt to sign my name, but I knew it was the only way.  I handed the note to Peter.  He glanced over it, nodded, and carefully folded it and sealed it in an envelope.  A maid approached with a syringe of  silver fluid, and I stoically sat as it was injected into my body.  I could feel the cold numbness spread up my arm and through my body.
 
“Please,” I whispered. “Don’t take my hair.”
 
Peter nodded silently, and a maid shaved my hair off, washed it, and left to make it into a wig.  I was lowered into the pink vat, and watched my eyelashes dissolve away, along with the stubble on my head.  I was lifted out, put in heels, and left to dry.  I could feel my skin hardening, my insides solidifying.  I wanted to cry, cry for Amy and I, but the tear ducts were already plastic.  Sometime later, the maid returned with the wig of my hair.  Peter glued it on and stood back.  With my last bit of strength, I opened my mouth slightly, as if to receive a kiss, as my face stiffened.  Peter shook his head again and mumbled in German as several maids brought in a large plastic crate and boxed me up.  My life as a mannequin had just begun.

It took Amy a month before she could function normally again.  I wanted to comfort her, console her, but my will could not move my plastic limbs.  I was rented out to Neiman-Marcus, and placed in the junior’s department.  I felt I belonged here.  I was aged 25, but had never really grown up.

Amy comes and sees me almost everyday, and talks to me when no one is around.  She’s the senior partner in her design firm now, so I don’t worry about her providing for herself.  She tells me about my mom, and my niece, and how they’re doing.  I can tell, though, that the gleam is slowly going out in her eyes.  Soon I’ll just be a fading memory for her.

All for just one weeks patience...
 
 
 

FIN