Morgan's Scuba Shop - based on the story by Sasha Scandano

Author Unknown !

Section 1

Tourist season was ending in South Florida, and Morgan still had too much inventory left. The gall, handsome, and muscularly built man wondered how he would unload the excess scuba supplies. The seasonal visitors were leaving, and very few of them were buying anything to take back home. It had been a tough year, and Morgan almost lamented his condition. One day, while checking inventory, he discovered, to his horror, that he had failed to stock over six dozen male scuba unitards that he had ordered and received. At $100 each (wholesale), this amounted to a loss of over $15,000 in gross sales! He was ready to break down with frustration.

Late one afternoon, Morgan heard the shop door's bell ringing and was glad to have one more customer. From the back room where he kept his extra stock, he quickly stepped into the front showroom to wait on the customer. Closing time was only minutes away.

With hope, he found a tall, sturdy man looking at his inventory and wares; he was very curious about this good-looking customer. Morgan eagerly went to and greeted him.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I noticed in the local paper an ad for a free pair of sunglasses. I've got my coupon here." The man drew a small slip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to Morgan. The shop owner took it reluctantly. He had placed the ad in order to draw customers into his store, hoping to encourage people to pick up a few other pieces of merchandise while they were in the shop.

"Okay...the sunglasses are on the rack on the counter...find a pair you like." Morgan watched the man browse the glasses, select a pair with dark green lenses in a dark tortoise-shell frame, and slip them on. "Those look very smart on you. What else can I get for you today?"

"No...nothing. I'm just going to browse," the customer remarked, "...thank you."

Great, Morgan thought, another "no sale"...just what I needed. The dis- appointments and anxieties of the dismal season again swelled within him; he almost couldn't think straight. When are things going to happen for me?! ...these past couple of years here, all the time and energy to be part of this town, putting up with so many arrogant tourists.... It didn't matter if this customer was different and if he was a decent fellow; all of Morgan's frustrations were focused on this man who had stepped into his shop. He decided that he'd at least try to have some fun with him.

"Well," said Morgan to the man, "I'm just closing up, but take your time." He walked over to the front door and locked it, turned over the "CLOSED" sign, and pulled down the shades in the windows. "Boy, what a long day...I need a scotch and soda. Would you like one, sir?" he asked casually, trying to hide his growing giddiness.

"Yes, thanks, that's very generous of you...first a pair of sunglasses, and now a, right?"

"Compliments of the house," Morgan said in a forced friendly manner. "Cheap- skate," he muttererd under his breath as he returned to the back room and to the liquor cabinet. He poured a scotch and soda for himself, quickly downed it, and then prepared himself another. But in the glass for his customer, instead of soda, he mixed in a hefty shot of whiskey. Yes, he thought, let's get him so stupid-drunk that he'll buy one of everything in the store. Morgan took both glasses in hand and smiled as he felt the effects of his own drink begin to spread through him. He already felt a little less agitated and more relaxed. As he turned toward the front show- room, he spotted the stout little clay jar, which he used to weight down bills and invoices, on the corner of his desk. A friend, Dylan, a local "tour guide," had given it to him as a joke, telling him that the grey powder inside was supposedly a special chemical/herb mixture that the local natives gave to animals to bring about a stone hard carcass to aid in preparing the animals for skinning. Morgan's grin widened. Let's see what that stuff really does, he thought to himself. He carefully pulled off the jar's lid and spooned out a tiny amount of the powder. "Here goes," he said as he "seasoned" his customer's drink with the mixture and gently stirred until the drink was clear again; "let's start with just a little bit."

Morgan walked back into the front room and handed the drink to the stranger. "Here you go...bottoms up!" MOrgan said merrily. As seemed typical with tourists, the stranger gulped his drink in a "I am a tourist" manner. Morgan almost rolled his eyes.

"Ahh...good stuff," the stranger said with a smile, "but I think you put something extra in my drink." MOrgan was caught off guard for a moment. "How did you know I prefer whiskey to soda? How about another one?" the stranger requested with a smile. The shop owner relaxed and laughed jovially.

"Coming right up." Morgan ducked back into the store room and quickly returned with the bottles and the jar of powder and set them behind the counter. We'll get him drunk as a fish in no time, he mused, as he stirred more powder into the stranger's second drink.

"Here you go," he said.

"Now that's service," the visitor exclaimed as he gulped down the second glass; "wow...that's good stuff."

"You look like a pretty fit you do much diving?" Morgan asked as he regarded the man's trim and muscular build.

"I try to keep in shape. I've never done much diving before though."

"Here...why don't you try on this unitard? It's been a big seller this past season," Morgan lied and prompted as he took a black unitard from a table and handed it to the man. "This looks like your size."

"Do you have it up on a mannequin?" the man asked.

"No, I'm afraid I haven't got any mannequins to model the clothes and gear. It might be a good idea though."

The man stood before a mirror and held the unitard in front of himself. "Sure," he said, "let's see what this looks like."

Morgan noticed the man look around the store for the dressing rooms. "That's okay...we're can try it on out here. I'll make you another drink and tell you how that looks on you."

The stranger hesitated for a moment, but then smiled. He kicked off his tennis shoes as he unbuttoned his light blue short-sleeved shirt and loosened his belt and khaki pants. In a moment, he stood in only a pair of tight, grey briefs.

"Those will have to come off too if you're going to wear the unitard right," instructed Morgan as he looked at the man's well-toned and muscularly chiseled body and then at his handsome, boyish face.

The man seemed to blus slightly as he took hold of the waistband with both hands, then pulled down and stepped out of his briefs. He straightened and, for a moment, paused to admire himself in the mirror as Morgan looked on. I should get a mannequin that looks like him in here, he thought; that would show off these things well and might even draw some people in. In just a minute or so, the man stepped into and pulled on the black unitard. The dark material hugged his body and seemed to accentuate each muscle, each curve and contour of his body. It was a perfect fit.

"That looks great on you," Morgan said with enthusiasm, as he handed a third cocktail to the man. In truth, the unitard did look great on him. In his slightly inebriated state, for he had downed a couple more scotch and sodas himself, Morgan could hardly keep from gazing at the stranger and thinking how great this man would look in his store window, what a fine mannequin he would make wearing that unitard.

"You think so?" the man asked. He heartily gulped his drink and turned in front of the mirror. "It makes me feel kind of stiff," he said.

Morgan had forgotten about the alleged effects of the powder he'd mixed into the man's drink. "Nonsense," Morgan replied. "Here, let's check your posture."

He knelt down and put his hands around the man's ankles and moved them so that the man stood in a better balanced stance. When Morgan touched him, he was surprised at how cool his skin felt. Running his hands up the man's legs, he noticed that they felt unusually cool as well. Suddenly, through his slight intoxication, it began to dawn on him.

Morgan pinched the man's calves. "Can you feel that?"

"Feeel whaat?" the man slurred.

"My God, it really works...," Morgan gasped excitedly.

"Whaz happ'ning too mee...I can har'ly moove in this ttthhhiiinggg." Morgan ignored the comment. Moving his hands up the man's waist, he began balancing the stiffening body. Positioning the arms and shoulders, Morgan quickly arranged the man's limbs and body parts as if he were posing a display model. The man had stopped moving altogether and offered no resistance to Morga's manipulation of his body. Morgan pinched the man's peck muscle. "Can you feel that?" he asked excitedly.

The man gave no response. There was only a calm expression fixed on the stranger's face in reply to his question.

Morgan massaged the stranger's groin area and felt the man's already bulging penis sweel and stiffen under his palms until it too began to harden and cool. He quickly reached into the unitard and positioned the man's penis and scrotum in such a way that they would look most flattering pressing through the unitard or any item of clothing, such a underwear or even slacks and jeans. Then, using his fingers the way a clay sculptor might, he moved his hands over the stranger's mouth and lips to form a perfect boyish smile.

When he was done, he lightly ran his hands over the man's body. It now felt amazingly cool and firm. The skin had hardened so quickly and perfectly. Morgan tapped his fingers on the handsome face, then rapped on the cheek with his knuckles; there was the sound of sharp knocks on a hard surface. He tipped the man back and pivoted the rigid body on one leg. The customer had solidified completely, and there was no moment at all. Finally, Morgan pressed his hand on the man's chest and then on his neck; there was no pulse, no sign that the man had actually been alive, that he had even ever been anything other than a perfect, handsome mannequin.

Section 2

Morgan picked up the stranger's glass and smiled. He collected up the other drink glasses into the back room, washed them, and set them to dry, and casually returned the liquor bottles to the cabinet. He picked up the little clay jar from off the counter and sealed it tightly, then locked it in his top desk drawer. Finally, he gathered up the man's shirt and pants, shoes, socks, and briefs, and, finding a wallet in the pants pocket, stashed the clothes into a back closet. He flipped through the wallet's contents and found a Colorado driver's license. "Hmmm...Samuel Ralph Mitchell." Morgan looked over at the handsome figure standing motionless in the middle of his shop. "Welcome, Sam's nice to make your acquaintance. I'm so glad that you've decided not to return to Colorado and that you'll be staying on here...permanently." The new mannequin seemed pleased by the greeting as it stood motionless, its lips shaped into a friendly grin and its gaze a thousand miles away.

Morgan turned out the lights and carefully lifted the new mannequin into the back room. Sam's rigid body felt strangely light for a man of his size. As Morgan set the figure down in the workroom, he also noticed that Sam's face had taken on a slightly artificial appearance and looked more like a real mannequin, albeit a very life-like one. He stripped Sam of the unitard and spent the next hour before heading home preparing the new mannequin for display.

Once he had removed the unitard from the stiffened man, Morgan found that he could very easily rub off any body hair from the hardened skin, until Sam's body...his arms and legs, his chest and stomach, and his crotch...everywhere below his head...was perfectly smooth and hairless. He even rubbed off the shadow of beard stubble and smoothed the inside of Sam's nostrils and ears, but he was careful to leave the eyelashes and eyebrows and Sam's head of hair intact. Morgan redressed the figure in the black unitard.

He carried the new mannequin up to the store's front window and set it on a platform among various scuba items and diving gear. "Yes, that's it," he said, half to himself and half to the solidified man. From his pocket he pulled out the pair of sunglasses that Sam had chosen for himself when he first entered the store and carefully positioned them on the mannequin's head. "That should work...there, my friend, that should protect your identity." He put his hand on the mannequin's shoulder and smiled; the transformed man felt solid and sturdy. "Good night, Sam; I'll see you in the morning." Morgan gathered up his things, locked up the shop for the day, and headed home.

At the close of business the following day, Morgan was relaxed and confident as he talked with his buddy, Dylan, the "tour guide," in the shop's back room. With his feet kicked up onto the edge of the table and a drink in his hand, he relished the day's brisk business.

"Best damned sales day of the season; the total take was over ten grand!" he proudly cited. "Not bad...and that's after taking out a cut for you." Morgan handed several bills to his friend, who in turn slipped another powder-filled jar, a larger one this time, into Morgan's hand. "Who would have believed that the story you told me about this native powder is true?"

"Have I ever lied to you or let you down?"

"No, you never have, old pal."

"Now, the powder in both jars should be enough to stock at least a dozen department stores, and there's a lot more where it came from. You only have to administer one tiny dose to each man," the handsome guide replied. Morgan nodded.

"Oh, by the way...have you seen this?" Dylan handed Morgan a copy of that evening's edition of "The Daily Festival," the local newspaper.

"Gee, would you look at store," Morgan laughed, "and the store window. That's my store on the front page! And I owe it all to that mannequin," he sighed as he sipped a scotch and soda. "Nice work, Sam!" he called into the front room.

"And look at page four."

"Sunset Beach...there must be at least two dozen unitards in this photo alone...," Morgan exclaimed. "I guess that's how a 'fad' is born." He rose and poured another round for his friend. "Hey, Dylan, why don't you hang around the shop more. I've been thinking of expanding the know, turn it into a men's clothing and furnishings shop...something that's less seasonal. I could use your help around the store," he offered as he handed his pal the drink.

"Might not be a bad idea...with the season ending. I'll let you know." Dylan drained the contents of the glass in a single gulp and smiled faintly. "But now, I've got to get home. I'm a little tired...starting to feel a little stiff."

"Dylan," Morgan began, "what happens...I Sam dead now? Did he die when he became a mannequin?"

Dylan seemed to pause before answering. When he finally spoke, his speech slurred noticeably. "From what I un'erstand, the subject en'ers a'zorta state a'limmmmbbbbo as 'e hard'ns uuppp. Hey...di' joooo put sommmmme eckstra whissskeee in my skotch?"

Morgan didn't answer, but simply watched calmly as Dylan seemed to shift into slow motion while rising from his chair to leave. "Do the natives have an antidote for the gray powder then?"

Again, Dylan hesitated before answering. "Would jooo beleeef it? The nadivs sssaaay tha' i' jus' takes a bath or shower for the petrifying praw- ssesss 'n th' body ta beee reverst an' a man to revif...." Dylan had finally risen from his chair, but after turning toward the door and taking just one step, he froze in place and stood by Morgan's desk.

Morgan smiled at his unmoving friend. "Thanks for the information, Dylan... no, you've never let me down, buddy. I knew you'd help me out're going to help me out with the store the same way Sam is helping me out. And I'll be sure to remember to keep you and Sam in the front window out of baths or showers." Morgan took the scotch glass from Dylan's stiffening hand and quickly set about posing for himself a second male mannequin fingure. After an hour or so, MOrgan had repeated the same procedure on Dylan that he had performed on Sam. In addition, as a precautionary measure, to guard against either new mannequin from possibly getting wet and the mannequinization process reversing accidently, Morgan carefully sprayed a fine protective glossy sealer on both Sam and his friend. The coating quickly dried, and he dressed both figures.

Morgan lifted his newest mannequin acquisition, this one dressed in tight red speedo swim briefs and a blue tank top t-shirt, up into the front window and then set Sam beside it. " Dylan. You two will make an excellent team," remarked Morgan as he admired his two male figures in the display. Sam and Dylan made for a pair of sleek, sexy mannequins...the two men now only frozen fixtures of manhood. Morgan turned out the light and locked the door. As he headed down the street, he triend to imagine the kind of sales he would enjoy the next day and was already visualizing his expanded men's shop, perfect, handsome male mannequins in the store windows and lining the walls of the store.