The man reached out and brushed the mannequin with his hungry fingers, obsession was holding his arm up, drool spilling generously down to the unswept floor failing to find a clean surface to land on.
He pushed his eyelids open to continue ogling the mannequin, using the reinforcments of his brow and forehead. sighing with deep affection as his sweat stained fingers touched the plastic arm of her.
He shifted his position on the stool accusing himself in his own head of letting his senses betray him into an intoxicating limerence at frequency so erotic in his mind's radio, he was running out of underwear.
The mannequin stayed exactly still, showed no signs of arousal and the surface of her remained hard and dry. All things the logical mind would say, should put a man off. Not so.
So again the man reached out his damp warm fingers searching for something outside of the aberration he was accustomed to seeing each morning in the mirror before suiting up to work the vitrine's of that old department store on brompton road.
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