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Though he never admitted it to himself, Frank’s favorite part of working at the department store was dressing the mannequins. Specifically, dressing the tall muscular ones on the third floor: the men’s underwear department.

Frank had been trying to shape his body for years. While he had some nice, lean muscle, it was nothing compared the the thick, shapely bodies of the plastic models that he frequently dressed and undressed. They were perfect, their bulging biceps, bulges pressed up against the fabric. In a way, they were more perfect than the real models on the underwater packages.

Sometimes, Frank would request to stay late and close the store. It was a long an arduous process, but it was worth it for the time alone he would get with the plastic figures. Mostly he would just look at them, but sometimes he would even run his fingers across their molded muscles, down the crevices of their abs…

But one night, Frank was met with an unhappy surprise. When he went up to the third floor to close up shop, the mannequins were gone! Only empty platforms stood in their place.

Frantically, Frank searched for a plan of action. Steal them from another department? Check storage? They had been there only hours before. What could have happened??

As he thought, Frank started to feel cold and clammy. He started to freeze up. From panic? No, he was literally freezing up. His limbs were getting stiffer, his skin getting harder. Paler. He was starting to look like…

No. It was impossible. But with every passing moment, Frank started to more and more resemble the underwater mannequin that was missing. He felt his body go light, hollow, as air filled his muscles and expanded them out, sculpting his body into the perfect male form. Perfect arms, perfect abs, perfect ass.

“Please… I don’t want to be—“ But his mouth disappeared. His face was going blank and flat, expressionless. In just a few seconds, he would be nothing more than a plastic fixture, trapped in and endless pose, showing off his powerful male physique.

He fell to the floor. Silent, waiting for someone to set him up. It wasn’t until the morning when his co-worker walked in and turned on the lights.

“Damnit Frank,” he said, looking down at the mannequin sporting Frank’s uniform. He picked up the mannequin and began to undress it.

If he could talk, Frank would be moaning. The feeling of hands caressing his plastic sent  him over the edge. He felt the cool air against the plastic numb where his cock and balls previously sat. He felt as the underwear slid up his thick legs, up over his perky butt. And as he stood up onto the platform, all apprehensions about being a mannequin vanished. This was the job he was meant to do. And damned if he wasn’t going to do it well.