Black Friday Sale (asfr)
Copyright © 2014 z119z. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.
[A word of explanation may be in order for readers outside the United States. Our national holiday of Thanksgiving falls on the fourth Thursday of November. Schools, offices, and many businesses are also closed the following day, which means that a large percentage of the population has the day off. Traditionally this Friday is the start of the Christmas shopping season, and stores have special sales on this day. The discounts on high-priced goods can be quite large, and throngs of shoppers clog stores with the best sales. It is known as Black Friday because the high volume of sales on that day generates lots of income, and for many retail businesses the day means that they will have a profitable year—or "be in the black"; hence Black Friday. Comments are appreciated. Please leave one here or email them to me at email@example.com. Thanks.]
"Mom, it's Tyler. I'm still in Boston at the office. I just got a text from the airline. My flight's been cancelled because of the weather. We're having a freak snowstorm, and Logan Airport's closed until tomorrow morning at least. O'Hare's still digging out from earlier today, and it's already filled with people trying to find flights. They rescheduled me for a flight on Saturday, but I have to go through Dallas, and the flight won't get into Denver until early evening, and I have to leave the next day, so . . ."
"Oh, Tyler." The disappointment in his mother's voice was clear. "Are you sure you can't get here? Have you tried the other airlines? And we've invited Reverend Hansen's niece to meet you, and your sister brought home one of her roommates just to meet you. The girls will be so disappointed."
"Mom, it's not just Boston. The entire East Coast's shut down. All the airports are closed. Nobody's flying, and I'm one of thousands who have to reschedule. I'm still at work, but they're telling us to leave early. I don't know how long it's going to take me just to get back to my apartment. The subway's running slow because of the storm, and I've got my suitcase and . . . ." It took another ten minutes of conversation to get his mother to accept that he wouldn't be coming home. Tyler could detect that she suspected him of exaggerating the severity of the storm just to get out of spending Thanksgiving with his family. She wasn't happy when he hung up. She still had a lot to say to him—and he knew she would take the time to say it in her next phone calls.
Even when everything went right and he made all the connections, Thanksgiving travel was always a bitch. It seemed like he barely made it to his parents' home before he needed to start back. He had to work a full day on Wednesday, which meant rushing to the airport to catch a flight on Wednesday evening. By the time he had changed flights in Chicago and finally made it to Denver, it would be almost midnight. Then he had to rent a car and drive for another two hours, the last forty miles over back-country roads, to reach his family's ranch outside Bryant in the northeast corner of the state. On Sunday he had to leave early in the morning to be back in time for work on Monday.
All for what—his mother's dry turkey, a lecture from his father on what he was or was not doing with his life, awkward conversations with the unmarried women his relatives invited to meet him. Not to mention trekking through crowded airports, playing Russian roulette with the weather and risking delayed or cancelled flights, sleeping on the lumpy sofa in the living room (his brother and his wife and their children got the spare bedrooms), no alcohol, no sex, giving the same answers to the same questions from all his relatives, screaming kids, his brother's bragging about his successes. It just wasn't worth it, but every year his parents insisted that he make the trip so that he could "be with us on the holiday." They always pretended their sole concern was to keep him from being alone on the holiday, but neither of them ever hesitated to play the guilt card. ("Your grandmother was saying just the other day how much she's looking forward to your visit," etc.)
Tyler felt almost thankful for the snowstorm. He hadn't lied to his mother. The storm and the resulting snarl in travel would be on the nightly news in Colorado, and his family would know that he had a good excuse not to be with them. And, just once in his life, it would be good to hole up in his apartment and relax for four days without having to think about other people. The only interruptions would be the obligatory phone call tomorrow to his family to express his regrets for missing Thanksgiving with them (he figured it would take about thirty minutes to say sorry to everyone) and, weather permitting, his daily run. The gym was out—there had been a sign on the door for a week announcing that it would be closed on Thanksgiving so that "our employees can spend the day with their loved ones," but he could make up for the lost time on Friday and the weekend. For once, he would have a real vacation.
The subway trip back to his apartment took three times as long as usual. Because of the storm, the trains were even more crowded than they usually were at rush hour. The first Green C train at Park Street was so crowded that there wasn't room for him and his suitcase, and he had to wait another twenty minutes for the next one. When the train finally emerged above ground at the St. Paul's Street stop in Brookline, it was immediately surrounded by swirling snow. Passengers getting off had to wade through several inches of dirty slush. The traffic jam on Beacon Street meant that the train often had to wait minutes at the stoplights for the cross traffic to clear. It was nearly 7:30 by the time Tyler made it back to his apartment. A quick check of his refrigerator and cupboards confirmed what he already knew. He had no food.
Which is why Tyler found himself standing in line at the deli counter in the supermarket just after 8:00. The fourteen people in line ahead of him looked like they were in the same straits as Tyler. Alone on the holiday, too lazy or too inexperienced to cook for themselves, one after another they stepped to the counter and asked for "one of those Thanksgiving dinner specials."
According to the sign on the wall behind the counter, the special included "two slices of Turkey breast meat with all the trimmings, $6.95" A drumstick could be substituted for the white meat for two dollars more. Cardboard cutouts of turkeys and pilgrims carrying blunderbusses and axes surrounded the sign. Presumably the blunderbusses had been used to kill the turkeys for the dinners, and the axes to chop off their heads. Displayed on the counter was an open Styrofoam box divided into compartments. The largest compartment held the turkey slices. Arranged around it in the smaller sections were stuffing, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Gravy was slathered over the meat, stuffing, and potatoes. The person who had prepared the sample must have been in a hurry; there were dribbles of gravy over the green beans as well. Next to the box were a small container with cranberry sauce and a triangular box with a piece of pumpkin pie.
A table behind the counter was stacked with prepackaged brown paper sacks, with the tops folded over and stapled shut. Each had a label with "Thanksgiving Deli Special" and a barcode so that it could be scanned quickly at the checkout. The line moved quickly. The customer in front barely uttered "Thanksgiving special" before the clerk had swiveled around, picked up one of the sacks, and then swiveled back and handed it over. The clerk's bored wish of "Happy Thanksgiving" was perfunctory. She sounded as if she had already said it a thousand times that day.
Tyler counted the number of people ahead of him in the line and the number of sacks left on the table. He came up three short. Unless someone in the back was preparing more "Thanksgiving Deli Specials," he wasn't going to have the traditional meal.
"Sorry, folks. That's it. We're sold out." The clerk sounded thrilled to make that announcement. Her day was over. She turned away, snapped off the lights in the deli section, peeled off the plastic gloves she was wearing, and threw them in the trash bin before scurrying off. She ignored the attempts of the woman standing at the head of the line to order something else from the deli cases.
Tyler got one of the last frozen TV dinners left in the freezer section. The store was out of turkey. He would have meatloaf for Thanksgiving. Luckily the liquor store was better stocked. He was able to buy three twelve-packs of beer. Not his usual brand, but, hey, beer was beer.
Thanksgiving was rather of a blur. When Tyler awoke on Friday morning, he found himself lying half-undressed on his bed. His throat was so dry it felt cracked, and his head throbbed, He remembered having his first beer at noon. He thought he had had a few more after that. At some point he had been watching a football game, but he couldn't recall what teams had been playing. One side had been wearing red—maybe. That might have been a game on some other day. He wasn't sure if he had eaten anything. It was all sort of hazy.
He dragged himself into the bathroom and under the shower. It didn't help. He needed a cup of coffee. Several cups. He rummaged through the stock of cans and packages in the kitchen cabinets and found an old jar of instant. Only a powdering of dust remained in the jar. He would have to go out. At least he knew now that he had eaten something. The aluminum tray from the TV dinner lay crumpled on the kitchen counter. All that remained were some smears of gravy and a few lima beans. Also strewn across the counter were the reasons for his dry mouth and his headache—eleven partially crushed beer cans.
He needed coffee. It was just past 6:30. Surely the Starbucks at Cleveland Circle would be open by now, even if was the day after Thanksgiving. If not, there was that 24-hour convenience store at the end of the block. It never closed, and it always had coffee. Tyler cocked an eye out the window. It was just getting light. It looked cold, but at least it had stopped snowing. Cold might even be good. The shock would help wake him up. That and the coffee. And after coffee, if the sidewalks had been shoveled, he would go for a run and then to the gym. That would cook out all the alcohol out of his system and clear his head. He pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. As he was going out the door, he noticed his sunglasses on the table by the door. He grabbed them. His eyes needed protection against sunlight reflecting off the snow.
It was colder out than he had anticipated. He almost turned around to go back and get a pair of gloves, but then he decided that he would be all right. It wasn't that far, and he could cut through the alley behind the drugstore and save a couple of minutes.
He had never been down the alley before. During the day it was always packed with trucks making deliveries to the stores and restaurants that backed onto it. Early on the morning following Thanksgiving, it was deserted. Halfway down a light attached to the wall of one of the buildings illuminated a sunken areaway, but that was the only sign the alley was ever used.
Six or seven steps led down into the areaway. Tyler glanced into it, just to make sure no one was lurking there. To his surprise, there was a shop window filled with small doll-like figures and sign reading "Black Friday Sale." There was an "Open" sign on the door, and the shop was lit up. He could see the shadow of someone moving around inside. The incongruity made Tyler laugh. A Black Friday sale in a small shop down an alley. Who would ever see it and visit the shop? He had lived in this neighborhood for three years, he had walked past the alley several hundred times, and yet he had never suspected that there might be a shop back here. It must be the owner's idea of a joke.
He leaned over the railing at the top of the areaway and peered into the shop. Now that he examined the figures more closely, he could see that they were dressed in a variety of action hero costumes. The bodies of the figures were very lifelike. Tyler didn't recognize any of the characters, but then he didn't pay much attention to that sort of thing. His nephews were fanatics, however. Something like this would make ideal Christmas gifts for them. The clerk would undoubtedly be able to tell him what characters were popular now and advise him what to buy.
Tyler hesitated. It was early, but the sign did say the shop was open. Maybe he should come back later. But it would be great to get that bit of Christmas shopping out of the way. And he was sure to be the only customer in the store. It wouldn't take long to have a look. He walked down the steps and tried the door. A bell jingled overhead when he opened it. He stuck his head in and said, "Excuse me. I saw the sign. Are you open?"
Just as he was speaking, a man's voice called out from the back, "Come on in. I'll be with you in a second. I'm just getting a cup of coffee. Can I offer you one?"
That was all that Tyler needed to hear. Coffee and maybe a solution to the annual problem of finding appropriate gifts for two nephews he barely knew. He stepped all the way in and closed the door behind himself. "I'd love one. Thanks."
"Milk? Sugar? Have a look around. Coffee's almost ready. I'll be with you in a minute."
"Thanks. Black for me. You're a real lifesaver. You've no idea how much I need a cup of coffee."
The shelves were filled with hundreds of figures. Each was a foot or so high. The molding of the faces and bodies was incredibly detailed. Tyler picked one up. It was heavier than he expected—and warmer. The body had the pliant hardness of muscled flesh. Even the hair looked real. It fell realistically away from the scalp when he tilted the figure to the side. The costume on the figure was made of cloth. It wasn't painted onto the plastic or whatever material had been used to make the figure. It hugged the body like Spandex. The figure appeared to be naked beneath the costume. The muscles were clearly outlined by the tight costume. Tyler took a closer look. If he was any judge, the figure was "going commando." Tiny cock and balls were visible beneath the Spandex. Well, not so tiny—Tyler corrected himself—in proportion to the rest of the body. He turned the figure over and pushed the cape to the side. The tights were rightly named. They clung to the figure's ass, and the seam disappeared into the crack.
Maybe, Tyler thought, these won't be so appropriate for his nephews. He could imagine what his sister-in-law would say. She already made certain that the nephews were never left alone in a room with their gay uncle. She'd probably think Tyler was trying to convert them. He did have to admit, however, that the doll he was holding was a powerful argument for the beauty of the male body.
"Here you are." A bulky man in his forties—Tyler assumed he was the owner of the store—maneuvered his way through the curtained door at the back of the room holding two mugs of coffee. "No milk, no sugar." He held out the cup in his right hand. The man looked like the type of nerd who would run a store devoted to selling action figures. The stereotypical geek getting on in years but still devoted to fantasies of muscular men with superpowers fighting other muscular men with superpowers.
"Thanks. I really need this." Tyler placed the figure back on the shelf. "I can't it over how lifelike these are. They must be molded from life. Where are they made?"
"Here. I make all of them myself. I have several basic models. They can be dressed in a variety of ways—whatever you want really. I can't reproduce the costumes of action heroes on TV and movies. I'm not licensed to do that, but most people want something like the clothes on Sam--the figure you were looking at. You know, the usual form-fitting body suit and a cape."
The man made Tyler feel uncomfortable. After he had handed Tyler the cup of coffee, he had stepped back, and, as he spoke, he examined Tyler slowly from head to foot. Tyler felt like he was being scrutinized under a magnifying glass. But it wasn't the usual gay cruising look. It felt more like . . . what? Some memory. If he hadn't drunk so much yesterday, his mind wouldn't be so fuzzy. He took a gulp of coffee. Then it came to him. It was the same calculating look Mr. Caldwater, who ran the men's clothing shop in Bryant, gave his customers. Mr. Caldwater could look at you and know your size. He never had to take your measure. This man seemed to have the same ability. It was vaguely embarrassing to be stared at like that. He had to say something to direct the man's attention away.
"They're incredible. What are they made out of? Some sort of plastic?"
"Yeah, something like that." The man smiled to himself. "It's a special formula I've devised. It's a trade secret. Sorry. Don't mean to sound mysterious, but I don't want to give away my methods. That wouldn't be good business. I have lots of competitors who would pay well to know my secrets. You've no idea what some of them have done in an attempt to learn how I make my toys. They're really quite unique. Did you notice how flexible the figures are?"
The man sat his mug down on the counter and picked up one of the figures. "Here. Try this one. You'll see. Go ahead. Move the arms and legs and twist the torso. Don't worry. You won't break it."
Tyler gingerly moved one of the figure's arms. He almost dropped it in surprise. "Jeez, that's amazing." He maneuvered the arm back to its original position. "The bicep flexes just like on a real arm."
"Oh, yeah, All the muscles move realistically." A note of pride crept into the man's voice.
"These are amazing. How long have you been here? I didn't know your shop existed."
"I'm open only by special appointment. Today's an exception. Most of my business is done over the Internet. I have customers all over the world. I don't really have any walk-in trade to speak of. Today's a special sale for some of my local customers. I texted them inviting them to preview my new collection of models starting at 2:00. It will be crowded here this afternoon. I just came in early to get everything ready."
Tyler nodded and looked around. "Uh, one thing. I was thinking of giving these as Christmas presents to my nephews. They watch all the cartoons and action movies, but they're only six and eight. These figures may be too adult for them. Do you have any that are a little less lifelike? I mean not so , , , maybe not so anatomically correct?"
"No." The man shook his head. "Sorry. These aren't really toys for children. I could maybe put something like a jockstrap with a cup over the groin to hide the genitals, but if your nephews undressed the figures, they would find a working set of cock and balls?"
"Working?" Tyler laughed. "That makes it sound almost like they could have an erection."
The man nodded yes. "Yep. They can. As you noted, they are very true to life. Of course, on small figures like these, the erections aren't impressive, but many of my customers prefer that. My clients who think bigger is better find the larger models more than satisfactory in that department."
Tyler looked around at the hundreds of figures on the shelves. Some of them did have erections. Odd that he hadn't noticed that before. He could have sworn that all those cocks had been limp when he first walked in. Surely, he would have noticed the swollen cocks tenting those elastic tights. He leaned in to take a closer look at the figure directly before him on the display shelf—Was that a tiny wet spot on the front of his briefs? "Larger models?"
"Yes, all the sample display figures are one-sixth size. In the back, I have half- and full-size figures. Within limits, I can make each model any size the customer wants. I have one customer who has a collection of miniatures, none more than four inches tall. The largest figure I've made was seven feet tall. That's the tallest I can make with the 3D printers I have now. Of course, it was a special order and very expensive. More coffee?"
Tyler looked down at his cup in surprise. He hadn't realized that he had drunk the entire cup."Oh, thanks. I would like another cup. It's great coffee by the way."
"It's my special blend. I prepare it myself. Why don't you step into the back? I keep the larger models back there. I'll get you another cup while you look at them." The man held the curtain back so that Tyler could step through. "Go ahead. They're in the room at the end on the right. I'll just be a second."
The figures in the room on the right were housed in brightly lit, glass display cases. As the man had promised, each was full-size. Unlike the figures in the front room, all were nude. The right arm of the figure nearest the door was stretched out as if to shake Tyler's hand. He reminded Tyler of a gay porn star whose photos had fueled many of his teenage fantasies. Seeing the figure made him wonder what had happened to the guy. What was his name? God, he used to know that. He couldn't remember anything this morning. The owner had better hurry with that cup of coffee. He was still half asleep.
Mark something, wasn't that it? Every time the guy appeared in a new video, dozens of pictures and excerpts from the videos had immediately been uploaded to the Net. For a couple of years, not a week had gone by without new pictures of him appearing. And then suddenly, he had just disappeared. But his pictures were still around. Tyler saw one occasionally.
There were wisps of hair across the figure's knuckles, and his forearms were covered with a thick brown pelt. Tyler peered through the glass. Each hair seemed to be individually molded and attached. The upper arms were hairless; revealing the veins twisting over the surface of the biceps. In every detail, the figure resembled a living man frozen into place. The face had slight wrinkles around the eyes and the mouth, and there were even a few hairs growing out of the nostrils. The pecs were sharply defined and hung over six-pack abs. The nipples were stiff. A faint treasure trail led downward between the abs. Tyler couldn't prevent his eyes from staring at the man's genitals. The cock was uncut, and the foreskin pulled back to expose the head. The right ball hung down a good inch lower than the left one. The figure languidly rotated its hips forward slightly so that the cock and balls moved back and forth.
Tyler jumped back. He had to have imagined that. Then the cock moved again. It looked like it was beginning to swell and grow larger. No. Tyler shook his head in disbelief. It couldn't be. That was crazy. All that alcohol he had drunk yesterday was giving him hallucinations. He had to get control of himself. He'd have a hard-on before long if he didn't rein in his imagination.
"Would you like a closer look at Mike? He's one of my most popular models." The man handed Tyler his cup of coffee. "Here, drink this while I get him ready."
Tyler gulped down the coffee while the man unlocked the door of the display case and slid the figure out. "Like all of the figures, the life-size models are fully functional. Let me demonstrate." The man grasped "Mike's" cock and stroked it slowly. "Watch closely."
The man's remark was unnecessary. Tyler couldn't take his eyes off Mike's cock as it quickly grew erect. "Would you like to touch it?" The man stepped to one side and motioned Tyler forward.
The cock was rigid and hot. It throbbed in Tyler's hands. When Tyler squeezed it, Mike arched his back and thrust his hips forward. Tyler suddenly found himself embraced. Mike smiled and then leaned forward to kiss Tyler. His tongue parted Tyler's lips and insinuated itself into Tyler's mouth. One part of Tyler's mind concluded that Mike had to be a real person. Not even the best robot could feel this lifelike. Mike was so hard, and the muscles were so alive beneath his hands as he ran them over Mike's back and down onto his buttocks. The other part of Tyler's mind decided that it didn't matter what Mike really was. Human or robot, Mike knew what he was doing. He was pushing all of Tyler's buttons.
Mike placed his hands on Tyler's shoulders, guiding him down to his knees. Tyler couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and ran his tongue over Mike's cock. It even smelled like a real cock. He took it into his mouth and began sucking on it. Tyler could sense Mike becoming more and more excited. He took the cock all the way into his mouth, sucking on it harder and harder. Tyler lost track of time. It might have been minutes, it might have been hours. He couldn't think of anything but worshipping Mike's cock.
Off to one side, the shopowner was opening another of the display cases. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyler glimpsed the man walking another figure past him and then around behind him. He felt strong hands grasp him by the hips and pull his lower body up to a standing position. Tyler found himself bent forward at the waist with Mike's cock in his mouth. Then his sweatpants and briefs were pushed down past his knees. Tyler tried to pull away from Mike's cock and look around to see what was going on. But he wasn't given time to protest. Hot hands grasped his butt cheeks and spread them apart. A wet tongue began rimming him. He moaned. Mike's cock was repeatedly pushed deep into his throat as the person behind him plunged his tongue again and again into Tyler's ass. Jesus, how long was the guy's tongue? Nobody had ever rimmed like this before. It felt like there was a good inch of tongue up his ass.
Tyler didn't understand what was happening. His mind refused to process it. He was dreaming. That was the only explanation he could think of. But it didn't matter. If this was a dream, he could only hope for more of the same. All he had wanted was to have a cup of coffee and maybe buy some Christmas presents, and now he was the filling in a meat sandwich.
The man behind him withdrew his tongue from Tyler's ass and stood up. Tyler barely had time to register what was happening before the man thrust his cock into Tyler. Mike and the other man began pumping in unison. Their cocks grew even bigger. The man fucking him thrust into him so hard that Tyler had to grab Mike by the ass to keep himself from falling over. The last thing he wanted to do was to pull off the other man's cock. It felt so good. And he didn't want to stop sucking Mike. God, it was a great cock. It fit his throat perfectly. The muscles in Mike's ass contracted and relaxed as Mike rammed his cock even deeper into Tyler. Tyler's mind shut down in the fury of the men's assault on his body.
Mike cried out and wrapped his hands around Tyler's head, pressing Tyler's face into his crotch. Tyler couldn't breathe, but he didn't care. The hair surrounding Mike's cock was as soft and silky as his muscles were hard. Mike's hair quickly grew wet with the juices foaming out of Tyler's mouth.
The man behind him wrapped his arms around Tyler's waist and lifted him up so that he could shove his cock even deeper into Tyler. The move forced Tyler's mouth down onto Mike's cock. The two men began fucking him even faster.
Their breathing grew ragged. Tyler couldn't distinguish their grunts and cries from his own. Somewhere someone said, "On the count of ten. One . . . two . . . three . . . ." As the numbers mounted, the two men's cocks grew even larger in Tyler's throat and ass. Tyler couldn't think. All he could do was experience the force of their cocks tearing into him.
On the count of ten, both men came. Mike's cum shot down Tyler's throat. His mouth suddenly filled with cum. He swallowed it greedily as he kept sucking on Mike's cock. He felt the heat of the other man's cum in his ass.
Gradually the fucking subsided into a few spasmodic jabs. Mike gave a final thrust and then pulled out. He wiped his cock across Tyler's mouth, leaving a trail of cum on Tyler's lips. Tyler slumped to the floor when the man behind him released his body.
"Here. Let me clean you up." The shopowner dabbed at Tyler's face with a washcloth. "As you can see, Mike and Sean are entirely realistic. They can do anything a human male can do. There, at least your face is clean. I can't do much about your clothes. I sponged off as much as I could, but they need to be washed. You were drooling and leaking quite a bit."
Tyler was sitting in a chair. He couldn't remember how he had gotten there. The last thing he recalled was feeling the heat of Mike's cum on his lips.
The man saw Tyler looking around in confusion. "This is my workroom. It's where I make the figures. I will demonstrate the process. Just slip out of your clothes."
Tyler's hands grabbed the bottom of his sweatshirt and began pulling it up and off his body. He didn't try to stop them. The thought that his lack of resistance was strange flitted through his mind, but it seemed unimportant. He bent over and unlaced his running shoes and then peeled off his sweatpants.
"Just lie down on this table. Face up."
Tyler complied. His mind was hazy. He knew that he was behaving oddly, but he also felt a warm glow of pleasure in obeying the man. His headache had disappeared, and his mouth was no longer dry. Maybe later he could play with Mike and Sean again—or some of the other guys. There were dozens of glass cases in the room he had been in, and each of them held a man. Some of them had watched as Sean and Mike had fucked him. Could that be right? He thought he remembered seeing one of the figures stroking himself. His mind felt so blurred. He wasn't thinking straight. Maybe something had been wrong with that TV dinner. He felt so hot. Did food poisoning give one hallucinations and a fever? He felt so heavy and so tired. He would just rest for a while. Then he would get up.
The man put on rubber gloves and then picked up a plastic sack with a tube leading from the bottom, like an IV drip bag. It held a clear liquid. "The drug in the coffee is one part of the process. It's had plenty of time to circulate throughout your body and mind by now. It helps you relax and makes you receptive to the other drugs. Mike and Sean artificially inseminated you with another drug. This—" The man held up the plastic sack. "This contains a different chemical. It's administered through an IV. This is just the preliminary treatment. Once all these drugs have had time to diffuse through your system, you'll get a different batch of chemicals intravenously. And then I'll immerse you in a bath of chemicals to coat every part of your body and complete the process. Don't worry. You won't feel anything in another minute or so. It doesn't take very long. The chemicals will preserve your body in its present state so that it never decays. They will also work on your mind and make you docile and malleable and anxious to please. Your reactions to your partners will be so intuitive you'll be a perfect lover for everyone who buys a copy of you. Just as Mike and Sean did for you a few minutes ago, you'll adjust automatically to your partner's needs. When the chemicals have finished working, I'll scan your body so that I can produce other copies of you in different sizes on the 3D printers. I think you'll become one of my most popular models. It really was a stroke of luck that you came into the shop so early today. You'll be ready in time for my sale this afternoon. I won't be able to prepare a special costume for you, but I don't think my clients will complain. Always time for that later."
The man swabbed the inner surface of Tyler's elbow with alcohol and then inserted an IV shunt into the vein. He taped the needle in place and then hung the plastic bag of liquid on a stand before attaching the tubing to the shunt. He patted Tyler's chest reassuringly. Tyler smiled back at him mindlessly.
"Gentlemen, I'm pleased to introduce the latest addition to my 2014 Holiday Collection. It's called Tyler." The man pulled aside the curtain concealing the display case. "Tyler is the newest model in our All-American Boy line. Just to give you a bit of background, he grew up on a ranch. As you can see, he has the type of rangy body developed by physical labor and high school sports. He also exercised regularly at a gym. He was 28 years old when I harvested him. Of course, like all our models, Tyler is fully functional. He is currently available in any of our standard sizes and can be costumed as you wish. Special orders for other sizes are also possible—within the usual limits, of course. The original model has already been sold, but his specs are stored and he can be reproduced on our printers. And today, he can be yours at the special Black Friday sale price."