I can't take her clothes off. She's hard and inflexible. I want to peel them off, like you should do with a woman. She's supposed to be delicate. The act becomes a matter of pulling at them. I tug at her underwear and I hear Worked Up So Sexual in my head. I'm inappropriate. I'm feel that I'm preying on myself. I lay her across the fixture and unhook each of three eyelets on the back of her bra. The last hook unfastens and the cups fall. Her breasts never lose their shape. They sit. They are perfect, hollow teardrops on her chest.
I roll her underwear down long, slender legs. I see you every night, and are you sexually amused? What's it like to have a room of guys encircling you? Once she is naked, I hold her up by the waist and steady her. Her skin is grayed and puckered. It's smooth, but smooth like wood and hard plastic. It's not smooth like real skin.
When I take her arms off, she looks skinnier than her size zero frame. Her arms remove easily. There is no tearing of tendons, no breaking of bones. I am more scientific in this process; I must separate the magnets. I pretend I'm loosening her joints. Her legs stay fastened to her body. They have no joints. There is no way to spread them. There is no reason to. Her grayed legs are undesirable.
I wonder if I can peel a real girl's clothes off this easily. What if she's hardheaded? Flexibility is a loose term, at least with real girls. Flexibility implies that she's interested. You are rough with my clothes. I am inflexible. My skin puckers, when it's cold and your hand isn't warm enough. My skin puckers in shock. Mannequins don't have reactions. They are willing.
How can a fake girl be willing when her legs won't spread? Even with force, there is no separation. She doesn't open her mouth. She doesn't part her lips. Her lips purse, but a real girl can make her lips part. Lips part, legs spread. My legs spread. Hers stay straight. She is gray and hard. Without your needs and your support, she'd have a job the same as ours.