Dean blinked. The dawn's gray light was seeping through the crack between the shade and the window. He sat
up. The restraints were gone. So were his clothes, and so was his cock and balls. He ran his fingers over
the smoothness between his legs. His body was now hairless from the neck down. No pit hairs, no pubic hairs,
no chest hairs, no hairs on his legs or arms.
"Oh, Sammy and Adam, when I get my hands on you," he said standing up and punching his palm with his fist. He
looked around. He was in a different building. This one had been vacant a very long time. The mattress he
had been lying on had long since starved the vermin that lived in it to death. Everything about the house was
dead and dusty. He touched the shade to peek out, and it disintegrated. He tried an old sheet that had covered
a chair, but the fabric was so rotted that it soon was reduced to shreds by his movements. "I never was a
toga guy," he commented dryly as he discarded the sheet. He finally spotted something near the derelict house
that provided promise: a scarecrow stood among the dead neglected stalks of what had been decades earlier a
cornfield.
Dean tugged the weathered denim coveralls over his muscled smooth body while the straw hat rested cockeyed on
his head. He nodded at the burlap sack dummy filled with straw that had once worn his new clothes, and said,
"It's a tight fit, but it'll do, chum. Thanks. Hope ya don't mind."
"I do mind!" snapped a voice from behind him.
He spun around and looked down. It was a wimpy high school boy in a white shirt and blue jeans.
"You mind?"
"Yes, we need a scarecrow or our crop will be ruined!" he said emphatically.
"Uh, I hate to disappoint you, but no scarecrow is going to save that corn crop," Dean said gesturing.
The boy rolled his eyes, and he reached out and grabbed Dean with one hand and hefted him over his shoulder
and carried him to the vacant pole from which the scarecrow had hung.
"Oof! How'd you do that?" Dean gasped in disbelief as he found himself hung up on the pole as the boy's new
scarecrow."
"My you really are a dickless wonder aren't you?" the boy remarked with a chuckle. His hand patted the huge
bulge in the boy's jeans. Dean cringed he could feel a hand patting his cock and balls wherever they were. He
stared down at the boy's package. He shook his head. "Oh, you're not a total moron then. You figured out I'm
the one with the balls here? Yes, they used to be your balls, but they feel so good, so I'll just be keeping
them." He started to scratch his crotch, and Dean moaned. He chuckled.
"Wait! How? Why?" Dean shouted.
"Uh, save it for the crows, scarecrow," the boy said. He nodded over to an empty pedestal between the house
and the cornfield. "I stood there for over 100 years. There used to be a fountain around the pedestal. I was
the pissing youth statue, and crows would roost on my stone cock. Finally, it snapped off under the weight of
a particularly fat fowl. That was maybe 40 or 50 years ago. The farm's been abandoned since the Great
Depression. Then one day a man came along, and started talking to me. Now mind you as carved stone I was
only dimly aware of things, but he held out a lump of flesh and pressed it to my damaged groin. Suddenly, I
was thinking clearly, I was no longer stone - I was flesh and bone. Then he gave me some shorts to wear and I
helped him unload a large crate from his truck. Inside the crate was you. A hard plastic display model to
promote some action figure I thought. Having been a statue for so long in the middle of nowhere, I suppose
that was an odd thought to have, but I had it all the same. I picked up a lot of knowledge over the years.
Kids played with GI Joe action figures around the backyard, and I figured you were a promotional version to
display in stores. 'Cepting of course you weren't, and you were. Apparently, you had spent the last six
months as store mannequin promoting a GI Joe movie. But your skin started to shimmer and you moved. You were
still inanimate, but somehow seemed to be becoming alive. The man explained you would be alive after a
fashion in a day or week or month because your manhood was alive again. He explained you were alive this
whole time, just immovable. If you concentrate real hard, you will remember that it's all true. What you
think was a vague dream was in fact your life for the past year or so. You broke into a wax works, and you
and your cohorts were reshaped to serve useful purposes - well, at least useful as that man saw it. Then he
saw me, and gave you to me. I think a scarecrow is the best use for you for the moment. So hang in there,
Deano, I'll be back to see how you're doing around noon. Maybe I'll even bring you lunch!"
The kid spun around and started hiking off through the dead corn to who knows where.
"Wait, kid! You can't leave me here!" Dean shouted.
He heard the flapping of wings and a crow landed on his arm. Dean raised his arm and the crow flew away. Dean
blinked. He did remember being naked and then hands dressing him and propping him up on a stand next to a
cardboard cut-out of Iron Man. He was GI Joe - Movie Theater Mannequin. He felt sick. Wait there had been a
wax works. He had been jacking off. Then he had been gagged with his -ooh, ooh, ooh, aaaah, ooh! Dean's cock
wherever it was was getting jacked off, and Dean found it terribly distracting. No not jacked off, the kid
was having sex with it. It felt good. Sweat covered Dean's smooth flesh with a slick coating. He shook his
head. He recalled being the Red Hood dressed as the former Batman sidekick turned from hero to villain. He
felt his feet moved as he recalled all the Red Hood's athletic acrobatic prowess. The soles of his bare feet
propelled him up the pole and he launched himself airborne and off the pole. He landed in a classic gymnastic
dismount on both feet. He was no longer a scarecrow. Or was he? He rubbed the empty space between his
thighs. Perhaps the answer lay with the statue? He headed toward the pedestal. Through the brush growing
around it, Dean could make out a letter "P". He strode closer. He reached down and spread the foliage and
read the inscription on the decayed plaque.