Read Wax Museum: An Erotic Short Story for Free Online

Wax Museum
    by
    Lexie Lashe

 
    “Wax porn,”
Sandra laughed. She glanced at her best friend and roommate, Max. He was always
dragging her out to see something new, but the tall, western, brothel-style
building was the last thing she’d expected. From one of the top windows a wax
male figure leaned out over the fake wooden balcony. Three hands massaged his
chest from behind, though the women who touched him were hidden from view. Next
to them, a salon girl peeked out of her window to watch. Her period costume
covered her upper body—barely. “You brought me to look at wax porn.”
    “I got
an invitation,” Max said, giving her an impish grin. “How could I say no?”
    “Easily.
Stop being a social-network whore and stop joining every mailing list that will
have you. Five hours a day on the computer is four too many.”
    “But
the emails say they’re important,” he answered. “And how else would you have
seen live, naked, bungee jumping? Or the pants-less flash mob?”
    “That
mob contained more jiggling penises than I ever want to see in one place
again.”
    Max
laughed as he started rocking his hips to simulate the flash mob’s gyrating
dance moves. “You know you liked it.”
    She
slugged him lightly in the shoulder to get him to stop. “You do know everything
I know about wax museums comes from horror movies.”
    Sandra
turned her attention to the next display. It was a scene from the French Court
in the palace of King Louis. A noblewoman had an expression of pleasure on her
face as a man’s boots poked out from under her oversized gown. It was so
realistic; she could see the scuff marks on the soles from everyday wear. “Is it wrong I’m jealous someone is getting laid? Even if they are made
out of melted candles?”
    “You
are pathetic, Sandy,” Max said. “I have no idea why you’re not getting any. You
could have almost any guy you want and you bitch about not being able to get
laid. Seriously, guys are easy. You find one in a bar, crook your finger at him
and he’ll do whatever you want him to. We’re simple creatures. We eat, sleep
and try to fuck whoever will have us.”
    “Charming,”
Sandra drawled, “and you wonder why we’re just roommates.”
    “ Er , no, we’re just roommates because you don’t have a
penis.”
    “Ah,
that’s it.” She gave a wry laugh. “I keep forgetting.”
    “Enough
jokes,” he said, hooking her arm. “Let’s go behind the curtain.” He pointed to
a sign that read Warning: Erotica
Gallery. By entering you agree that the museum is not liable for anything that
might happen inside .
    “What
do you think that’s all about?” Sandra asked. “People getting busy freaked out
a couple of customers or something? Some lady fainted because she thought the
displays were moving and it was really a horny couple?”
    “These
displays are a little creepy.” Max’s hand tightened on her arm. “I swear their
eyes follow us.”
    “Actually,
I did a college paper on the phenomena.” Sandra stopped near the sign before
entering, pointing to the face of a very athletic man looking out from the
inside of a 1950’s Chevy. He had a half smile on his face and a brunette bent
over his lap. “It all has to do with perspective and how the artist uses the
highlights and shadow of the paint. Since the paint is fixed in place, wherever
you walk the position of it doesn’t change and it creates the illusion that the
eyes are following you. But—”
    “I take
it back. I know exactly why you’re not getting laid,” Max interrupted. “You are
such a geek.”
    She
laughed, knowing full and well he meant it with love…even though it was true.
    “Actually,”
a voice said, “it is because the wax is magical and has a life of its own. The
people and places are blessed, or cursed, depending on your definition of the
word.”
    Sandra
turned to look at the man who spoke. He was in his late sixties, and wore a
smock that strangely matched the gray hair of his