Prelude

If I could sigh with satisfaction, I would. Disembodied, without lungs, I can’t. My body was destroyed in the accident. Only my head, its senses, and contents remain alive, maintained by electro-mechanical life support. This cutting-edge, state-of-the-art project I devoted more than a decade to, is finally finished. This is my ultimate prosthesis. Until some extraordinary new technology emerges, I can’t even imagine how or what would make it more perfect. I’m now useless and bored. Even imagination has limits.

What shall I do with myself next? Recreation time? Seek fun, diversions, entertainment, or go on a vacation? A vacation to where and what would I do when I arrived? Get drunk? I can get plastered right here without moving an inch. What would please me? Nothing pleases me in this unexpected plummet into abysmal depression. Imbibing a chemical depressant like alcohol is a terrible idea in my current depressed state. All my mental juice was extracted. Wrung out of me. My desiccated imagination has shut down completely. Sleep is the only option that remains. I can sleep in as long I like. There’s no need for me to wake up and nothing for me to do when I do wake up. If I bother to wake up at all. Switch off. Fade to black.

This is a pleasant dream I don’t want to wake from. Infused with enough lovely memories to feel real, it is enhanced with exciting fiction that was never real. Julie never kissed me and wouldn’t allow me to kiss her. In this dream, we’re sitting on a park bench passionately embraced, I’m feeling her up, and she’s wet. Feels real!

“Ow!”

Julie performed a wrestler’s reversal and is on top of me, sitting on my face. She is amazingly strong for such a slender and petite girl.

“You are going to eat me! Get busy, boy!”

After scrubbing my face with her pungent pubic bush and relieving her need, she wrestled me around into a headlock. She began twisting my neck in an impossible painful angle. My neck snapped! Julie wrung my neck like a chicken. My headless body is running around in circles, blood spurting from the ragged ripped tissues. We are leaving. Julie has my head tucked under her arm, toting me as a quarterback carries a football. My vision is dimming. Fade to black.

I’m awake back in my laboratory again. Silly thought, I never actually left, only slept and dreamed, and I’m still connected to and surrounded by my equipment, just as I was when I fell asleep.

My almost erotic dream has triggered my imagination and I now realize, my perfected prosthesis is incomplete, far short from perfect. Misquoting Genesis, it’s not good for a man to be alone. I need a mate and the means of mating with her. Or it. I’m not bored now because I’m thinking about this knotty problem. If procreation isn’t the purpose of mating then is it just a naughty problem? Exactly what should be a disembodied head’s goal of mating? Social? Intellectual? A soul mate? Describing what I want and need is simple, but how to get it is a total mystery. I want to be loved!