House of Holes

Ned Undergoes a Voluntary Head Detachment

Ned the golfer had incurred terrible debts at the House of Holes, and he was called into the main office. “Let’s see your body, please,” said Lila.

Ned removed his shirt and pants.

“Very nice,” she said. “And the underpants, please.”

He stepped out of them with a smile, his jig swaying.

She looked at him for a long time, tapping a pen on the arm of her chair.

“Your body is adorable,” she said.

“My face is not so good, though,” he said. “Is that what you mean?”

“It’s a perfectly nice face. You mean well, you’re a nice man, but you don’t have that smoldering puffy-lipped look that a lot of women like.”

“I know. So what on earth do I do?”

“I would say that for you, with that body, the fastest way for you to pay off your debts is with the voluntary head detachment.”

“What’s that? I’d like to try it.”

“Think about it carefully. Your head will be removed and put on a wheeled pedestal. Kathy will roll you around and change your plasma bags and be sure that your electricals are all shipshape.”

“And my body?”

“Your body will go into one of the six headless rooms.”

“Okay, and what happens in there?”

“Your body and a woman will get to know each other.”

“How? My body won’t have a head.”

“No, it won’t. These are women who don’t want you to have a head.”

“Oh, I see, okay.”

“And your body will have a simple form of consciousness.”

“How?”

“We put a cap at the top of your spinal cord, and we redirect your nervous system. Your body will be able to think, in a very limited way, with your spine, penis, and balls. Your ass will serve as a neuronal proxy as well.”

“I see. Makes sense. Well, let’s do it.”

Ned took a pill and was able to remain conscious through the detachment procedure. He felt a faint tugging once or twice and then a powerful wave of vertigo. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was detached and positioned on the wheeled pedestal, his head strapped in a comfortable head-rig.

His body sat about ten feet away from him, in a chair. Where his head had been there was a low dome covered in artificial skin. Kathy, his pedestal pusher, was dressing his body, helping it to learn how to move with its limited neural resources. She rubbed the body’s arms, and it stood. She patted them. “Good bodyboy,” she said.

She tied a conservative tie around his body’s neck and then planted his body’s hands on her shoulders. She touched his leg, pulling, indicating that he should raise his leg, which he did. She held some khaki pants out for him, and the leg slid them on. Ned noticed that his body’s penis was unusually tumescent. This seemed not to trouble Kathy. She grasped his zipper, stuffed his equipment into place, and zipped him neatly up. Then she slipped a tweed jacket on him. “There we go,” she said. She turned to Ned’s head. “What do you think of your body?” she said. “Cleans up pretty nice, eh?”

“Kind of strange,” he said. “But I guess you get used to it.”

“Oh, sure,” said Kathy. “I used to work on a dairy farm. You just have to be patient and gentle, and sometimes they get excited. It’s just a whole other way of being. It’s very — bodily.”

“What happens to me?” Ned the head asked.

“My sister Cora, the headmistress, will take care of you for a while.”

Cora came in and put his head in a bowling bag. She carried him away.