The Bighead (27 page)

I love you so much, my
precious aunt…

(IV)

Charity dreamed as well,
just as she had last night. Her skin felt lit with pleasure,
anticipation. She parted her legs for any number of the lovers of
her past. Her nipples kindled, her face flushed with heat that
spread like a lance to her sex. Her sex
oozed…

The cock dipped into her, her suitor’s
body pressing her down. She didn’t feel much but she didn’t need
to. All she needed was the contact, the passion, the vivid idea
that a man was excited over her.

His hips thrust several times, eager
at first, then faltering. Even in the dark, she could see the
capitulation on his face.

“
I’m sorry. This just…isn’t
working.”

Charity’s passion turned to
compost.

She watched him climb off, put his
clothes back on in haste, and leave.

(V)

And the priest dreamed too,
though not quite so deceptively.
My
violence! My sin!
he thought, tears in his
dreaming eyes.
God Almighty. Forgive
me.

Those two punks, those two
assholes. He’d beaten them, thrashed them. Jesus was standing in
the middle of his dream, frowning, and—yes—smoking a cigarette.
“‘Ye who smite thee on the right cheek, turn to him the other
also,’“ Then: “You fucked up, priest. I’m so pissed at you, I could
puke,” Christ the King told him. “What the hell is wrong with you?
I oughta rip that fuckin’ collar right off and shove it down your
phony throat, ’cos you ain’t fit to wear it, brother. And that
ain’t just a dream talkin’. That’s the King of Kings. That’s
Jesus Christ
talkin’,
pal, and you better get your shit together ’cos if you don’t,
even
I
can’t save
your rag-tag over-the-hill Viet Nam ass. The Morning Star will bury
you so deep in primeval shit, even God Himself ain’t gonna have a
shovel big enough to dig you out. And
keep
your goddamn eyes off that
blonde, you pious hypocrite. You got any idea how that makes us
look? You ain’t some army grunt anymore, boffing Saigon whores on
Tudo Street and pulling out your pecker for quickie blowjobs in
some goddamn alley! You’re a
priest!
You’re a
priest!
”

Alexander wept openly. “I’m so fuckin’
sorry, Lord! I shouldn’t have beat those guys up! I’ve disgraced
you! I’m ashamed!” He choked on his own snot. “Forgive me, Jesus, I
beg of thee…”

Jesus flicked his butt,
shrugged, lit another. “I forgive you.” Then he leaned abruptly
forward. “Asshole!
Shithead!
But hear me out, ’cos I ain’t fuckin’ around with
you no more. If you don’t get your shit together, killer, the
devil’s gonna step on your dick a hell of a lot harder than I can!
You wanna drown in blood and sperm and steaming shit every night
for eternity? It can be arranged, and you’re doing a dynamite
fucking job arranging it right now!” Then Jesus’ mean-spirited cast
turned clement. “I cannot take you into the Kingdom of Heaven
unless you are worthy.”

“
I know!” Alexander
screamed so hard his throat erupted blood.

“
Wear that monkey suit like
you gotta pair.”

“
I will!”

The King of Kings, then,
grit his fine, white, perfect teeth in exasperation. “And
keep
your goddamn eyes
off that blonde! You wanna save her, then save her, ’cos we got a
lotta room. But quit looking at her like she’s some goddamn
ten-buck trick, ’cos if you don’t I’ll put My foot so far up your
ass you’ll be able to give me a pedicure with your
teeth!”

Alexander bit the tip of his tongue
off, to prove his resolve. “I will do as You bid, my Lord. Save
me.”

Jesus frowned at the
cigarette, as though it were too weak. A Doral, a Kent Ultra Light.
“I can save you, if you fit the bill, paisan. All that Calvinism
shit is bullshit—
we
don’t know. But I gotta good feeling about you, dickbrain.”
Then Jesus’ face lit up, like white neon. “I can save
you.”

“
Please, Son of
God!
Save me!”

“
I probably will. I can
save your soul. Heaven ain’t a bad crib, lemme tell you. You read
the Bible. The Book of Daniel? Heaven is 1500 miles long, 1500
miles deep, and 1500 miles high, with a river running through it
and lots of fruit trees, so there’s always grub, and it’s gotta
150-foot-high fence made of pure jade encircling it. Beats the shit
out of some waterfront condo or a suite at the Mayflower, no lie.”
Jesus inadvertently stroked his beard, nodded. “Yeah, man, I can
save your soul—” Then, viciously, the Son of God grabbed
Alexander’s throat and shook his head like a ball on a fuckin’
spring. “But I can’t save you from your dreams!”

Alexander blinked,
swallowed more snot.
Jesus is telling me
I’m on thin ice. I better quit fucking around…
But— What else did He say? Something about…
dreams?

Jesus, then, very quickly, turned into
Steven Tyler, his hand wrapped around a multi-colored kerchief
cloaking a microphone.

“
Dream on,” He, or he,
said. “Dream until your dreams come true.”

Forgive me for my sins,
God, forgive me for my sins, God, forgive me for my—

The nightmare popped, like the head of
a pus-filled boil.

Suddenly, Father Tom Alexander,
ordained Catholic priest and deputy psychologist of the Richmond
Catholic Diocese, found himself again staked down naked to a dirty
cement floor. But unlike the first perverse dream, he was this time
bound on his back. Candles flittered from afar in dusty darkness,
humid heat rose. His penis seemed so shriveled it felt like a
bloodworm died in the sun.

Wake up,
he pleaded with himself. Somehow, he knew who
would appear next.
Wake up and get out of
this fucked-up dream.
But, indeed, there
was no relent, and in only moments she
did
appear. The nun, becloaked in
heavy habit, wimple, and veil, walked barefoot to where he lay on
the cold, bare floor.

“
Father, I beg thee,” she
said.

Alexander smirked, wrists
and ankles lashed to iron pegs sunk into the floor. “Beg me
what?
” he testily
asked.

She said nothing just then in
response. She hoisted the skirt of her black habit, brandishing,
again, the plenteous pubic mound, bristled thick and clean as
slivers of coal. “I’m the nun who pissed up your ass last
night.”

“
Believe me,” he countered.
“I remember!”

“
But before you can be
purged, you must first be filled.”

Alexander wished for a
cigarette. “I think you did a pretty good job of filling me
up
last
night.”

“
Not good enough,” she said
in her gentle southern drawl, and smiled with a blinding innocence.
It was only then, though, that the priest noticed the plastic tube,
clear, like an air-line for a fishtank, tweezed daintily between
her thumb and index finger. She smiled again, and then—

“
No!” he yelled. “You
sick
bitch!
”

—
lubricated its end with
saliva and began—

“
NO!”

—
to insert it into his
urethra.

Down and down it slid, Alexander’s
nude hips jerking at the blade-sharp sensation. “In you go,” the
nun proclaimed, “All the way down…”

Alexander’s eyes felt like they’d
launch from his head. But what could he do? This was a dream! “I’ll
kick your Epiphanist ass if you don’t stop that!” he
warned.

“
You’re not going to be
kicking anything, Father. You’re paralysed. You’re staked to the
floor.” Then she reimmersed herself in her current duties. “Yes,
yes,” the nun remarked, working the tube ever deeper. “That’s a
good boy.”

Alexander felt something give, way
back near his bowel—the tube-end popping through his urethral
sphincter.

“
Yeah…”

Squatting, still, the nun
leaned back with a cast of deep satisfaction on her face, and only
then did the priest notice exactly where the
other
end of the tube went. The nun
had already previously catheterized
herself
…

“
Ahhhhhh,” she moaned, eyes
closed, face toward the ceiling.

Alexander felt the hot flood entering
him. He squirmed.

“
Ahhhh, yeah. Last night I
pissed up your ass, tonight I’m pissing into your
bladder…”

Alexander reeled at the
sensation, his eyes clamped closed so hard he thought the seams
might heal together.
She’s pissing into my
dick!
he realized quite grimly.
What kind of a dream is this?

But that thought caused him to think.
Jesus had told him He couldn’t save him from his dreams, hadn’t
He?

And my dreams,
the priest thought,
come
from …me.

“
Ahhhhh, ahhhhh,” the nun
went on, emptying her bladder into his.

“
Why are you doing this!”
Alexander, helpless, screamed.

“
Ahhhh,” came her answer,
and with that another nun appeared, just as lovely, just as
innocent.
Oh, no,
Alexander thought, though, when he took a closer look.
You gotta be shitting me.

When this second nun raised
her habit-skirt, he saw that she too had been catheterized,
only
this
catheter
was substantially thicker than the first nun’s. A half-inch thick
in diameter, to be exact. Smiling reverently, she squatted over his
face, then deftly began to insert the other end of the thick
plastic tube into his mouth.

Alexander remained
helpless…

“
Down you go,” the second
nun sedately announced. “All the way down into Father’s stomach.”
Then—

“
Ahhhhh,” she moaned, just
in unison with he first nun: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—”

They were filling him up.

They were nuns, and he was a priest,
and the were—

Filling me up with their
piss!
he thought, since he could no longer
actually say it, oh no, not with a half-inch-thick piss-catheter
running down his throat.

His belly and bowel, simultaneously,
began to inflate. He could feel the hot water slushing. Filling him
up, yes, until he felt like a goddamn medicine ball fit to
burst.

“
All right,” the first nun
directed. And with that they both—

“
Owww! Shit!”

—
yanked out their
respective catheter tubes.

“
It’s your fault,” said the
first nun.

“
What you let happen to
us,” added the second.

“
What! I didn’t do shit to
either of you!” Alexander yelled.

“
We’re…dead.”

His eyes, once more, widened to
slug-size.

“
The Pope sent you back to
Africa, for a famine! I can’t help what happened to you
there!”

“
We never went back,” said
Nun Number One.

But before Alexander, urine-filled and
sloshing, could even reply, the first nun went on: “How does it
feel to be purged?”

Purged?
Perhaps Alexander had a misconception of the word.
“Purged!” he bellowed. “You two psychos just did the opposite! You
didn’t purge me! You
filled
me!”

“
Of course,” she said,
still reverent-eyed, still so sedate her entire form was scarcely a
whisper.

The second nun: “Before you can be
purged, you must be binged.”

The first nun gazed down. “Don’t you
know what that symbolizes?”

Alexander didn’t have a fucking clue,
and he didn’t care.

“
Supplantation, Father.
Transcension…”

“
Transposition…”

But when he looked again, they were
gone, and so was he. The stone-cold floor and the heavy lashings
were gone, and he lay again in darkness.

And in that darkness, Jesus
reappeared. Jesus’ face, that is, dressed as Steven Tyler of
Aerosmith.

“
Oh, and dickhead?” Jesus
inquired of him. “One last thing I forgot to tell you.”

“
What, my Lord?”

Jesus cleared his throat, lit a butt.
“Listen, Tom, and listen good.”

“
Yes, my Lord!”

Jesus, for the last time, grinned, and
wiped His brow with the multi-colored kerchief. Then He said
this:

“
The Bighead’ll get you if
you don’t watch out.”

(VI)

Aw, man, he’s mad,
Dicky thought.
This ain’t
good, no sir!
They’d hidden out down the
block, waited, then followed them at a distance. An old white
Mercedes it looked like they was drivin’, an’ they’se pulled up at
that boarding house on the edge’a town. ANNIE’S it was called, the
place with all them ad signs up’n down the Route an’ 23.