I took Wesley's noggin out of the hands of a heavy-set gal, and tossed it down the beach. Then I rushed over to Thelma's head, plucked it out of the hands of a slim gal I suspected of being Connie, and hurried with it over to the stocky gal who'd been holding Wesley's head. I plonked it down on her neck stub.
Thelma, now properly assembled, smiled and wiggled her fingers at me.
I won't go through the whole nightmare. I don't want to even think about some of what happened, much less write it down. So I'll skip the worst parts, and just tell about the stuff that isn't quite as disturbing.
Through the whole dream, whether I was laughing or feeling horny or confused or disgusted or terrified, I always had this terrible, heavy feeling of dread. Nobody'd explained what would happen if I flailed to match the heads correctly with the bodies before sundown -- aside from the obvious, that I wouldn't "save" the women. But I had a feeling that my fate might be something too creepy for words.
Sundown was fast approaching.
So I raced back and forth, snatching heads out of hands, rushing this way and that, shoving them down onto neck stubs.
It wasn't as simple as it might sound.
I'd taken care of Wesley and Thelma right off the bat. Two down, seven to go. I'd seen enough of Connie and Kimberly to recognize their bodies, so they presented no problem (except when I dropped Connie's head and it rolled away and I had to chase it down the beach). Four down, five to go.
I tried to do Billie next, figuring she'd be a cinch. After all, she'd been running around forever in nothing but her bikini, and I'd seen her breasts completely naked the night she tried to tackle Thelma but ended up diving through the sand. (I remembered, even in my dream, about how they'd looked looming out loose over her bikini top.) I grabbed Billie's head from the hands of a body I didn't recognize, then hurried it over to the broad, lush figure I knew to be her.
When I plonked it onto the neck, Billie's mouth said, "Dumb move, Rupert. You don't know your own mother when you see her?"
Yuck!
Down the line, I spotted an identical body.
To me, they both looked like Billie.
Whoa, Nelly. Here comes Freud, Oedipus leering by his side.
The hell with it. This is no time to start worrying about what might be lurking in my subconscious. Screw id.
Anyway, I was shocked by that part of the dream, but the mistake had a silver lining. I quickly matched two heads to the proper bodies: Billie's and my mother's.
Next, I went for the head of the stranger.
Its ears, nostrils, lips, and even eyebrows bristled with all manner of metallic ornaments. I took her head out of Kimberly's hands and rushed it down the row of ladies to a pale, skinny gal who had rings dangling from her pierced nipples, clitoris, etc. Easy.
That done, only two heads remained.
My cute blonde fifth-grade teacher, Miss Curtis. And my high-school girlfriend, Ardeth Swan.
Unfortunately, three headless bodies remained.
That's because my first move of the game had been tossing away Wesley's head.
It wouldn't have matched any of the three remaining bodies, anyway.
Off on the horizon, the sun was sinking slowly into the sea.
Miss Curtis and Ardeth gave me no trouble.
Miss Curtis had a petite, slender body with a nice tan, cup-sized breasts with turgid dark nipples, and a shiny tuft of blond hair between her legs.
Ardeth Swan, a freckled and pimply tub, had lost her head but not her modesty. She kept an arm across her huge breasts, a hand clamped to her crotch.
When I put Miss Curtis's head on her neck, she gave me a warm smile and said, "You always were such a fine young man, Thomas."
I didn't know who the hell Thomas might be, but I thanked her anyway.
After returning Ardeth's head, I simply smiled at her. She said, "Fuck off, meatball."
Even in my nightmares . . .
Only a small curve of orange sun remained above the horizon.
I faced the final headless body.
I had no head to give it.
Thinking I might spot a head I'd missed, I looked around.
Everyone had vanished.
Everyone was gone except me and the lone, headless woman. We stood close together on the empty beach, facing each other. (She wasn't "facing" me, of course, as she didn't possess one.)
What she did possess was an absolutely fabulous, incredible body.
Her skin gleamed all over with a tawny, golden tan.
She was at least six feet tall, from neck to toe. She had long, slender arms and legs, broad shoulders, breasts that were high firm mounds with stiff jutting nipples. Her hips were wide and smooth, her belly flat. Lower, she had a glossy curve without so much as a trace of whiskers -- as if she'd never grown any hair at all down there.
"I don't know what to do," I told her. "I'm out of heads."
She shrugged her shoulders, which made her breasts lift and descend wonderfully.
"Do you know where your head is?" I asked her.
Again, that lovely shrug.
I checked the horizon and saw the last sliver of the sun easing out of sight.
Fast as I could, I snatched off my own head and shoved it onto her neck.
"There!" I yelled in triumph.
The yell didn't come from my mouth, though. I was looking at my mouth, my face, my head, on top of that gorgeous body.
Not a match!
In my haste to provide a head for her, I'd forgotten that the rules called for a match.
Not just any old head would do.
But mine did!
Figure that one out.
Anyway, I watched my own face give me a very nice, friendly smile.
Then my dream woman said, "Thanks, Rupert." (Not my voice, I'm glad to report. It sounded more like Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, and a lot like Billie.) "You won," she told me. "You saved us all, do you know that? You should be very proud of yourself."
It made me feel really good.
"Of course," she said, "now you don't have a head."
"Oh, that's okay." I can be quite the gallant fellow, sometimes. "I don't need it that much," I told her. "I'm just glad I was able to match everyone up."
"Do you know what you get for winning?"
I shook my head. (Well, maybe not. I thought I did, though.)
"You get me," she said.
"Oh boy!" I said.
She came forward. She took me in her arms, and I felt her body against me. Unfortunately, she had my face. When she tried to kiss me, I turned away.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I don't know about this. I don't think I wanta be kissing my own face."
"Okay. That can be fixed. Whose do you want?"
"You can change your face?"
I watched myself give me a knowing smile. "Sure. Just tell me who you want me to be."
"Yourself," I said.
"I am myself. I'm your dream lover. I'm whoever you want me to be."
"I sure don't want you being me."
"Who, then?" she asked.
"Can it be anyone?"
"Anyone you'd like."
"How about Kimberly?"
"Excellent choice," she said. Immediately, the face of my dream lover stopped being me and became Kimberly.
Then things really sizzled.
Somewhere along the way, my nightmare had gotten left behind, leaving me with a fantastic erotic dream. Probably the best dream I've ever had.
It stayed great, too. The worst thing about it, from the moment after I saved her with the donation of my head, was when I woke up very suddenly and the dream ended.
I remembered her (Oh, God, did I ever!), but she had fled, along with my sleep, and I couldn't bring her back.
I would gladly let myself get knocked out today, if I thought she would return.
Of all the dreams and nightmares that came to me at the bottom of the chasm, though, she only put in the one appearance.
In my last dream down there, I found myself on the beach in a wheelchair, trying to get away from someone. I couldn't turn my head around to see who was chasing me, but I was plenty scared. I kept shoving at the wheel rims, trying to pick up speed, but the wheels were bogged down in the sand. They kept sinking deeper and deeper, until my chair wouldn't move at all.