Heebie-Jeebs

 It was Chris Gustwhistles’ second day of nearly continual fussing with the infernal little bump that had appeared from nowhere on the top of his head. At first he had thought it just an itch and had used his fingernails to really dig in, but then he discovered that it was, in fact, a bump. It was tiny bump, to be sure, smaller than a pimple, but hard and irritated, probably from the scratching. So he didn’t so much “scratch” the itch anymore (since finding out it was a bump) as rub it, sort of feeling of it with his fingertips. It somehow felt better when he rubbed it, like a mosquito bite feels better when you rub it, but oooh it grew so needy when he stopped!

"Would you quit it, over there? You look like a freakin’ monkey scratching at your head like that all of the time!”

"I can’t help it! It‘s driving me crazy.”

"Well, you are driving me crazy! Either put something on it, or go see Dr. Patel if it‘s bothering you so bad.”

"If it keeps on I will.”

"Here, let me look at it.” It took some effort for Bethany to heave herself up from her prone position on the couch for a look.

Chris held his fingertip on top of it to help her find it, holding it just to the right of the crown of his head where the natural part in his hair began. Bethany combed the hair away from it with her own fingers. “Move your hand already, you dumbass! I can’t see anything with it in the way!” It seemed that Bethany was always mad at him anymore, even when he hadn’t done anything at all.”

"Oh! I see it now!” Her face took on a very determined expression. There was a long pause as she leaned in, examining it so closely that her enormous, melon-ous boobs mashed non-sexually into his face. Chris could remember when she used to smash his rod between those biggies, making him squirm with pleasure. “It is red,” she said. “I can’t tell what it is, though." Chris cringed as Bethany and her determined expression made pincers of her two index fingers to squeeze the bump with like a zit, forcing a spasm-attic jerk from her patient.

"Ow! Shit!”

"Sorry. Just seeing if it would pop.”

"Fucking hell, Bethany!” He rubbed at it with a will.

"Oh, quit it. You’d think you had a fucking vagina.” With that she carried her oversized, sweatsuit wearing behind into the kitchen while he rubbed and cussed. She was probably going for another bowl of that ice cream and chocolate syrup she couldn’t seem to get enough of; that new brand of ice cream she’d found that delivered straight to the house. In so doing she left Chris alone on the couch to rub and scratch contentedly at the irksome spot on his head. It occurred to him that Bethany was always wearing those sweats lately. It was probably the only thing she could still fit into anymore, he supposed, since she’d started ordering that ice cream. Not so long ago that sweatsuit had been ”comfortably” big on her, back when she’d first ordered it, but it strained at the seams now, stretching out that P-I-N-K on it’s bottom from an M to an apparent L… or maybe even an XL, on second look. Chris, still rubbing the little bump on his head with the tenderest of fingers, chuckled as an image flashed through his mind, an image of his dick slathered in ice cream and syrup with the hard, purple head sticking through the top like a cherry. It was not a bad idea. If Bethany would not humor him soon he might just have to try that, as a last ditch effort.

The I-phone’s happy alarm tune “constellation-ed” Chris awake at exactly 4:00 am. He somehow found the snooze tab quickly, without putting on his glasses first, but not fast enough to prevent a pissed groan from emanating from out the dark. Ignoring her, that same finger which scored the hit on the phone's button bee-lined straight for his scalp, where it probed deliciously until finding it’s mark so that it could begin this day’s infernal rubbing. He rubbed at the bump while on the shitter, he rubbed it when in the shower, and he rubbed it as he drove into town, but it wasn’t until he was sitting on the stool in his little booth at work that it occurred to him that the bump sat an inch to the left side of his head’s crown. Hadn’t it been on the right side yesterday? He moved his fingers over to the right side, but felt nothing unusual. Sliding them back to the left they soon found the bump and resumed their rubbing. Chris shrugged, and watched the clock tick ever-so-slowly. Bored, he started crushing the little candies on his phone, still in search of the elusive highest-ever score. While playing the game thoughts of the itch subsided. Cars crept past, airplanes took off, and faceless people either made their ways towards little adventures, or back from those adventures to their homes, as it would be pointless to come here to Tupelo in search of adventure. Chris couldn’t even see why they’d put a stupid airport here to begin with it was so close to Memphis, but if Chris ever got himself onto one of those airplanes he knew he wouldn’t never, ever come back. There was nothing holding him here. Even Bethany seemed far away, anymore.

”Hey buddy, the machine won’t take my card!” The voice came out of nowhere.

”You’re doing it wrong. You have to turn the card over.” Chris replied without looking up from his phone, or it’s game.

”I’ve tried it both ways, asshole.”

Chris still did not bother looking up. “Well, try it again!” Some people were such idiots. He heard the expected beep from the credit card box followed by the familiar clank of the gate rising even as he died his final Candy Crush death. He slid the phone into his hip pocket and began rubbing at a new itch behind his ear, finding a tiny bump hidden back there. His hand slid up his scalp, searching, but it could not find the old bump. Was the old bump gone and this one behind his ear a new one? Or had the bump moved while he wasn’t paying attention? Curious but as yet unalarmed, a bored Chris pulled his phone back out to start another game.

It was while walking across the parking lot at the end of his shift that he felt the first signs of apprehension about the bump. Chris trudged along toward his car at his typically slow, heavy pace despite the biting January wind. He’d foregone a coat out of laziness more than anything else, and his shirt-tail hung sloppily half-untucked for the same reason, giving the cold a place to come in and harass his bare skin. It was his habit, as he was incredibly clumsy, to look down at his feet as he walked, watching them toe-out at nearly ridiculous angles. That is what he was doing when he felt a familiar tickle on the back of his neck just below his uniform collar. When his hand reached over his shoulder for it, it found a familiar bump there, hidden in an unusual place. Raising the hand up to his ear he found that bump strangely gone. A chill not related to the cold wind speeded down his spine, using the bump on his neck as it’s starting point. There was something inside him, something under his skin! Something moving around! Chris quickened his pace. As much as he hated it, Bethany was right. He was going to have to call Dr. Patel. But what would he tell her? That there was something moving under his skin? Wouldn’t she think he was fucking crazy?

Once home Chris had already reconsidered telling Bethany the bump had moved, or even calling the doctor. After all, whatever “it” was, it was not really hurting him, was it? Perhaps it would just go away, the same as it had appeared? Or maybe he could kill whatever it was on his own? Just a pin’s prick might do it, if it would stop someplace where he could see it, and reach it? This thought bolstered his confidence. It would be easy to get the stupid little fucker, if it would just light someplace handy. Bethany was sprawled on the couch in her normal attire, froppy sweats and athletic socks, a licked-clean bowl and spoon lying on the end table near her head. Knowing better than to bother her during Judge Judy, Chris passed quickly through to the guest room, where he found a needle in her sewing kit. There was alcohol in the bathroom. He poured some into the plastic cup on the vanity and dropped the needle into it with some satisfaction. He would be ready for the little shit, when the moment came! 

That done, Chris changed into his own comfortable clothes before silently making his way to “his” side of the couch, just in time for “Wheel… of… Fortune!” Once seated, and without being told, he dutifully began rubbing her socked foot with one hand and the back of his neck with the other.

There was more cause for alarm the next morning. At first Chris felt nothing. Perhaps the thing had gone, and he would not need the needle at all, which was good, as he remembered the quick, sharp pain he’d felt when Bethany had pinched at it. He could only imagine how it was going to feel when he pricked it with the needle. But the thing was either very smart, or was incredibly lucky in it’s hiding spots. When he finally found it Chris was sitting on the toilet, lost in his magazine. Without even realizing he was doing it his hand stretched around behind until it was scratching a spot just at the top of his ass crack. It was shocking when his fingernail fumbled across the knobby little fucker hiding there, so close to… well, so close! Chris laid the magazine on the toilet’s tank and made his way to the mirror. With some contorted effort he finally managed to see the tiny bump, but it was positioned once again in (what was fortunate for the bump) a perfectly unreachable spot.

The irritating little thing remained stationary until lunchtime, when Chris actually felt the first ticklish crawling he had feared might eventually come. He was lunching in his little booth, finding that the chicken soup he had heated up this morning remained only luke-warm in the expensive thermos-thingy he’d gotten off Amazon. It was probably the sensitive nature of the skin down there that allowed it, but Chris actually felt movement this time, where he had never been able to feel it moving previously. He wished he could still not! It was venturing downward, into his crack, and toward even more sensitive areas. This was truly alarming! Chris bounced a few times on his stool, hoping vainly to kill it with his weight, but it marched relentlessly downward. He stuck a hand down between the stool and himself and bounced atop it, trying to push the fingers of his hand through his britches and into his crack, to make some sort of roadblock impediment to it’s progress. A high-pitched, thin-aired wail escaped him as he bounced. Chris panicked as he felt it nearing his hole. He jumped from the stool, and clenched his cheeks as tightly as possible, but that only seemed to excite the little booger, so that it went into a tickling frenzy, driving Chris into a desperately ticklish frenzy of his own. He yanked loose his belt and button, allowing his uniform pants to fall to his ankles even as he pushed his “tidy-whities” down to his knees. With both hands he clawed down there, scratching for all he was worth and mashing at the thing in an attempt to turn it back, but his efforts were to no avail. The thing found it’s mark, tickling devilishly as it rounded his sweet spot before continuing dreadfully onward.

Though he bent as far as possible Chris could not see it, but he felt it with his fingers as it wriggled beneath his skin and across his scrotum, heading straight for his genitals. There was a car outside at the gate, it’s driver staring strangely at him, though she could not have seen that his britches were around his ankles through the hut’s walls, but he yanked up his shorts and pants anyways. There were three hours left in his shift, but he could not be here, not now, so he buttoned and zipped his trousers without bothering to buckle the belt and he did his best awkward attempt at a sprint towards the roller skate of a car Bethany had convinced him to buy.

The drive home was a nightmare of dangerously high speeds, swerves, cries, and screams as Chris raced his unseen terror home. The tiny car barely missed a delivery truck sitting in front of the mailbox before slamming into the end of the driveway where the car bounced rudely, and then squealed to a sliding stop partially in the yard. Chris held his britches up with one hand while all but skipping up the sidewalk and porch stairs in his hurry; a strange, broken, hummed note escaping from somewhere inside him as he went. 

It was under the influence of utter and complete terror that he threw the door open and staggered inside. Once there he was surprised to find Bethany’s moon of an ass eyeing him smartly from the floor. Startled, as it had been forever since he’d seen it outside of those pink sweats, he stared. While admittedly still arousing, God how it had transformed, becoming bulbous and dimpled! An even closer look revealed that her naked ass had been hiding the face of a surprised, incredibly skinny, equally naked man; he wearing nothing but disheveled glasses and white gym socks, while his private area and Bethany’s face were smeared until unrecognizable beneath similar masks of ice cream and whipped toppings!

Feeling a wiggle, Chris never-minded the scene and ran straight-away for the bathroom. His were bigger worries! Great sobs escaped him as he wrestled to get the uniform pants off over his sneakers. This hurry was far too great for the removal of shoes! Once off, he fumbled for the cup with the needle, sloshing the alcohol about as he did so. Looking down, he saw that the tiny bump was now on his ball sack. Reaching down, he pinched at the loose skin where the furuncle rested, thinking to trap the thing in there. But like a wet watermelon seed it squirted out between his fingers, wiggling over to the base of his shaft. 

”All right, you little fucker! I’ve got you now.” Chris eased over to the toilet, closed the lid, and slowly… oh so carefully… sat down. Ever-so-gently he lifted his penis up against his body, keeping a close eye on the bump all the while. When it began wiggling up the shaft, Chris could not help his terror-filled exclamation! He slid off of the toilet’s edge, cracking his head against it as he fell. By the time he’d gathered himself to look again the thing was wiggling upward, making a run for his dick’s head! Gripping the needle, Chris took a deep breath and made a hard, sharp stab at it with the needle. 

He missed. When he pulled the needle out a steady stream of blood followed it. Tears welled in his eyes from the pain, but he bit down on his bottom lip and prepared to jab a second time. This was his chance! He must get it now, no matter the cost! Taking careful aim he jabbed again, scoring, he believed, a direct hit… but the wiggling only stopped for a moment before resuming again with a passion. With equal passion Chris struck again, and again, and then struck again. A wide-eyed Bethany burst into the room just as Chris made the final jab. They locked eyes and screamed in unison, he with fear and anger, her from surprise and revulsion at his seemingly insane act, and at the blood it had drawn.

”What in God’s name are you doing?” She cried.

”Get the scissors,” he screamed. “I have to cut it off!”

”What? No! Calm down! It was just boredom, Baby… I swear, he means nothing to me!”

Disgusted by the chocolate sauce stuck in her hair Chris screamed back, ”Never-mind his skinny-ass, dammit! I have to cut it off right now! I have to get it out!” He pushed her rudely aside in his haste to raffle through the vanity drawers for the scissors.

That was when Bethany did the only thing she could do to save Chris. She picked up the glass soap decanter on the vanity top and cracked him over the head with it.

It seemed like a long drive home from Memphis, though the distance was really not that great. It was the shock, they’d told her. His mind could not take seeing her that way with another man. The doctors had seen it before, many times. Bethany could not help but believe them. Chris had never been a very strong man anyways, still it was hard for her seeing him sitting in the wheelchair on the Psych floor, hammering away at his penis with closed fists. They’d given him tranquilizer’s, they’d assured her, but even their strongest couldn’t stop him. These types of things only happened when the cases were created from the deepest sorts of trauma, they'd told her.

”My God,” she thought as she drove. “I never realized how much I meant to him.” Bethany gave a quick glance at the dashboard clock. 3:15, it said. Plenty of time to order some ice cream for later. She glanced at the shameless eyes looking back from the rearview mirror, those eyes looking so pleased with the idea, her mouth already watering at the thought. There was an unexpected, exciting freedom in not having to worry about her husband coming home this time. 

Bethany reached for her phone at the stoplight, the thought of a sweet, frozen con-cock-tion being too enticing to have to wait on once home. Why not have it meet her there? She keyed the preset number the phone displayed with her one hand while the other lifted mindlessly to scratch at a sudden, irritating itch.