Typing this all out is hard work, but I’ve decided I’m doing this for two reasons: For one, I have to let people know what happened to me in case anyone comes back and finds me and I’m unresponsive or… ya know. Also, I have to type this out to help reckon with the fact that this is real. For two-fers, I gotta believe all this typing and focus on telling my story is good for blood circulation or brain health or something. I don’t want to stagnate in the position I’m in. It’s slow goings, but at least I keep my mind moving.
I had to take a break after typing up a good portion last time, so if you need to catch up, here’s the link to first half of this thing. Anyways.
-
Dr. Hon insisted I take my clothes. My friend didn’t have to take his off, so I immediately objected to the whole idea, but Dr. Hon already had me belly down on the table with two of his sturdy fingers feeling along my spinal column. He told me that the clothes have to come off for any first timer so he could better see “what’s what”. Again, I acquiesced to the ridiculousness and made a motion to get up from the table.
“Oh! Hold on, no need for that. You’re on the table. We’ll take care of it. Right, Dr. Hon?” My friend winked with new eyes and Dr. Hon nodded in agreement. Together they flicked me around like trying to fill a new garbage bag up with air. This was probably the worst way I could have imagined taking off someone else’s clothes, but they did it with a quickness I was not expecting. Dr. Hon let me keep my underwear on at least. I guessed there were no mysteries hidden in butts.
Dr. Hon made several incredulous grumbles in quick succession as he fingerly examined my back meat and the bones beneath. He seemed concerned, puzzled, and excited all at the same time.
My friend leaned down, putting his lips ticklishly close to my ear, and whispered, “Okay, he’sss gonna ssstart.”
And start he did! I felt just—There were no words at the moment, only involuntary vocal ejaculations clumsily jettisoning out of my stumbling mouth and bearing an utter lack of coherency. Dr. Hon had skipped right to the elbows and knees part. My bones crumpled beneath his mighty blows.
Then came the pressure in my teeth and jaw, the slow jutting, the steady pushing. That quack was squeezing my skeleton out, squirting it loose from my inner flesh and tendons. I couldn’t imagine how this was even possible. My body gave me no clues as to how this magic worked. As my mouth widened to the diameter of my crowning skull, the fear sank it. There was no turning back now. I could feel the powerlessness in my flabby, boneless limbs. Even if I wanted to stop it all, I couldn’t even talk and say so! I was completely at Dr. Hon’s mercy. Despite the pleasure, and the massage did truly feel fantastic, I was deeply frightened by my helplessness.
Dr. Hon yanked the last bit of gnarled foot from my mouth and my head collapsed. My neck muscles pulsed and contracted trying to find footing that just wasn’t there any more. Like a slug squirming itself over from being on its back, I managed to twist my face around enough to see Dr. Hon prop my skeleton up against the Wing Chun stand. This had better be worth it, I thought.
“Boy, this one is bad. That skeleton, your skeleton is in exceptionally poor condition. Do you work out? I mean, of course you don’t, but do you even think about starting? Never mind. Don’t bother answering that either.” Dr. Hon stroked his chin, smearing a thin film of my viscera on it without either noticing or caring.
His voice came in slightly muted and thick, as if I was listening to him with my head in a bucket of water. My friend brought himself low to whisper ticklishly in my ear once again.
“He’s saying it’s bad, pal. You got a bad skeleton! Ha, no wonder, right? Probably explains a lot, right? Think about it, man. It’s probably the reason why you are the way you are sometimes! Ha! Well, Dr. Hon will fix you right up. Ha!” He slapped my back meat. It made a satisfying spank noise and jiggled beneath the impact.
Why was I what way the way I was sometimes? I didn’t think I was some sort of grump grinned curmudgeon. I was a curious guy, always open to learning new things! That’s a non-grump mindset.
The skeleton was set up and ready to take a Dr. Hon style flurry of kung fu fury.
I tried to tell my friend, “I don’t think I want to go through with this.” I tried to tell him, “Can you put my skeleton back in?” I tried to tell him, “Please, don’t do it. Stop him from beating up my skeleton.” But all my words came out garbled and tripping over themselves. My friend only reacted with that nodding smile of someone who has no idea what the other person is saying, but is responding anyway just to keep the conversation flowing.
It was too late.
Dr. Hon started really going at it. He drummed my rattling bones up and down from mandible to femur and everything in betweener with a tight succession of little punches. In the same way you can’t help but to prod a painful sore in your mouth with your tongue over and over again, his ass whooping was a dull, addictive pain.
Dr. Hon shook his head in bepuzzlement. Under his breath I heard him say, “This is such a bad skeleton, holy shit.” I shifted my head meat towards my friend and he simply turned to me with a slight smile on his face, shot his eyebrows upward a couple times, then turned back towards the pondering chiropractor.
My eyes had an exceptional amount of mobility, unbound as they were with no skull. I looked all around the unassuming office. There was his small desk in the corner opposite Dr. Hon and the wing chun stand. A little computer, a sink, a box of latex gloves, and a half full bottle of hand sanitizer were the only things on it. On the screen, barely visible from my angle, was what appeared to be a Google image search of tall girls in bikinis. Above the desk and continuing along the walls were either medical posters showing diagrams of different bones and their locations, or pictures of mangled skeletons and massage techniques. Lines of relief emanated in all sorts of different colors that surely told a tale for anyone with the knowledge to interpret them. None of the posters showed wing chun or any sort of martial arts, though. The door was still closed and probably still locked. I imagined with her ear pressed up against the door listening and her firm boobs slightly smashed against it. I wished I was still sitting in that uncomfortable chair with fresh farts soaked in it.
I couldn’t move, not really, but my muscles still twitched and clenched when I wanted them to. My friend had been able to grab me, though weakly. It was weird having no bones for these confused muscles to work against.
Dr. Hon suddenly slapped his forearms, clapped, and rubbed his hands together with hot, loud friction. He took my hanging bones off the stand and for a second, I was relieved, but he wrapped his arms around the shoulder area and suplexed it backwards. My bones crashed down into the hospital-style tile floor and I felt that impact in a painful, but second-hand way. He didn’t stop with just one suplex though, he kept body slamming my defenseless bones. He reigned down power bombs, piledrivers, tombstones, stunners, and DDT’s with all the flair and bombasticness of a real pro. My friend cheered on every slam.
What shred of pleasure laid beneath the pain was gone. These chiropractic maneuvers were pure punishment. I couldn’t protest, though. My contacting muscles forbid me to even eek out a gurgled plea. Instead, I convulsed and quivered like electrified jelly.
At long last, with his scrubs soaked with sweat, Dr. Hon stood my skeleton upright. It stood there on its own, not even needing a stand. I had to admit it looked great. Maybe I didn’t have the discerning eye for the details, but I could tell just by the way it was, that Dr. Hon had totally fixed any problem it had. The pain of being pounded, pain receptors tethered to my disembodied skeleton by some unknown means, was over. I was so relieved. I was actually very much looking forward to Dr. Hon shoving that beautiful new skeleton back in my flabby sack of flesh.
He just stood there staring at the bones, charismatically pensive once again. My friend started to say something then must have thought better of it, choosing instead to gasp and swallow that thought and punctuate it with a slap of my slab. Meanwhile, I undulated in a way to beckon some sort of action or explanation from Dr. Hon as to why that skeleton wasn’t already being worked back into position.
“Ya know what?” He crooned with smugness, a smirk curling on his lips, “This skeleton is all wrong. There’s no way I’ll get it to fit back in that body. It won’t fit right.” He talked about me as if I wasn’t there, choosing instead to address my friend who was enraptured with every aspect of Dr. Hon.
“As a bone and joint expert,” Dr. Hon noted, rubbing his square chin with his thick fingers, “It’s obvious that this skeleton is quite a horrible fit for that sack of shit over there. See? I have it good now, I have it perfect for what it is actually, and there’s just no way a skeleton like this belongs in there.” He shook his head and then nodded in apparent agreement with himself and his assessment, “No, as good as these bones are now, they gotta go.”
He took off his sweaty shirt and tossed it onto the chair I was sitting in earlier.
“JillieAnne?”
The door opened in an instant, confirming my suspicion that the receptionist was waiting just outside the whole time.
“Lookee here. What we have is a salvageable skeleton torn from a man who must have been living a horribly depressing or morally reprehensible life. Probably both. They often go hand in hand, don’t they?” The nurse nodded in agreement with Dr. Hon, her massive tits nodding along in rhythm. “Well, either way. We’ll have to toss them.”
That wasn’t how I lived my life at all. I wasn’t depressed and I certainly wasn’t morally reprehensible. Hell, I had agreed to drive my good friend to a chiropractic appointment on a moment’s notice on a perfect weather day, and that was after he did something as stupid as blendering hot soup into his eyeballs. Now I was hearing that not only was my skeleton bad, which, okay, I didn’t know anything about bones or the art of chiropraction, and not only was he not going to put it back in regardless of its condition, but he was going to “toss” it? Like in the garbage or what? I was going to have no skeleton after he was done with the appointment? He couldn’t just do that.
I managed to lift a few fingers in protest, but to little effect. I flopped and shifted trying to make my voice heard. I tried to demand my bones be smushed back in, but I did not have proper control of my muscles all jellied up like that. My friend had been through it so many times, he sat as a meat puddle and seemed to enjoy some modicum of control. My “friend” who brought me here and was watching as a man stole my skeleton under the guise of some bogus medical practice. Didn’t he have anything to say in my defense? No.
“You’re right, Dr. Hon. He’s, indeed, my most depressed friend. There’s really no argument to be had otherwise. Ya know, I always thought it was in the joints with him. I’ve been trying to get him over to you for years.”
For years?
“Then it’s settled.” My friend said with a shrug, “This skeleton has got to go!”
The nurse bounced the door all the way open. My friend and Dr. Hon hefted my skeleton together out of the office and across the waiting room. JillieAnne had folded my clothes into neat little squares and was resting them on her prodigious chest as if it was a lovely mahogany shelf. It happened seemingly all at once. The clothes dipped in at the cleavage and created a valley of fabric. She picked my floppy form up and folded me easily despite having no way of looking down at the adjustment table and seeing what she was doing. She then rested my naked packet self on my clothes. It was shamefully comfortable.
She walked to the door seemingly to give me a better view of what was happening. Dr. Hon and my friend were scooting tables and chairs out of their path with their feet as they carried my skeleton towards a sort of hatch on the wall like a garbage chute.
I was seething, but helpless. I was going to have to convince my friend, that bastard, to dig through the dumpster after this and bring my skeleton right back to Dr. Hon. Then we’d have to convince him to put it back in, even if it ended up costing me money. I didn’t much care about the financial blow I’d have to take by this quack. Maybe I’d be able to sue him after. No, I would for sure be able to sue him and maybe ruin his whole operation. There’s no way I wouldn’t have a case. I didn’t even sign anything before the service!
Shirtless Dr. Hon awkwardly flicked his leg up and caught the handle of the chute hatch with his foot, pulling it open with a herky-jerky twist. My friend shoved my skeleton the rest of the way in and it was gone. A tingling sensation flooded over my whole body.
I started to feel dizzy. Finding control over my limp gums, I whispered upward to the receptionist, my busty carriage, “Can I get my bones back?” She shushed me and shook her head with a stern “No”.
Dr. Hon and my friend came back laughing with each other from some joke I must have missed. The chiropractor’s arm was around my friend’s shoulder and his burly hand was massaging away almost instinctively.
I decided to ask Dr. Hon instead.
“That skeleton? Oh no. No, nope. That’s already in the incinerator. Gotta burn that one to ash for lotions and oils and other stuff we sell.” He gestured at a variety of topical and ingestible products near the reception desk with a lazy sweep of his arm. “Yeah, you won’t be seeing that skeleton again. Besides, you wouldn’t want to. It was no good for you. I didn’t fit at all, I tell ya, at all.”
He turned to JillieAnne, “SillyAnne, will you give this guy to my left a referral check?”
She made a pleasant squeak noise and scurried over to her desk. I couldn’t see anything from my vantage point, but I heard her typing on a keyboard.
Dr. Hon propped his elbow on her breasts and kept talking to me.
“Yeah, so I know what you’re thinking, ‘What am I supposed to do with no bones?’ and that’s a good question. Luckily for you, I only have the best in mind for all of my customers.” He grabbed a pamphlet off a small stand on the desk and opened it up in front of my droopy face.
“It’s a ‘Meat Retreat’! Ya know, after all that stuff that happened in Ohio a few years back, me and a colleague of mine, a real expert chiropractor like myself, set up this little—well, I guess you can call it a rehab center for people who have misplaced their bones.”
But I didn’t misplace my bones. They were forcibly removed from my body and then incinerated. The tingling in my flesh turned into popping and crackling like cooking bacon. It was a weird, weird pain that made me shudder constantly. I probably looked like bacon crackling too. I felt my skeleton being reduced to ash slowly and inevitably.
He continued, “We’re just trying to help people. There are a lot of bad bones out there, and we’re discovering more and more every day. You can’t live in modern society with bad bones, and you can’t live in modern society with no bones either! So, what do you do? For a modest monthly service fee, we’ll make sure your wobbly muscles and skin stay in good condition and ready to receive new bones when they become available. I don’t wanna hear any protest about it. You can’t very well just go home and be expected to take care of yourself, can you? What kind of doctor would I be if I left a patient to fend for themselves in your condition? We’ll get you to the ‘Meat Retreat’ and don’t worry, you’ll automatically be put on the ‘new full skeleton’ waitlist.” He cracked his neck.
These people just lived without bones? They just flopped around or what? I felt uncomfortable, weird, and gross. I couldn’t imagine a life just splatting around with other unfortunate suckers like me.
“SillyAnne? Make sure our patient here is on the waitlist at the ‘Meat Retreat’, will ya?” He said with a wink.
He looked back towards me and absent-mindedly fiddled with a fold of flesh, “Might take a while, but chiropractic technology is advancing every second. You’ll be pampered there. You’ll love it.”
JillieAnne’s hand snaked upward over her boobs.
“Ah! Here we are!” Taking the check from her and handing it to my friend, he said, “$75 gift card for the new patient referral. Feel free to put that sucker towards the next session or one of these lotions. I’m sure you’re getting low.”
My friend snatched up the check eagerly and tucked it into his pocket.
“Thanks, Dr. Hon!” He said, “I’ll see ya in a coupla days! Oh, and don’t worry, pal. Dr. Hon will take care of you. Ha, just look at me! See ya later!” and with that, my friend strode out of the chiropractic office.
I was getting a headache. My skeleton was totally ash by then, I could feel that much. Whatever connection I once had to those “horrible” bones was completely severed.
Dr. Hon sighed and picked me up from JillieAnne’s rack. He set me down on the desk instead, making me much less comfortable.
“Listen, I can tell you’re apprehensive. You’re welcome to wait here in the office and hope a suitable skeleton comes strolling in that will fit you perfectly, but I seriously doubt that’s going to happen any time soon if ever. Plus, I’d have to charge you for every hour you wait here on top of what you already owe for your session. I guess I should mention that the referral sessions aren’t totally free. So, what’ll be? Wanna head to the ‘Meat Retreat’ and meet the other meats? Haha! JillieAnne here will inform your employer and all that other stuff.”
Exhausted and seeing no recourse, I reluctantly agreed.
“Great!” He clapped his hands together powerfully enough to puff some oily smelling air into my floppy nostrils. “We’ll make the arrangements. Oh!” he turned his arm to look at a non-existent watch on his wrist, “It’s lunchtime. I gotta go. C’mon SillyAnne, lunch is on you, haha. Mmm.”
He gave me a good hard spank.
“We’ll see ya in—oh I don’t know—a couple of hours? Then I’ll drop you off after closing time. Sound good?”
The receptionist hurried out the door with Dr. Hon close behind. He turned the lights out as he left and closed the door behind him.
There I sat alone in the dim office and waited. And waited, and waited.
-
And in fact, I’m still waiting. From what I can tell, the weekend has come and gone and still no Dr. Hon or his busty assistant. I’ve seen people walk by the building on their way to some take out place next door. I see tons of people come and go, but no one looks in here, in this dark, and apparently abandoned, chiropractor’s office.
After the first day, I was able to undulate with some modicum of control. I slithered, however undignified, over to the computer JillieAnne had left open. After another day, I had my fingers plopping along the keys like drunken slugs. It’s slow, arduous work to type this all out, but the poet in me needs to see it done right. I like to think of myself a scholarly type guy, remember?
I’m feeling it though, that lack of bones. My head feels mushy. My memories feel mushy. I can’t even remember the address of this place. I bet Dr. Hon didn’t even call my work and tell them I can’t go in today. I don’t think he even asked where I worked… I just want some sunlight. I want some food. I want to talk to anyone.
That Meat Retreat is actually starting to sound pretty nice. I’m trying squirm for the door after this.
-–
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