The following is a fantasy story. 

This story contains MBM (bodily detachment) which is a peculiar sexual preference held by the author and a small community on the internet. If you should find this disturbing, there should be a "close page" button on your screen somewhere, which you are encouraged to use. This story describes a number and variety of surreal sexual situations, and discussions of sexuality, but does not itself contain sex. As an MBM fan, the author is peculiar in his interest for bodiless heads, but he has attempted to give other readers something to whet their particular appetites.

The setting is a reality in which MBM ("snipping") is common, but not fully normalized. The story takes place in Amsterdam, which, as in our world, is quite liberal on the subject of "weird vices".

'How could you ASK me that?! I'm not ready for... NO!'

Salma stormed out of the hotel room out into the rainy Amsterdam night. She walked for almost an hour through the canal-ridden streets of Amsterdam, past the drunk British tourists, the jet-lagged Japanese, and a group of Chinese people, proudy parading the streets while presenting their heads on long wooden poles. Amsterdam had become a haven for Chinese snippers after the CCP had banned the act of detatching body parts in 1987, following concerns of 'Corrosive cultural influence'.

Salma suddenly realized she'd been making her way to Central Station. She could leave. Without saying a word, she could leave Wissam behind in their hotel room, and she could be off. She'd never have to face him, or think about their future together. It was a tempting thought, but she knew it was a false one. Her parents would certainly ask her about it. And they'd be disappointed and they wouldn't understand. And there would be gossip.

She sat down in at a tram stop, and scrolled through some messages on her phone. Most recent messages were from family members and close friends, but below these, there was a three-week old message from her old college friend, Maartje.

Hey, I noticed on your Instaspam that you're coming to Amsterdam in March, is that right? We should meet up! I now work at CMPL3X, one of those trendy bars like we used to visit back in the day. And bring that cute boy of yours!

She hadn't replied to the message. She'd left it on unread for a while. She didn't much feel like facing Maartje. The times when she and Maartje were at college together seemed very remote. Although Maartje hadn't changed in the past six years, Salma had made every attempt to distance herself from her free-spirited college days. She was a respectable woman now, and she had to stay respectable if she wanted to marry a respectable Muslim man and start a family.

Still, she needed someone to talk to right now. And sit down to think, in a place outside of the rain.

She replied Hey Maartje, sorry I didn't respond to your message at all. I'm going through some stuff tonight. Could I take you up on your offer? i'll be right there!

Less than a minute later a *thumbs up* emoji appeared on her screen, and a small message. "I take it cute boy isn't coming? SYS!"

Five minutes later, Salma found herself on the outside of the trendy-looking plexiglass-and-steel looking structure, and a bunch of pseudo-artsy bright neon-letters proclaiming "hip" nonsense phrases, such as the name: CMPL3X. She hated how much she loved this aesthetic. And she regretted how out-of place she looked, in her hijab and loose-fitting dress.

Gingerly, she opened the door and entered the establishment.

The inside was nice, dry and warm, and the riot of color promised by the façade quickly gave way to a more 'normal' establishment, whose "trendy" points from the use of impractical beanbag chairs, rotatable tabletops and a wide variety of drinks in unusual colors and exotic impractical glass shapes. It was a slow night, only a dozen patrons were relaxedly chatting through the establishment.

Salma made her way to the bar, where she found Maartje, dazzling some un-impressive looking bloke with her mixing skills, all the while showing off her flowing blonde hair and gorgeous body, which was packaged tightly in her slightly outrageous blue lycra turtleneck halter top. Once Maartje clocked eyes on Salma, she quickly and flirtatiously finished her order with the young man, and rushed over to hug her old friend.

"Salmaaa!" Maartje hugged her tightly. It was a typical Maartje-style hug, where she pressed her breasts against Salma's chest. It was obvious to anyone she hugged that she clearly never wore a bra.

"How've you been?"

'Yeah, it's been going.' Salma said, trying to match Maartje's cheerful energy.

'Sounds like trouble. Don't worry though, you can yap at me about your problems. I'm a bartender! In Amsterdam, that means i'm basically a qualified psychologist!' Well, one who gets people drunk, but still! Let me get you a drink, it's on the house!'

'I don't drink alcohol anymore. I'm taking my faith seriously"

Maartje gave her a befuddled look. 'You? You've stopped drinking alcohol? Of all people? I remember when you'd submerged your head in a massiv.'

'Can we not talk about the jar of ale?' Salma interrupted. 'Back then I did some things that I'm not really proud of.

'Ookay,' Maartje conceded, pouring Salma a diet cola. 'Can I at least get you a little snip? You look like you should rest your head.'

Salma blushed. 'I don't snip anymore either'.

'YOU don't snip? But you love snipping! I'm pretty sure you told me snipping is fully Halal.'

'Eh. I don't think the Qur'an has anything to say about it, but everyone in my family associates it with sexual acts, and I mean, they're not wrong...' Salma thought back on her college days. She had always been a Muslimah, and had always retained her virginity, by most definitions of the word. But she had frequently go for a snip, cutting off a body part or two. This habit, combined with some booze on a night out, had netted her a bunch of intimate "body part - on body part experiences".  'But I'm becoming a serious person. The kind who doesn't let carnal desires define her. The kind who can start a family.'

'That's so weird, girl!' She said it with a slight dissapointment in her voice. I've barely ever seen you come to college with all your parts accounted for! You certainly weren't horny all those times.'

'I guess. But it still feels wrong, somehow.'

C'mon, let me take some weight off your shoulders. I promise not to talk sex and tempt a godly child such as yourself into sinful, ungodly acts of carnal depravity.' 

She said it with a sarcastically "erotic" cadence, while dramatically caressing her tightly wrapped breasts. Despite clearly not being a real attempt at seduction, this managed to get a little blush on Salma's cheeks.

'Jeez, you're closeted!' Salma smiled, begrudgingly.

'Okay, okay, you win. I'll let you chop my head off for a bit. For old times' sake!' Salma relented.

Maartje smiled warmly. 'Lovely! Could you lift your glass off the counter for a second?'

Salma lifted up the glass, clearing the glass counter underneath. 'Why?'

Maartje unlocked a hinge at the counter, which allowed her to set the glass plate, that was previously covering the bar, vertical, revealing a long rectangle, containing a number of holes of increasing sizes. To the leftmost side, there was a hole barely large enough for a finger, while the furthest right had room for a rather ample human waist. A subdued light show of red, blue and purple lasers shone through the glass plate, indicating a minor spectacle, as if someone were operating a silent, pinball machine.

'Ooh, fancy' Salma said, legitimately impressed.

Maartje nodded. 'Honestly, it's more style than substance. It doesn't beat a traditional wooden stock /steel blade set for comfort. But it does look nice. Put your head through this one, please.'

Salma took off her hijab and put her head through the plate. resting her neck on the glass. Maartje was right. It wasn't very comfortable, but that didn't really matter. It mostly just excited her to be back in action. Her neck was in a chopping stock for the first time in over three years!

Maartje gently stroked Salma's blushing head, making sure no hair got stuck on the cutting plane. Then she made her way to the left side of the bar, where she picked up a slim, stylized glass shard with a handle. The handle had been fitted with an RGB light, causing the shard to take on a pretty, lightsaber-like purple glow. She inserted it into the glass stock, and slowly walked towards Salma's neck.

'Last chance to back out' Maartje warned.

'Nope, I'm in!'

Moments later Salma felt a shiver run through her spine. The cold glass cut into the skin on the left side of her neck. The blade cut onward, through the sensitive center, and came out the right side in less than a second. Salma gasped from intensity as her head dropped onto the padded surface below with a dainty bounce.

Salma let out a sigh of elation. The intensity of the cutting sensation was making way for the familiar, but long-missed sensation of being properly decapitated. The weight of her neck, and the gentle sensation of the AC airflow gently caressing the sensitive skin on both sides of her neck stump, the cosy sensation of compact selfhood that stems from seeing yourself be a decapitated head. While Salma's body instinctively started running her fingers across her neck stump, her head started giggling in pure joy.

'Whoa, hihi! I forgot how trippy this felt. Could you pick me up?'

'Sure!' Maartje picked up Salma's head, and cradled her against her hip. 'Wanna do another slice?'

Salma's head purred gently. 'Hmm. That's really tempting, but I'd better not. I'm not really dressed to go to a million pieces. Besides, the head is by far my favorite body part to have cut off.'

'Oh, you're just saying that because you've never taken a good dicking with your legs off. Like just last week I was hanging by my arms, hands tied to an overhead beam, and this guy just...'

Noticing the embarrassed blush on her friend's face, Maartje quietly abandoned the subject.

She set the glass plate back into its old horizontal position, grabbed a little pillow, and placed Salma's head gently on the bar. She sat herself down on a bar stool, and turned her friend's disembodied head to face her. She took on an expression of mock professionalism.

'Ahem.' Maartje began. 'Relationship therapist is now in session.'

'So, Salma, Your socials made it clear you were in Amsterdam with a cute boy toy. Why haven't I met him yet? Did you have a fight?'

 'Kind of. I mean, I did. He's always been calm and nice. But I kinda shouted at him, because he was being an idiot.'

'How so?'

'He asked me if I wanted to marry him."

Maartje stared at her for a second. 'Oh? I thought you wanted to get married.'

'Yeah but not like this!' There was some annoyance in her voice.

'Not casually, in a cheap hotel, on the third day of a week-long city-trip! Not after I've only known him for three months!'

'Eh. I've had a guy propose to me with his head between my legs and his mouth full of...' She stopped, noting Salma's uncomfortable expression. 'I'm sorry, okay?! I'm just... trying to relate. Point is, it didn't really bother me.'

'Yeah, because you barely know the people you take home with you. Wissam's supposed to be different. He's always been kind, compassionate, empathetic...'

'Did he propose to you or did he ask you about marriage?'

Both Salma's body and the expression on her face briefly stiffened in confusion. 'What's the difference?'

'Well, if he's going to get serious about a relationship, it makes sense to ask about your feelings before committing to a big romantic gesture. Big gesture dudes are usually dicks, in my opinion.'

Salma's body picked up her head and cradled it against her chest, caressing the head's neck stump absentmindedly. 'Oh yeah... I guess that makes sense...'

'So would you want to marry him? Could you consider doing so at some point in the future?'

'I... I don't know. I'm not ready to think about that yet. I mean, he's nice, and loyal, and cute, but...'

The conversation briefly stopped as a guy with a borrowed girl's torso ordered twelve shots of something annoyingly called "CosmiK TeKYlá" for a group in the back.

'Go on...' Maartje urged her friend. 'What's wrong with Wissam?'

'He's so... spotless. He never drinks, he doesn't smoke, he's never snipped himself... and he doesn't know yet about all the stuff I did. The stuff that we did, back in the day.'

'And you think he would judge you if he found out?'

Salma blushed and wiggled her neck, a headless woman's vestigial attempt at nodding. 'When I met his family, they accused me of being like that. His dad ranted at him about women. Told him that "modern women are all into getting chopped into pieces and getting rammed six different sides" but Wissam...'

'That's ridiculous. Even *I*'ve only done three at the most!' Maartje chimed in.

'But Wissam assured him that I'm not like that.' Salma tried not to let tales of Maartje's outrageous sexcapades distract her. 'That I'm a well-behaved Muslim girl.'

'And you think you aren't?'

'Maartje, You know I'm not. At least I wasn't, back then.'

'Yes you were' Maartje replied sternly.

'I gave a guy my HEAD!'

'For cuddling and kissing only' Maartje replied. 'And you yelled at him when he pulled out his dick.'

'Well, I volunteered to streak across the streets naked I lost that dumb bet'

'...And you left your private parts in your locker. Honestly, everyone thought you were cheating.'

'Some girl pressed my disembodied head against her breasts and I licked her nipples.'

Maartje blushed. 'That was me, sorry about that. You were very drunk. In my defense. So was I. Has anyone ever told you you're a great kisser?'

'O- Okay. Well, I drank a lot of alcohol, anyway! Which is hella Haram!'

'I'm not religious, but I'm pretty sure Allah can forgive little things like that.'

Maartje retrieved Salma's head from her body's embrace, and looked her in the eye. 'Look, you're not spotless, but you're fine. Everyone in college thought you were a bit of a goody two-shoes. Look, you're somehow still a virgin, and you're clearly done with the mad shit.' She said this with a slightly disappointed tone. 'If Wissam is even slightly a chill dude, I think he's going to be fine with this. Plus, if he's judgy, you're better off without him anyway. You deserve a guy who lets you be in as many pieces as you want.'

Salma considered this for a moment. Maartje placed her head back down upon the bar.

'Give me your phone. I'll text him!'

'Noooo... Please don't...' Salma responded hesitatingly, but she reached for her phone anyway.

Maartje took it, full of determination, and started typed at lightning speed. She showed the message to Salma for validation.

Sorry for storming off. I'd like to talk now. Meet me at CMPL3X bar ASAP. I'll explain later.

Salma blushed. 'We can't ask him to come to a seedy bar!' Then she noticed that the message had already been sent.

'Oh, by the way, I am going to try to seduce him.' Maartje said. Just to test if he's loyal, you understand.'

--------------

Twenty minutes later, a slightly panicked, but otherwise well groomed Algerian young man entered the establishment. He walked up to the bar, at the rather provocatively dressed barmad. However, despite her best efforts, his eyes did not stray from her eyes, and from the task at hand. 'I'm sorry madam, have you seen my sweetheart by any chance?' Maartje didn't respond, but simply produced Salma's disembodied head from a cabinet under the bar.

'Oh wow, honey! You're... what happened?'

'Her body is in the private room in the back. I suppose you guys will be wanting some

privacy?' Maartje chimed in.

He walked down the stairs, entered the room, and sat down across Salma's headless body, cradling her head in his hands.

'So... You went to a bar... And then you cut your own head off?'

'Yeah'

'Why?'

She hesitated. She had not expected this question. 'Because it relaxes me? I've always felt more relaxed when I'm in pieces, I guess.'

He considered this for a minute. 'Okay.'

'Okay?'

'Just, why didn't you ever tell me?'

'Honestly? I thought you'd be weirded out.'

'Mostly by the storming off part, to be honest.'

'Sorry, I guess I freaked out a bit.' Salma apologized.

'No, that's fine. I phrased it a bit awkwardly, maybe.' He gently inspected Salma's head, and noticed how his every little touch saw a response, both on her head, and on the body sitting opposite him. 'Could you consider, in a hypothetical future, years from now, marrying a guy as boring as me? I mean, I've never even cut a finger off, let alone... whatever you've had done.'

'I'll consider it. If you promise me you won't mind if your future wife spent a lot of her time with her head off her shoulders.'

'I promise I won't. And I think... I really think you look... beautiful like this.'

He rested her head gently on his lap. Through the sensitive skin on the bottom of her neck, and through the fabric of his jeans, Salma sensed that, if they had been married, or if pre-marital activities had been on the table, he might have used a different word to describe her headless state.

She smiled up at him mischievously, as her body got up. 'Wanna go back to the hotel?'

He gently cradled her head in his left hand, got up and took her body's hand, with a mock chivalrous gesture.

'If both parts my lady would accompany me?'

Salma smiled. Her head was racing at the prospect of how their relationship might develop from here. She could become his stay-at-home wife, and he'd take her head to work, while her body cooked and did housework... or maybe...

Would it still count as losing her virginity if she'd borrowed Maartje's body?