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Head Games	By : Idolhands Category: A through F > Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Views: 4720 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
Title: Head Games, part IV
By: IDOL HANDS
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: incest, d/s, mild violence, character death, hint of chan
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed are not my property but that of the estate of R. Dahl, Tim Burton, Christopher Lee, Blair Dunlop, Freddie Highmore, Johnny Depp, etc. - my apologies & gratitude.
Special Thanks: to LiveJournal users “ktpoole891", "marama_tsg", "ariel_vandekamp" & "pet_pet_angel" for divine inspiration through words and friendship.
Crossposted: At LiveJournal and FanFiction.Net
Summary: Dr. Wonka and son reunited again. Time may pass, memories may fade, but feelings remain. Perhaps the only way out of Hell is to dig down deeper, but beware the discoveries you’ll find. Origins revealed, magic reviled. The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon their sons.
"mental breakdown"
Dentistry is my expertise but a general knowledge of the body is required to practice. My studies went far beyond that however, as numerous framed prestigious degrees hanging on the faded wallpaper could attest. I have a vast interest in the field, an obsession serving great purpose, not one I deemed frivolous like making confections. Many do not bother to realize how dangerous working in this area of the body is; how close to main arteries and vital organs a person’s teeth are, infection spreads readily straight to the brain. This office being so far from any hospital, made it imperative that I took precautions against emergencies.
Every medical instrument I own is lined up across sanitized marble countertops. They are my soldiers, my arsenal of weapons in science and order. I admire them as their edges gleam under the powerful lamps currently in full service – no window exposes this separate room down the hall from the usual examination area. Together my tools and I will find the solution. Please God. You remember me, don’t you? Or is that why I’m still here, because you forgot about me when I forgot you?
A starched white laboratory smock is removed from its coat hanger in the corner, a style long gone, considered overly thorough in the industry these days. The medical garment rises up to my chin and falls down to my calves so far below. Priest-like. When people come to me, it is rather like taking a confessional, there’s no hiding the truth; sins revealed through telltale signs of plaque and decay. Even twins will differ by their orthopedics - no two lives identical from my view. Unlike a scrape or cut of the flesh, teeth cannot mend themselves. A professional is required. Was it my sin to gain enjoyment in exposing their faults, making them pay for their neglect and over-indulgence at the same time I healed them? Or was it necessary, my skill brought by that pleasure even if it was perverse?
Willy had been sitting upright and incredibly still, catatonic upon the examining table. Although, as I twist the final collar button in place, I swear I see his tongue slowly slip across his lips from my peripheral vision. Putting my eyeglasses back in place, a cart of instruments ready by my side, I walk over and decide to begin with the basics. His skin is deathly pale, smooth as the ceramic tea set. Is it a trick of my mind that he seems to glow? Only angels can do that.
Gently I lift up his chin and shine a light directly into his optics. It is then that something remarkable does become obvious to me, startlingly so.
“You don’t wear contacts?”
He makes a small moan to indicate that he doesn’t.
“Then how…?”
Quietly, weakly, he states, “I wished for it.”
I smile at him, assuming he’s fibbing as he so often did as a child. Kind as I attempt to make my own voice, the vibrato still resonates. “I see. And do you find that you can make things happen simply by wishing for them?”
“Mmn…sometimes…”
His eyes fall closed and he takes an extended, deep breath. Like curtains rising in a magician’s show, they open again to reveal every sliver of lavender has vanished, gone into thin air: irises looking as they did before, black as mine. No, blacker - reminiscent of an untamed creature in the wilderness. I pull back.
“Th-that’s impossible. Willy, how did you do that?”
His voice is eerily calm as he retorts, “How did you move the house?”
My breathing halts. A chill runs through me. Not only from the impact of an aching memory but because he’s right, because I know the answer and it’s horrible in more ways than one. My voice is as soft as his. The words fill me with shame.
“I…wished for it.”
Eyes turn toward me knowingly. I’m in disbelief that I’ve admitted my darkest secret, that I held it in so exceedingly long. The boy had brought it out, as he had brought out the old abilities in my fury. I didn’t dare try to reverse the action once it happened, to tap into those strange powers again. Here in desolation have I remained ever since.
“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t do it again. My pl-brp-pa…” Uncharacteristically, I stumble on my words. For some reason, this causes the barest sign of mirth in his expression. Calming myself I continue.
“My parents were so frightened, they forbade me to do the things I could do or say the things I shouldn’t know. Instead I wrote my thoughts down in journals that you were never meant to find. I should have burned them. Fire, the way to purity, that’s what I was taught. These things we can do they’re…not right. They’re not the ways of God. Loompaland, for example, is such an awful place because it should not exist.”
He’s hypnotized with fascination as I force through the rest of what I should have said to him long ago. I distract myself from the emotions with examination procedures, removing his candy-shaped cufflinks, slipping the flared sleeves of his shirt up to check reflexes and blood pressure. Slack like a mannequin there are no objections.
“Don’t judge your grandparents. They were good, simple people. Probably a lot like The Buckets. However…they couldn’t have children. So their parish gave them an abandoned infant left on the church doorsteps. That child was I.”
He stays silent and remains still as I slide my hand to his torso, unbuttoning the tightly fitted vest, waist so slim women might envy it. Clearly he never over-indulges in the sugary confections he creates. The initial broach is also removed with care, so that I may undo the top buttons of the boldly patterned silk shirt. It feels as if I’m unraveling him piece by piece. More cream-colored skin is revealed, like melted chocolate to the touch, a fever or his he usually this invitingly warm? I check his breathing with a stethoscope, in between listening to his lungs, explaining myself further.
“That’s why I focused on medicine, on the tangible workings of man and this universe. I’ve led the most modest life I could, trying to draw attention away from myself, mostly settling for scaring people into distance. I married a woman with no family or prospects of her own, she was so grateful for…anyone. She never challenged me or commented on anything she found out of the ordinary. I cared for her but…I don’t think we ever really knew one another.”
I cannot read the expression on his face. My hands are at his bare throat, feeling for lymph nodes for unusual growths. My hand constricts slightly, fits so easily around his windpipe. He groans a desperate sound.
“I killed my mother.”
I had thought that, just now and a hundred times before. Though to hear him actually say it, in this condition? It was much different than inside my mind. It brought no satisfaction.
“Your mother desperately wanted to have a baby. I did not. Nor did I think her health would tolerate it but Wilhelmina...I…I…haven’t said that name in so long. I don’t think…I’ve ever said it to you…Wilhelmina, was starving for love and life. Looking back, I can’t blame her for wanting some escape from…”
I look around my uninviting, dreary place.
“…this.”
Facing him again, hands cupping his jaw I add, “But without that wish she made, without her, there would have never been you. She died happier than I’d ever seen her, than…I ever made her. …you two look so similar.”
I sigh rigidly, strained from the amount of sentiment felt and expressed.
“I can find nothing wrong with you. Actually, you’re fantastically healthy.”
His parted legs, which I had been standing between, slide behind to lock at the ankles and pull me nearer. Arms snake up my own, one across my broad shoulders, the other stretching to the back of my neck, pulling downward.
Lids half-closed he says, “You haven’t examined my mouth yet.”
In the next second, he’s pulled us together, my mouth slightly agape from shock, his from desire, and we are kissing, in a way not appropriate for father and son. He tastes like everything I’ve ever deprived myself of, like every one of those fragrances mingling and separating, exploding against the smoothest, most perfect teeth ever created - my work. His explorations are nothing short of ravenous.
I feel like a fly lured by sweet promises to their demise.
Willy and his games…
He’s gotten the better of me again. This was probably his plan all along, teasing, playing coy, gaining my deepest sympathy then moving in for ‘the kill’. Exactly the same when he was little during the thunderstorm. Only this time, his conquest came at the expense of my most intimate secrets. My declarations of guilt seem to have left no impact of compassion or evidence of humanity. Is his soul as black as those eyes?
I indulge a long, long moment before forcing myself off his abysmal maw. He gasps wantonly, shirt half undone, a thread of saliva at the corner of roughed up ruby lips. I shoot him the most ugly glare he’s ever seen then slap him hard right across the face.
It was very satisfying to do that.
Motionless but panting, he turns to face me again slowly, a wicked smirk accenting the stinging pinked cheek, hair not quite perfectly in place anymore. “See. Something is wrong with me. Charlie, he knew just what tah give you but me…all I can think about is what I want.”
He squints. “And you want it too, father dearest. Yer as sick as I am.”
THIS infuriates me, partly because it’s very true: a hidden throbbing sensation confirming the accusation. I’m also irritated by his ability to read my mind while I’m constantly left uncertain about his. Without a doubt my own temperature and blood pressure have increased as well. Willy grips my sleeves before I can hit him again, head twisting upward to stare undaunted. I’m mesmerized by the enunciations of his exaggerated speech, flashes of pearly symmetry through twisted logic.
“You’ve let fear control your whole life! But don’t ya see? The stupid RuuLEsss don’t apply to us. Can’t you fer once allow yerself to feel pleasure?! Who’s ever going to know?”
In a hushed tone, aroused, “Ohhh, the secrets I can keep, the knowledge I’ve never shared…”
Biting his lip, looking downwards, nimble hands undo the lower buttons of the lab coat. As if drawn by the power of his gaze, pulsing sensations congregate exactly where he’s focusing attention. I’m torn in two directions, between anger and my own desires that have indeed been haunting me. Patent leather shoes are kicked off, clicking loudly to the floor. Next he hops off the examination table, lowering down to his knees before me. There can’t be many who’ve seen the great Willy Wonka in such a vulnerable position. Who else could wield such influence over his stubborn being?
“Saying your prayers?”
“Ha! No. But I’d like tah do some worshiping.” He nuzzles my slack hand, the same one that struck him. Then licks it, pet-like.
“You’re a very bad boy, Willy.”
“So punish me, daddy.”
I’m not proud of what I allow him do next or the thrill at whispered comments about being every bit as large as he remembered. It’s easy to separate myself from what’s happening, the coat hiding like a curtain, the graphic details of his thorough actions. The inside of people’s mouths has always given me gratification but this is untold of. We both have an oral fixation; Willy’s being what he can put into his. Which proves to be considerable indeed as his mouth opens wider to allow room for every growing inch. Muscles and flesh a hundred times more skilled than what I remembered, it is I who now must lean for support against the table, who is gasping for breathe. His hair is as silken as the shirt, my hand sliding through it on accord of his own piston movements.
Minutes the span of eternities pass. I dare to peek, catching him looking upwards, and complete satisfaction in his eyes, in the curve of lips that still manage to twist as sharply as the tongue inside. He slides back leisurely, to expose my swollen shaft, his throat noticeably deflating, teeth calculatingly scuffing against skin pinker than any damage I’d done to him. It is the exact amount of gratifying discomfort needed to stimulate me further. A low groan vibrates down to him. At the end twirling around to deposit a leak of my essence across his taste buds then into his stomach. How he must have been hungering for that drop of flavor more rare than a kadupul blossom. And he got it, about to get a river of it at this rate.
The whole show is an obvious taunt of power, one that I will not tolerate at this point. I reach down to his scalp and grip his hair roughly, such a practical method of command, how foolish of me to insist keeping it so short in his youth. He doesn’t enjoy being removed from his ‘pacifier’ – emitting lurid whimpers of protest. In a few seconds he’s forced back to his feet anyway. Quickly pressing my weight and hardness against his back, pinning his front against the examination table.
“Ssssserpent.”
“Ngg…Wait!” He’s struggling. Good.
Into his ear I whisper heavily, “You. You’re my gift. And if I recall your words correctly, there is only one way to unwrap one.”
A startled noise between a scream and a yelp is emitted as his shirt is torn off and trousers thrust down. I’m a large, powerful man who has never permitted myself to use those strengths. I wouldn’t have felt comfortable treating a female this way. Willy walks such a convenient line between the genders – I can indulge in both directions at once.
“There’s a few more important areas left to examine.” I reach forward to gauge how the rest of him has developed. He grabs my hand in panic, attempts again to imprudently stop me. My other hand is half shoved into that overly eager mouth. Struggling becomes earnest. A second later and I know exactly what he meant by shaving thoroughly. In fact, I realize his arms and chest were equally hairless. Interesting, oddly erotic, reminiscent of both femininity and childhood. He suddenly shouts loudly, twisting his head back, allowing me to ascertain that the health of the so-called ‘family jewels’ is excellent; obviously not the reason for lack of a natural heir.
“What’s the matter? You may not be exactly as endowed as myself, but some of the genes have passed down. You’re above average for your stature.”
“…uhnn..I…never…no one…has ever..”
“Are you trying to tell me that you’ve never had sex?”
He’s shape-shifted again. The whore claiming chastity?! I let out a loud, throaty laugh.
“It’s true!” He’s blushing terribly. Hair shyly covering eyes, “Only…only you.”
My laughter completely ceased. Something about that statement sent me over the edge. A possessive notion; one still flushed with desire and doubt. I want it to be true though I shouldn’t. My dental gloves have remained in tact. Lubricant sits on the nearby cart. I lean to whisper again.
“We’ll see about the validity of that fact. There’s one procedure left.”
Such a delightful yelp is emitted.
Condescendingly I state, “It’s just my fingers.”
Being far more thorough or deep than required, twisting and probing in a rather non-medical way. I force his legs apart, kicking slacks and underwear that have fallen to his ankles away. Here too is he fit and tight. I stroke the most sensitive area, a knuckle in, repeatedly with one finger. He’s leaned over the table, drooling on the previously hand pushed inside his mouth – forcibly being penetrated in two places. Sounds of panic have been replaced by enjoyment. Mustn’t have too much of that. This boy needs a lesson about getting what a person “wishes” for.
As fast as I can, my digits are replaced with something considerably more ample. He shrieks and squirms, making the situation only more enjoyable for me. The fingers in his mouth are bitten, unquestionably drawing blood, most likely craving bone. Depraved as I am at this point, it only fuels my passions. I lean down against him, causing whimpers as he’s impaled. Tears stream down his face. I’m probably not the only one bleeding anymore. Apparently, this time, he’d been telling the truth. A sick thought occurs to me about this being the second virgin I’ve claimed in my lifetime.
Lined up with his ear again, huffing I say, “You only make it worse by struggling. Relax.”
He doesn’t want to obey but the pain forces him to momentarily catch his breath, lying limp. Sweat glistening off palest bare skin, his intoxicating scent had increased dramatically, new fragrances coming into bloom; orchids, sage, pepper, ginger, and mulled wine. I decide to take careful tastes along his back. My silver beard brushes against soft tissue as salty as the Dead Sea. I begin to shift slightly, turned on by these elements and the verity that I’m clothed while he is completely vulnerable.
Feeling more generous, I reach forward again to stimulate enjoyment on his behalf. He allows it briefly before swatting me away.
“I can…do that myself.”
I chuckle. Yes, I should imagine he’s had great practice at it over the years. “You’ll submit to no one, will you?”
The head leans back to expose a long throat and Adam’s apple, eyes connect, purple as the fragile vase again, “Like I said, only you father. No one else has been worthy.”
Awkwardly, like our affection, we find ourselves connected in another long kiss. This time, instead of a trick, it’s one of forgiveness and longing. Ultimately though I’m uncertain who has submitted to whom. We are well matched. Willy was right, he and I lack definition as others form them, as I clung to needlessly. I would prefer now…to cling to this, whatever it is. My hands slide down prone, sleek muscles gripping that stem of a waist, tips of my fingers nearly reaching round the circumference. All pretenses are abandoned. We give in to lust and our corrupt fantasies that only the other can complete, thrusting to ecstasy.
There isn’t another pair of ears for hundreds of miles. No one else to hear the long moan as I grip my hands over his, filling him with the same seed that created him.
He’s pleased but unsated after the first round; complaining of being cheated a favorite flavor; manner similar to a child begging for candy in a shop as he undoes the rest of the coat buttons. I find myself still surprisingly erect - perhaps from prolonged deprivation or perhaps by the spell put on me; his playful promise of donning a nurse’s uniform, which he shouldn’t know I still possess, at the back of my wardrobe. He dashes up to the bedroom, naked except for the lab coat that he’s currently wrapped himself in. His laughter trails down to my ears in a Pied Piper fashion.
“Temptation incarnate.” I mutter to myself, fixing my trousers but loosening the necktie. Collecting some instruments that could prove interesting in these continued ‘experiments’, I stride more slowly up the familiar staircase.
Many hours later, we’ve managed to reassemble ourselves, the day shortly to end and our lives to continue normally. In some level of denial, we lie fully dressed upon the large bed, he with his head on my chest. It is like that night many years ago, but with a peaceful ending. I hear him breathing me in, probably smelling pomade, musk and old wool. Nothing as delightful as him, but a pleased sigh is released all the same.
“Why don’t you stay the night?” I offer.
“Can’t.” He says glumly.
Then he gets an idea, “Hey, why don’t you come live with me? Yeah! I’m sure the Buckets wouldn’t mind. You and Mr. Bucket could talk about toothpaste ‘till the cows come home!”
A small laugh is achieved. I’m feeling very drained, my limbs are turning into lead. “No, that..wouldn’t be quite right. Our relationship is…special, best kept private. I don’t have a place in your world, Willy. I need to rest and I think you need to grow up.”
He pouts, looks away pulling my arm around himself. I’m fairly certain I hear a muffled, “Never.”
Long moments of blissful silence follow. I think about what we’ve done. When you truly care about something, a part of you is forever entangled in it, as a part of the source of your fixation is permanently attached to you. Be it candy, the color purple, genetics or the intangible elements of a human soul. So, am I to be punished for adding to the phenomena or…rewarded?
“Dad?”
Willy’s unique cadence, sounding troubled disturbs the air.
“Do you think I’m evil?”
My chest tightens. I hold him tighter. Every syllable is a struggle, but each makes me feel freer. “The only thing…that I know is…I love you.”
There are many subtle miracles that happen silently everyday, no one can measure them or be certain of the exact moment of their existence but nevertheless they happen: molecules form life, caterpillars transform into butterflies, a brilliant idea is born and a distant star dies. Willy Wonka looked up at his father in such a cataclysmic collision of energy. He had waited his whole life to hear those words. No matter his infatuation with it, candy never could gratify in such a way.
A second after they are uttered, a loud explosion disturbed the candyman’s amazement. It’s a distant sound coming from the basement, possibly the water tank. He flinches startled, then hears a second louder booming noise that might be the furnace combusting as well.
“DAD!” He bolts upright.
The figure beside him lays peacefully still, regal-looking in a three-piece suit complete with an embroidered handkerchief in the breast pocket. Initials the same as his only born child. Dr. Wilbur Wonka looked as he had always been remembered…except for the relaxed upturn of mouth indicating a smile.
“Papa?”
Willy knows, even as he says it, there will be no response. He lifts the arm that had been holding him, crossing it with the other across his father’s chest. The man, forever a boy, touches his own mouth in a kiss and presses it upon the large, forever quiet, man’s lips. Before he might shed tears or mourn, cracks have formed like a spider’s web across the ceiling and are racing down the walls, the floor rumbles and shakes. It could be that the old house had grown mysteriously connected to his father in the same way that the chocolate factory so often felt like an extension of himself. There is barely time to run down the collapsing stairs, grabbing coat, cane, hat and flee out the door. Continuing on adrenaline to run the entire way back to the Great Glass Elevator. Safely shut inside, rising immediately, he looks down at the raging inferno that his father’s solitary domicile has become. Soon there will be nothing more than a pile of ash extinguished by the persistent freeze of winter.
It seems to the candymaker, as he traveled wordlessly, surrounded on all sides by the deep indigo sky, that bearing the weight of killing not one, but two parents, through the joy he gave them, could very well be considered a punishment by a displeased higher power…if one believed in such things.
EPILOGUE:
The Buckets could not remember Willy Wonka ever being so quiet as he was at their dinner table that evening. No odd humor or disruptive behavior, but more alarmingly there hadn’t been any gigantic toothy smiles either. It had been nearly a week since he’d returned from his trip. Concerned as the family was, they politely left him to his thoughts. After all, one never knew how important those might be. His heir could not stop taking glances at him but the chocolatier did not look up from the plate of food he was pretending to make progress on.
“Charlie.” The boy turned to face his mother, certain he was going to be admonished. Mrs. Bucket hoped her idea might bring cheer to the gloomy mood. “Why don’t you give Mr. Wonka the package that came for him today.”
Willy blinked at a box plopped down in front of him; oblivious to his surroundings, it appeared in his mind to materialize from nowhere. The box was neatly wrapped in brown paper and rough twine with a tremendous amount of vintage stamps on it. There was no return address but elegant penmanship familiar to his with fewer flourishes gave away the origin. He gasped, tracing the script reverently where his name was listed above “care of” The Bucket Family.
Boyish laughter proceeded the cheerful tearing of the plain wrapping before he could object, “That’s not how you open a gift, Mr. Wonka. That’s not what you taught me.”
Grandpa Joe picked up a note card that fell out in the process, diplomatically reading aloud:
Dear Son –
The difficulty and beauty of children is that no matter how hard we try to mold them, they are still going to turn into who they’re supposed to be. All we can really do is help guide them along the way.
In the end, the ones we care about are forever embedded into us as we are into them. This is how we truly become immortal.
Murmurs of agreement at how wise the dentist is were made. Then the whole family made pleasant noises when a pint-sized crystalline vase was finally revealed under layers and layers of yellowed newspaper. Every family member looked right into the chocolatier’s eyes because it matched them perfectly and they could all easily see this for Wonka was holding it right before his face where a tear had started to form.
“It was my mother’s. My father must have sent it before…he died.”
This was said mechanically but the droplet streamed down his face. He raised a gloved hand to his face and when it came back wet, confirming he was indeed crying, placed down the vase and very calmly excused himself. The family all murmured, now understanding in sympathy why the chocolate wiz hadn’t been himself lately.
No more than a minute later, Willy found his solitude disturbed by a small form right at his side.
“I’m sorry.”
He knew the placid British tone did not belong to any of the Oompa-loompas.
“It’s OK.” Wonka looked at the heart-broken little face. “No really, it was a good visit. We got a lot out of our uh, systems. I…I’m glad he wasn’t…all alone.”
There was a reflective quality in the tone of his words. Shaking himself from the fog he added in a more usual manner, “Besides, I got what I went for.”
“The vase?”
“No.” A wilted version of his usual giggle was made.
“Actually…” The man continued, cocking his head downward. “I went for you, Charlie.”
The boy could only look back at him puzzled.
“I wanted…to understand love.”
Such a fascinating but sad man his idol was, standing there in the shadows with top hat and cane, the very image of so many people’s dreams come true and yet he couldn’t grasp a basic emotion? The boy gave an impish smile. “The family is worried about you. They said I could keep you company tonight if you like.”
His expression and eyes wandered a long while before responding, not quite as an adult though not quite like a child, “I’d like that very much.”
Waving with one hand to his expectant parents, indicating safety and departure, the boy used the other to grasp Wonka’s. He often did but tonight he held it more firmly, more aware of how transient the sensation could be.
Once aboard the elevator, Charlie decided to admit, “Mr. Wonka, this may sound funny, but, erm, since meeting you..my life is like one big wish come true.”
The chocolatier had been mildly distracted by his reflection in the glass, keen eyesight having caught glimpse of that pesky silver hair growing back. He paused at his heir’s words, lowered himself to the boy’s level, studying him like a fantastic new creation with a customary Cheshire cat grin back in place.
“Do you want me to pull that hair for you?”
He laughed, almost insanely. The child paid as sharp attention to detail as he did but seemed oblivious to the inner magic he too contained. Well, somebody was just going to have to show it to him.
“Ya know wut? Leave it. As a reminder of that very instant, that without knowin’ it, I wished for you.”
And after that, Willy dared a gentle kiss.
~fini~
Author’s Notes:
I can’t believe I write this stuff and yet, like the two in the story, I can’t seem to help myself. It’s complicated. But in honor of the effort involved in writing, I thank “piscaria” of LiveJournal for this quote:
“Writing is easy – all you do is sit down at the typewriter and open a vein.” - Walter (Red) Smith
"The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon their sons." Ah, big biblical quote with multiple origins, I'd recommend looking it up.
The facts stated in the story about the human mouth are completely true, learned through personal experience and because one of my closest family acquaintances is a dentist.
The German name Wilhelmina means - "determined guardian." The name is also associated with a famous Queen from The Netherlands who served during two World Wars.
“Knowledge” is an interesting and dangerous word in religion. In Monotheism it often symbolizes sexual activity or loss of innocence.
Willy’s “father dearest” comment comes from a film about a physically abusive mother who put her career ahead of her children and various other unforgivable acts. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mommie_Dearest
Dr. Wonka performed an impromptu examination of rectum and testicals, in case you didn’t realize that was part of a full physical for males. Normally they reach under the scrotom and tell patients to cough to check for hernia, a shout would do just as well to check for bounce and balance. The anal exam is partly for the prostrate which...is a curious organ.
Orchids symbolize many things, including perfection and lust; some say the spots represent the blood of Christ. The word derives from the Greek word “orchis” meaning testicle.
Ginger is a ‘yang’ or masculine element that encourages will and fiery passion. Black pepper is equated with courage and positive forces of anger.
Sage happens to be a very important herb used in Pagan rituals, including Wicca, for purification, often bundled into a “smudge” (which sounds a lot like “swudge”). I also think it tastes really good.
So…uh, I do want my works to arouse. But it’s more, I want to arouse thought and awareness in myself and others too. This piece took a lot out of me. It turned out more difficult and personal than I originally anticipated but I give thanks for the challenge that I hope I met.
Grandiose notions aside, if you get turned on, one way or another, then I’m pleased.
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