I saw a rainbow today. It arched over the subway entrance against an evil gray sky --- an unquestionable reminder that there is a God. That’s when I realized that I was on my way to the dentist --- an unquestionable reminder that God has a sense of humor.
An hour later, I’m reclining in the discomfort of a plastic green chair. My head propped towards the speckled ceiling, a thinly-haired Asian woman sticking sharp question marked-shaped utensils into my poor, helpless mouth.
God. If my mouth could speak (y’know, without the aid of my brain) it would be cursing me for this moment. I could imagine its chapped lips agonizing and pleading with me. It would say, “Why, Troy?"
"We’ve given you and your girlfriend SO MUCH happiness," it would continue. "Why do this to us NOW?” I have no words.
Know this...dentist are reverse masochist. I’m certain they get off on the discomfort of others. My dental practitioner has probably experienced many an orgasm thanks to the contorted faces of her patients. Disgusted, her husband probably left her when he realized every attempt to conceive children resulted in her forcibly fisting his mouth. (What a sick, sick, bitch.)
“Wider,” she demands, tugging on the side of my lip with some plastic mirror-thing.
As my throat seems to swell, I do as I’m told. I open my mouth wider. I fight the urge to clutch the arms of the chair. I feel the question mark scratching the inside of my teeth. She narrowly misses the back of my gum with each scrape. I brace myself for the inevitable…
Y’see, I’ve inherited my mom’s abnormally sensitive gums. A condition that has made each visit to the dentist a game of Russian Roulette. Each appointment is met with the ominous question of “will my gums spew crimson when my dentist "accidentally" cuts it while cleaning my teeth?”
I feel the question mark getting closer and closer. My body tenses involuntarily. I can feel her utensil climbing the curve of my inner tooth. The suspense is killing me. Then it happens. Tooth turns to gum. The sensation in my mouth goes from a medium scratch to soft tissue being cut open.
I want to make some sort of agonizing noise, but I have some straw thing spitting water into my f*cking tongue.
“Wider, Wider,” she says peering into my mug.
"You fuckingcockguzzlingcuntasticbaldheadedbitch," I gurgle to myself.
The pain is all too familiar and has never lessened over time. My gums are sensitive to anything --- sharp or otherwise. I’ve had them bleed from potato chips, forks, sporks, straws, even my own GODDAMN teeth. Of course she knows this. She’s the one who told me. But does that stop her from gouging my pink interior mouth flesh with her pointy toys? NO!!!!
In my head, I promise myself that if she demands me to open wider again that I’m gonna lose it.
“Close your mouth a little,” she pants.
Dammit! She read my thoughts. Clever girl.
She slices another piece of gum. I swear she’s hacking away at me. Like those adventurers take pickaxes to mountains of ice.
I taste blood.
She looks deep into my teary eyes. I can make out her face smiling devilishly under her protective facemask.
“Your tongue keeps getting in the way,” she says.
Jesus Christ, lady! My tongue is just doing it’s best to protect me. It’s my mouth’s last line of defense.
She reaches over to her tray of dental tools (or as she, privately, calls them: sex toys) and emerges with a patch of folded up gauze. She captures the tip of my tongue and holds it steady. With the other hand, the question mark returns. She digs away at the crevices between my two front teeth. My spine tingles. The sound and the pain are too much. I can’t taste the blood because she has my tongue but I see crimson sprinkle her mask and goggles.
“Wider,” she groans. That’s it!
I unclench the arm chair and smack her hand away. She hisses, still clenching to my tongue like a crab.
I won’t hit a woman, so I force my hand into her screaming mouth. She lets go of my dry tongue and, like a K-9 attacking a criminal, she digs in. Satisfied, her eyes roll in the back of her head. She shivers uncontrollably. Her teeth relinquish my bleeding fist.
“Disgusting.” I say to her crumpled body.
Incapable of looking at her orgasmic expression any longer, I leave her amongst the fallen tooth brushes as I run out the dentist office. Comforted by nothing I’ve experienced here, I vow to never use another HMO again.
An hour later, I’m reclining in the discomfort of a plastic green chair. My head propped towards the speckled ceiling, a thinly-haired Asian woman sticking sharp question marked-shaped utensils into my poor, helpless mouth.
God. If my mouth could speak (y’know, without the aid of my brain) it would be cursing me for this moment. I could imagine its chapped lips agonizing and pleading with me. It would say, “Why, Troy?"
"We’ve given you and your girlfriend SO MUCH happiness," it would continue. "Why do this to us NOW?” I have no words.
Know this...dentist are reverse masochist. I’m certain they get off on the discomfort of others. My dental practitioner has probably experienced many an orgasm thanks to the contorted faces of her patients. Disgusted, her husband probably left her when he realized every attempt to conceive children resulted in her forcibly fisting his mouth. (What a sick, sick, bitch.)
“Wider,” she demands, tugging on the side of my lip with some plastic mirror-thing.
As my throat seems to swell, I do as I’m told. I open my mouth wider. I fight the urge to clutch the arms of the chair. I feel the question mark scratching the inside of my teeth. She narrowly misses the back of my gum with each scrape. I brace myself for the inevitable…
Y’see, I’ve inherited my mom’s abnormally sensitive gums. A condition that has made each visit to the dentist a game of Russian Roulette. Each appointment is met with the ominous question of “will my gums spew crimson when my dentist "accidentally" cuts it while cleaning my teeth?”
I feel the question mark getting closer and closer. My body tenses involuntarily. I can feel her utensil climbing the curve of my inner tooth. The suspense is killing me. Then it happens. Tooth turns to gum. The sensation in my mouth goes from a medium scratch to soft tissue being cut open.
I want to make some sort of agonizing noise, but I have some straw thing spitting water into my f*cking tongue.
“Wider, Wider,” she says peering into my mug.
"You fuckingcockguzzlingcuntasticbaldheadedbitch," I gurgle to myself.
The pain is all too familiar and has never lessened over time. My gums are sensitive to anything --- sharp or otherwise. I’ve had them bleed from potato chips, forks, sporks, straws, even my own GODDAMN teeth. Of course she knows this. She’s the one who told me. But does that stop her from gouging my pink interior mouth flesh with her pointy toys? NO!!!!
In my head, I promise myself that if she demands me to open wider again that I’m gonna lose it.
“Close your mouth a little,” she pants.
Dammit! She read my thoughts. Clever girl.
She slices another piece of gum. I swear she’s hacking away at me. Like those adventurers take pickaxes to mountains of ice.
I taste blood.
She looks deep into my teary eyes. I can make out her face smiling devilishly under her protective facemask.
“Your tongue keeps getting in the way,” she says.
Jesus Christ, lady! My tongue is just doing it’s best to protect me. It’s my mouth’s last line of defense.
She reaches over to her tray of dental tools (or as she, privately, calls them: sex toys) and emerges with a patch of folded up gauze. She captures the tip of my tongue and holds it steady. With the other hand, the question mark returns. She digs away at the crevices between my two front teeth. My spine tingles. The sound and the pain are too much. I can’t taste the blood because she has my tongue but I see crimson sprinkle her mask and goggles.
“Wider,” she groans. That’s it!
I unclench the arm chair and smack her hand away. She hisses, still clenching to my tongue like a crab.
I won’t hit a woman, so I force my hand into her screaming mouth. She lets go of my dry tongue and, like a K-9 attacking a criminal, she digs in. Satisfied, her eyes roll in the back of her head. She shivers uncontrollably. Her teeth relinquish my bleeding fist.
“Disgusting.” I say to her crumpled body.
Incapable of looking at her orgasmic expression any longer, I leave her amongst the fallen tooth brushes as I run out the dentist office. Comforted by nothing I’ve experienced here, I vow to never use another HMO again.
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