I come to her with suffering teeth
s ... parts of me that I can't even spell are inflamed and hurting.
I have pulsing areas of pain, yet uncharted. I have accumulations of mineral salts
that coat obscure facet
s of my mouth.
She ... she is not that tall. She has curly hair. Dusky skin. She has very small hands, very tiny fingers, something that I am in the position to appreciate.
She actually puts a part of her body inside mine, and does strange things that do not feel that bad. I may come to like this. I would smile at her, if my mouth was not filled with tubes and fingers and humming things.
I can now smile without shyness. My ivories are as spotless as she can make them.
I stand up, let my eyes wonder on the generic pictures on the walls, steal a glance at her as she busies herself with small metal objects and trays ... sultry probably is the word - though I would rather say "compact where appropriate, relatively abundant where desirable".
What can I say to someone that has just been inside my mouth ? I look for a good opening sentence. And then I suddenly remember:
She is married to my dentist !
She is in wedlock with the guy with the DRILLS ! She has entered nuptials with the only person I really fear in life ... not my boss ... not my parents ... my dentist !
All the blood drains from my gums. I shake her hand, I know that my palm is cold and sweaty: I hope this will be attributed to nerves.
I stagger out of their office, knowing that I have been in great danger.