I’m off to the dentist this morning and not looking forward to it one bit. Last week’s work was botched and they’ll hopefully fix it, but not before rummaging around in my mouth for the better part of an hour… and not in a happy-good way.

I would rather go to the obgyn than to the dentist. There is something so very intimate about someone putting their hands in your mouth.

Only one dentist made me feel otherwise.  What was it about him… mostly his measured breathing and his scent, I think… some sort of musk … yes, oil… spicy… heady. I could close my eyes and focus on things like his pulse against my cheek as he rested his wrist there. As I would relax and my mouth would start to close a bit, he’d say “Keep your mouth open” and I would transport somewhere else entirely. Poor puppy… if he only knew the things I thought about in that chair of his. Best. Dentist. Ever. It didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous.

But he is gone and in his place are countless masked men and women with their clinical touch and invasive little hands. Shudder. No happy endings.