Dental Damsel

I hate dentist appointments. Not because I’ve ever been tortured there; in fact, that would be a nice change of pace. It’s so boring, lounging around, staring at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact with your dentist and his bunny-print-clad assistant.

Today, however, the stars that govern mastication and its acolytes must have been perfectly aligned, or at the very least, looked down and decided to bless me. Instead of my kindly, maundering old dentist, I got his hot new associate. I mean, hot-hot. Hubba-hubba hot. Finally. Something to look at!

I know, I know. I’m supposed to be shy or embarrassed (or at least act like it) about having a hot guy asking me to open wide while he ‘pokes around’. Yeahhh—shy. Retiring, timid, that’s me. So, of course, I do. (Yes, sir, Mr. Dentist, sir) I was kinda delighted that my skirt was hiking up my thighs, something I wouldn’t have wanted my elderly dentist to see. Until the bunny-adorned assistant helpfully draped my jacket over my lap, sweetly murmuring, “I think you’ll be much more comfortable this way.” Okay, sweetie. Gotcha. You’ve got dibs.

I wasn’t really expecting to be fondled or anything. Maybe I didn’t even want it. Maybe. But I did want to be a wee bit troublesome, and see at least an indication of it. And while I wasn’t really thinking of sex, the idea of at least some free dental dams did flit across my mind.

Anyway, Dr. Hotness had really gentle hands, and I’ve always wanted to do it in a dental chair. No such luck, but still, I can definitely say that this visit wasn’t boring at all. I don’t know if it was such a great idea to be so squirmy in the chair, however. I do so hate it when people ask me if I’m “doing okay” while they’re working on me. Definitely a fun appointment, all things considered.

I’ve a new resolution: Date a dentist. Do it in his chair.

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